Who am I?
I am Mrs. Helen Caroline Peabody-Wolfson-Van Pelt-Hubbard. I am from Minneapolis, Minnesota. I am in my early fifties (53), born in 1881. I have been married four times. My first husband was a Mr. Peabody. He was a very good man and financially well-off, but he died rather young. I then met and married Mr. Wolfson. I loved him very much, but our marriage was incompatible. I wanted monogamy and he wanted many affairs with various women. Mr. Van Pelt was my worst marriage thus far; he had lots of money, but he also had a reckless libido. When we were staying at the Waldorf hotel, I found him in bed with the person who did his nails. That was the end of my third marriage. I finally met my current husband, Mr. Hubbard, who is a great man. I can confidently say that he saved me from a boring life of wasting my days away at the Minneapolis Country Club. He will no longer go on vacations with me, but he is perfectly happy to let me travel around for many months out of the year. In fact, he practically begged for me to leave the house and embark on this trip. He is a generous and selfish man with me; the last vacation we went on together spiked his blood pressure for no conceivable reason. I have no children, but my friends at the country club have plenty. That’s close enough to motherhood for me.
I am an only child. Both of my parents have passed, but my mom loved me unconditionally while she was here. My father…well, he is the primary reason that I don’t like most men. He was rather opinionated, which is ironic considering most of his opinions were wrong.
As far as education goes, I was tutored by a private governess in my family home. Public schools were not widely popular, unless you lived in a rural area or were poor. I suffered neither of those fates. Had I been born a boy, I could have garnered a larger and longer education, but my father decided that I needed only literary and homestyle skills. Nevertheless, being an only child worked in my favor because my father tried his hardest to raise me like a son.
I like juicy gossip, mysteries, reading adventurous or thrilling books, tabloid magazines, mahjong, fruity cocktails, bourbon and nibbles, warm and stable slippers, going on vacation, singing and dancing, showtunes, hard and fast schedules, being right, talking, the atmosphere of the Minneapolis Country Club, flirting, sleeping.
I dislike snow, watery cocktails, bridge, the French, blood or injuries, being inconvenienced, scratchy fabric, exercise, the reality of the Minneapolis Country Club, surprises, sexism and ageism, communists, being bored, feeling trapped by my surroundings, being interrupted, reserved people, small talk, criticism.
My hobbies include racquetball, social drinking, gossiping, reading, traveling, and singing. My fears include deep water, dying, reptiles, guns, and entrapment.
What time is it?
It is late January in 1934. The air is chilly with the winter weather, and it has begun snowing. I am on the train from midday to morning and then from morning to midday.
Where am I?
Before boarding the train
I am in Istanbul, Turkey at the Tokatlian hotel. I am sitting in the dining room having just finished a meal. I wait for the waiter to return so that I might give him my tip and congratulate him on earning such a large sum.
After boarding the train
On the luxurious Orient Express, we travel from Istanbul, Turkey through Sofia, Bulgaria, and get stuck in a snowdrift somewhere between Sofia and Belgrade, Serbia. We stay unmoving in the Polinski Pass. Within the train, I travel between my personal compartment—room 16—the dining car, Ratchett’s compartment, and the hallway corridor. As this is a vacation, I spend most of my time relaxing in bed. A woman deserves her rest!
What surrounds me?
The weather outside is absolutely abhorrent. It is heavily snowing and below freezing. With a heavy windchill, it feels like 20°F. The landscape would be beautiful were it not for all of the snow. It covers every surface, turning all of the open fields into desolate white expanses. There are frozen ponds and high mountain tops that are sprinkled with bare trees or pine-covered evergreens. Most of the wildlife has left the country or hibernated in the mountains. I catch a glimpse of a few night-time deer and a gaggle of geese taking to the sky. Other than that, we are basically alone out here in the countryside.
I, however, am surrounded by people from all over the world. There is a Hungarian Countess, an English woman, a Scotsman, multiple Frenchman or Belgians (whatever), a Russian princess with her Swedish companion, and a thuggish looking American man. They take up the entire first class and usually hang out in the observation quarters or the dining car. The only alone-time I get is in my own compartment.
