She didn’t look impressible. Just then she was eyeing Sir Quentin with undisguised disapproval. “I doubt that, Mr. Ballingall. And don’t worry. I have no intention of going anywhere. I’m not letting that tiara out of my sight.”
2
Caveat Viator
Railway travel is by far the most efficient means of seeing our fair island. The comforts of the modern rail carriage permit the traveler to enjoy the sights of England, without having to endure its climate or people.
—Hardcastle’s Practical Travel Companion
Aunt Helena and Miss Judson were not well pleased to find me alone in the company of Sir Quentin and Mrs. Bloom. They stormed aboard, trailed by the harried Miss Highsmith, now toting the knitted bag, the travel rug, a picnic hamper, and a tennis racquet and looking like she was about to faint.
“Helena Myrtle!” my aunt barked. “Where have you been? You gave Judson a terror, disappearing like that!”
I had never seen Miss Judson in a terror, but she certainly looked piqued. Eyebrow quirked, she beckoned me with a crook of her finger. I hung tight to Peony’s hatbox and composed my defense, but Sir Quentin made it unnecessary. And impossible.
He grabbed me in another bone-crushing squeeze. “Helena, give the girl some credit! She’s a plucky lass, just like you.”
Now Aunt Helena spotted Mrs. Bloom. “I might have known,” she said, charging down the carriage like a bull. “You haven’t made a pest of yourself with decent people enough, Mrs. Bloom, that you must go about accosting their children!”
She yanked me toward her. I was going to get a concussion at this rate.
“Nobody accosted me! I followed her.”
“Myrtle suspected I might be planning to sabotage the train.” Mrs. Bloom said this with complete gravity, and not to make the other adults laugh. “She was naturally concerned.”
“Naturally,” Miss Judson murmured.
“Sabotage?” Aunt Helena sniffed. “On an English train? I hardly think so.”
Miss Judson coughed politely. I freed myself and Peony at last and hastened over to her.
Aunt Helena was not finished with Mrs. Bloom. “You are a disgrace to respectable company, and I’ll see Sir Quentin throw you out on your ear.” She banged her stick against the carpeted floor for emphasis. Aunt Helena was irascible and disapproving as a rule (you could classify her scientifically by the trait: Amita helena irritabilis)—but this seemed out of proportion, even for her.
“Well, you could try,” Mrs. Bloom offered conversationally. “But Mr. Ballingall and I have come to an agreement. Isn’t that right? Miss Hardcastle, do sit down before you topple the train, and Miss Highsmith, you’re not a pack mule. Don’t let her treat you like one.”
Sir Quentin tried to be appeasing. “Mrs. Bloom is merely here to, shall we say, oversee the arrangements. Isn’t that right, Myrtle?”
I didn’t like being drawn into their disagreement, and I wasn’t sure how to answer that. But I was saved from replying when the vestibule doors once more made their shrieking announcement of the arrival of yet another party.
“Father! Where have you got to? Everyone’s waiting for your speech!” This was delivered by a younger, female version of Sir Quentin. Several years older than Miss Judson, she was squat and plump, with colorless hair scraped back into a knot, and birdlike eyes in her round face.
“Temperance!” Sir Quentin boomed. “Come and meet our guests. We’ve assembled early. Jumped the gun, so to speak.”
Miss Ballingall clomped aboard, clad in a drab plaid cape over a faded walking skirt. Her right arm was bent at her waist, the fist balled up as if hiding something, and in her left she bore a startlingly large pair of gleaming gold scissors.
“Oh, good,” said Aunt Helena. “I assumed Cicely had lost them.”
“It was ever so kind of you to lend them, dear Helena,” said Miss Ballingall. “You know how Father loves his ceremony!” She held the scissors out to Sir Quentin, who replied with a disappointed scowl.
“You’ve all invaded my train before we could have the ceremony,” he huffed. “Not much point to it anymore.”
“Father, don’t be silly. You’ve prepared your speech. That’s all that matters. We’d love to hear it.”
“Nope, nope. Won’t hear of it now. I’ll go and tell them to take down the ribbon. Where’s that porter? Must get the ladies settled.” He took the scissors and bustled out the opposite door, behind the piano.
Miss Ballingall came smiling through the carriage. “Well. What a muddle! Father won’t soon forget this,” she said, with a wink. “He’ll be telling that story for years. Everyone, come and sit down, or should I fetch the porters so you can all see to your compartments? Yes, that’s best, isn’t it?”
She reached up with her left arm and tugged on the signal wire, which swagged along the length of the ceiling. “Don’t do this while we’re running, though—it will stop the train.”
She turned to me, solemn and merry at the same time. “Miss Myrtle, we are Very Glad Indeed to have you aboard. I hope you enjoy our little Excursion. Dear Helena speaks of you constantly, and I feel I’ve known you—and you, Miss Judson, of course!—for years.”
She moved on to Mrs. Bloom. “I’m sorry we didn’t have a chance to meet earlier. I hope Father wasn’t too dreadful.”
“Not at all, Miss Ballingall. I hope you’ve been well.”
Miss Ballingall’s face clouded, and she rubbed absently at her arm. “Life with Father on one of his schemes is always such a whirlwind!”
“I’m sure he’ll make a great success of it, my dear,” said Mrs. Bloom.
Miss Ballingall tried to laugh. “Well, we’ll try at any rate! Sunny Fairhaven awaits. Good thing you’ve brought your umbrella.” Still rubbing her arm, she set off toward the vestibule door. “Let me arrange a compartment for you. We’re not so full up as all that.”
v
Under the cheerful direction of Miss Ballingall, we got settled in our compartments, such as they were.
“How can you be disappointed?” demanded Miss Judson, surveying her bed in all its gilded and flounced and befringed glory, the glittering crystal chandelier, the Turkish carpet. “This is positively luxurious!”
“The Brochure said Pullman sleeping cars.” I’d expected clever convertible furniture—settees that turned into bunks, or berths that folded down from the ceiling. “These are just bedrooms. Isn’t anything on here a proper train?”