The design of the train is rather spiffy. The style is very Art Deco, with glossy surfaces and plush cushions. Everywhere you look there is shiny gold and green velvet. The floors of rich brown wood are polished to perfection and the walls are covered with brassy sconces and shaded windows. The compartments are too small to hold all of my luggage, so I have to stuff most of my belongings in the tiny dresser drawers. The bed is comfy enough—a bit lumpy in the middle—but the pillows are silky and provide nice neck support. There is an adjoining door between me and the American thug’s room. That feels unsafe. Overall, it is a nice train, if a little snug.
Given Circumstances:
Past (What has happened?) :
I have boarded the Orient Express on a return trip to my home in Minnesota. I was in Turkey on a vacation. My husband did not join me on this trip, so I have traveled all by myself. Mr. Hubbard has not vacationed with me since our first trip together years ago. Now, I travel to different countries every so often, but this is my first trip to the middle east. It was not that great. I did not understand a lot of their customs or foods (what’s a falafafafafafel?) It was a little boring as far as activities go, but it was brilliant to look at. I am now returning home. I plan to take the train from the station in Istanbul to Paris, where I will board a boat and sail back to America. I do not know anyone in this country, so I plan to find camaraderie with my train-companions. It is a big city, and I feel rather unsafe. I have heard a lot of hoopla about this “Orient Express,” so I expect it to be extravagant. I will have dinner at the Tokatlian Hotel, which is about fifteen minutes from the train station.
Present (What is happening?) :
I am stuck on this train with a killer on the loose. I boarded the train last evening and the whole process was rather uneventful. The Orient Express looks plain on the outside, but the interior is luxurious. I met the conductor, Michel, who is one handsome lad. We’ll be spending a lot of time together. I also met the man who runs the company, Bouc, and his detective friend, Hercule Poirot. After I had settled into my compartment, I called for Michel to bring me a bourbon. “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” was on the radio, so I had to sing. Next thing I knew, my crazy next door neighbor was banging on the wall and telling me to be quiet. Of course, I did not stand for this. I went into his room and confronted him, and he practically attacked me. He was up in my face, screaming at me, and he had a gun on his nightstand. I ran out of his room, sang a little more, and then went to bed exhausted. That night, I slept with the assumption that it was safe to close my eyes. I woke up at about 1:15am and saw a random man standing in my room. He was hovering in the corner close to my bed, wearing a uniform. I screamed as soon as I saw him and he fled out through the compartment door. I cried out for help and Bouc came to my aid. I told him about the intruder and even though he did not seem inclined to believe me, he went off in search of the suspicious man. The next morning, I woke up and nearly stepped on a small gold button. Immediately, I went in search of Bouc to prove that I was telling the truth last night. I demanded an apology—which he did not give—and presented him with the button. He took it from me and gave it to his detective friend, who began to interrogate me. Apparently, my crazy next door neighbor was discovered murdered in bed. He was living under the alias Samuel Ratchett, but his real name was Bruno Cassetti. He was the kidnapper of little Daisy Armstrong, a five year old girl who was taken from her bed in Long Island, New York and murdered by Cassetti. I learned all of this from my fellow passengers, but Poirot seemed to find my knowledge suspicious. He questioned me and made me sign my name in his notebook. We were then rudely interrupted by Colonel Arbuthnot’s frantic search for Miss Debenham. He said that she was missing somewhere on the train and less than a minute later, we heard her scream and a loud gunshot. We found Miss Debenham unconscious in Cassetti’s room, bleeding on the ground. She was alright, if a little unsettled by the attack. It appeared that the same man who was in my room last night shot her this morning. He was still hiding somewhere on the train, but we were stuck in place due to some freak snow-drift.
Poirot begins his investigation with a renewed sense of purpose. He questions Miss Debenham in her weakened state and behaves very oddly. Miss Debenham tells us that she found a bloody knife in my makeup bag right before she was shot. When I go to retrieve it, Poirot calls me off and goes to get it himself. After he has secured the weapon, he tells us that he wishes to interrogate certain passengers once more. I am on that list. I enter the interrogation room, but Poirot runs off with a new lead and leaves me alone with Bouc. Fearing another shooting, I decide to get my passport back. Bouc makes a pass at me and before I can fully return the gesture, cries come from the hallway. Poirot leads a group of hysterical passengers into the dining car. He is carrying Greta’s luggage, convinced that the fake conductor’s uniform is hidden inside it. He is right! Greta is upset (typical), the uniform is missing a button (like I said!), and I nearly have a go at the Princess. She insults my intelligence and my modesty, basically insinuating that I am a whore. Bouc escorts us out before we can come to blows.
Everyone receives a letter inviting us to the dining car. Poirot is waiting there for us, announcing that he has solved the murder of Bruno Cassetti. At first, I am skeptical. He claims that there are two solutions, the first one being the solution I devised, the second being a solution completely of his own making. He claims that he grew suspicious when we hit a snow-drift. The murderer could not have fled the crime scene, so they must still be on the train. He then goes on to describe his suspicion over the numerous clues left behind. At this point, I grow weary of his performance. When I stand to tell him as much, he shuts me down and bids me to be seated. I comply, only because I want to. Poirot says that his suspicions increased when he realized that so many people were connected to the Daisy Armstrong case. He goes through each passenger, connecting them to Daisy and giving them a cause to seek revenge against Cassetti. When he gets to me, he says I was the one who fooled him the most. He claims that I am the grandmother of Daisy Armstrong, the stage actress, Linda Arden. He is correct.
Future (what is going to happen?) :
Poirot lets us go. We will all go back to our respective countries and isolated lives. I will go back to New York City and begin acting again. I will star in the musical comedy, No, No, Nanette, where I will bring the audience to their feet every night. My life will not be peaceful. My best friend, Princess Dragomiroff, will pass. My daughter will go back to Hungary, and we will maintain our strained relationship. I will be alone again, but I will find contentment in the death of Bruno Cassetti. Our plan, our goal, our murder is where I will find my peace.
What are my relationships?
Poirot is an annoying, odd man who keeps getting in my way. I hate his stupid mustache and his silly little walk. He is suspicious of everyone and his sleuthing skills are subpar; I do not understand why he is such a famous detective. In short, I do not like him.
Bouc is harmless. As the runner of the Wagon-Lit company, he is courteous towards me and my desires. He is playful, which I like, but he is also dramatic. We get along quite well, unless I am in dire need of his help. When I found a man in my room, he did not believe me. That was rather irritating. Other than that, I enjoy our interactions.
Michel is lovely. He is handsome and chivalrous. I hope that we can become better acquainted on this journey, although he is playing hard to get. It is very easy to make him squirm, especially when I use bedroom talk. Nevertheless, he is supportive of me when I need him. He defends me to Ratchett and does not allow anyone on the train to belittle me. I think we are going to have great fun together…if I can get him in a room alone.
Ratchett is a gangster. He is like a ticking time bomb about to explode. His behavior is unpredictable and scary. I feel unsafe around him, especially after his outburst about my singing. He does not have a civilized bone in his body, and I can hardly stand knowing that he is next door to me. When he is discovered dead, I feel no sympathy. It does not surprise me that he is the murderer of multiple children. Even before his true identity was revealed, someone could not pay me enough money to be alone in a room with him.
Princess Dragomiroff is an entitled brat. She acts tough because she is Russian royalty, but when someone is wounded on the ground, she complains about the blood. For someone who lived through the Bolshevik revolution, she is quite prissy. Every time I interact with her, she is complaining about something or patronizing someone. She thinks she is better than everyone else and I am tired of that damn walking stick smacking the ground every two seconds.
Greta is tiring. She is always screaming or crying about something. At first, I felt bad for the poor girl. She was once a baby nurse and now has been subjected to the cranky Princess Dragomiroff. I would be crying all the time too. However, after spending 12 hours with her, I have grown weary of her tears. I understand her upset: there was murder, lots of blood, lots of fear. But does she have to shriek every time something sacrilegious happens?
Colonel Arbuthnot is a bit of a rascal. He pretends to be a strict, military officer but he is obviously sneaking around with Miss Debenham. He tends to overreact to most situations. He is not very good at keeping his composure. In fact, he is quite impulsive. I am not sure how he survived the war being so emotional. I cannot blame the man for wanting to protect his woman…but have some decorum.
Mary Debenham is the perfect English lady. She is educated, well-mannered, and self-sufficient as a woman. I rather like her. She does not complain much, even when she is shot in the arm. She respects herself and shows kindness towards her fellow passengers. She is non-judgemental and that is uncommon in these parts. I am not sure that we would find commonalities, but I admire her from afar.
Countess Andrenyi is an interesting young woman. She is elegant and refined, yet she will slap a man if he gets too comfortable. She is not afraid to assert herself or stand in a position of power. She is respectful of others, but she is not a doormat. She listens and is always willing to help, but she is also a natural leader. I like that she is ambitious and unafraid to speak her mind. All that aside, I am not sure that she is my cup of tea. She seems a little too good for my liking. Something about her demeanor just does not make sense. On top of that, she seems to have a flirtation with Poirot. Don’t get me wrong, I am all for a good time, but I do not like Poirot. He is weird and mousy. If Countess likes him, I think that speaks more to her character than anything else. You know what they say about the company you keep…
MacQueen is a sweet young man. He is gentlemanly and respectful of women. He is a bit too meek for my personal preference, but he is a nice acquaintance to have on this chaotic train. It is a relief to have a fellow American aboard (one who is not a murderer). He is a little spacey and always anxious about something, but I suppose I would be nervous too if my boss was a mobster. We get along well enough, and I think he finds me endearing.
What do I want?
Mrs. Hubbard: I want to return to my home in Minnesota after a pleasant vacation in the Middle East. I want to kibitz with the passengers and enjoy a restful train ride on the grandiose Orient Express.
Linda Arden’s Overall Goal: I want to kill Bruno Cassetti and get away with it so that I might find peace in the life he has forced me to live.
What is in my way?
Mrs. Hubbard: There was a man murdered in the compartment next door to me, and the killer was in my room! I cannot rest easily knowing that there is a murderer on the loose with a gun. He is also trying to frame me, and he has a key to my compartment. On top of that, the train is unmoving; it is stuck in place thanks to some snow-drift. Because of this delay, I will miss my return ship and no longer make it home on time. I am also now a suspect in an investigation, so all chances of kibitzing are out the window.
Linda Arden: The first obstacle was the addition of a world-renowned detective on the train. Hercule Poirot was an unexpected—and undesired—surprise. Last night, the eight of us were scrambling to create a new plan when the train got stuck in the snow. The train is unable to move because there is no one near to dig us out. Now, we must re-plan a murder in a matter of hours, a murder that we have been devising for four years. If this does not happen now, we may never get a second chance. If this goes poorly, we are trapped with no escape.
What do I do to get what I want?
Mrs. Hubbard: If I am going to be stuck on this train with a murderer, I am going to try my darndest to locate him. I start by collecting clues (the button that I found on my floor in the morning) and bringing it to the detective. I give him my analysis of the situation and make some suggestions for how he might proceed. Poirot seems to be doing a lot of sitting around and talking and I think he should get a move on actually finding this man. If I tell him my theories, hopefully he will realize that I am right. I also go to collect my passport, in case I have to make a run for it. After Miss Debenham is shot, I start to lose faith in Poirot. If I need to save myself, I’m gonna need my passport to do so. If Poirot won’t listen to me and find this killer quickly, I’ll find my own way home.
Linda Arden: The first step of the new plan is shooting Mary in the arm. Initially, we were planning to pretend that the killer had murdered Ratchett in the middle of the night and fled out the window. Due to the snowdrift, our plans were foiled. The killer would not be able to travel anywhere without being tracked. Therefore, we must establish a new route for the killer. In order to convince Poirot that the killer is an outside person, we must all be present for the shooting of Mary. It must appear that everyone is surprised and concerned for her safety. Arbuthnot must bring up her disappearance first and that must coincide with the gunshot. With this new plan, we are all accounted for at the time of Ratchett’s murder and Mary’s shooting, and thus cannot be implicated. We also were not planning to have a detective on board, so our stories must be even more precise than before. They say the best lies are based in truth, so all of the passengers sprinkle a little truth into their lies. We cannot control the weather and we could not stop Poirot from entering the train, but our fates are in our own hands. We must stop ourselves from being found out, no matter what.