The Flying Scotsman (28 page)

“It is as if we were being driven into the open. I cannot feel reassured in any way.” He turned to study my face. “You are a rare sight, Guthrie. You must let me warn Herr Schere and Miss Gatspy before they see you, or their dismay could draw attention to your condition in a way you would not like.”

“Part of being driven into the open?” I suggested as I fixed a fresh collar in place.

“Exactly.” He watched me pull on the second coat I had brought on this journey. “Best take care of that one.”

“If I ruin this one, I could ask Sir Cameron for the loan of one of his. It would fit well enough.” I managed to smile at this absurd idea.

“Good lad. I knew from the first you had bottom. Miss Gatspy was right to be concerned when you did not report to relieve her guardian duties.” He put my portfolio down and went back to the door. “Come along in a few minutes. We’ll all be the better for our supper.” With that he closed the door and a moment later I heard him knocking on the door of the next compartment where he was admitted promptly. I took that as my cue, picked up the white jacket and went along to the lav to wash up.

Inspecting my face in the mirror, I wondered if I ought to go into the dining car. I had a bruise forming over my left eye—the blue one—that was bigger than the palm of my hand and might excite no little interest from the other passengers. My lip was cut and swelling a bit as well, and my torn hands were puffy and discolored, although the scraps were superficial. I knew I would be stiff and sore tomorrow. But I was expected and my absence might be more conspicuous than my presence. And I was hungry, and in need of genial company, I realized. I neatened my face to the best of my limited ability, ran my pocket-comb through my hair, shrugged, and went off to the dining car, my portfolio in one hand, the white jacket in the other.

I gave the jacket to the maître d’, who accepted my thanks with a hint of a smile, then led me to the table where Mycroft Holmes sat with Prince Oscar and Miss Gatspy. Mycroft Holmes was facing me, and the chair beside him was empty. I steadied myself to face the other two as I approached.

“There you are, Guthrie. Looking improved already,” Holmes cried out. “Quite a tumble you took out there.”

“Yes, it was. I was clumsy,” I said as I sat down and met Miss Gatspy’s cerulean gaze; her expression flickered but nothing more, so I knew Holmes had warned her about my appearance.

“Still, no real harm done, thank goodness.” He laid his hand on my shoulder. “After such a journey as we have had, this is all of a piece.”

“That it is,” said Prince Oscar, appearing a bit subdued or perhaps bored. He looked directly at Mycroft Holmes. “Mister Holcomb, I am worried about our arrival in Scotland. We will be much later than we had anticipated, which must change our plans.”

“Yes, I have been thinking about that, Herr Schere,” Holmes replied, sounding so urbane that I almost laughed aloud. “I have a secondary arrangement we may use if it becomes necessary.”

The waiter approached the table and asked which of the appetizers we wanted: Holmes ordered the broiled salmon, as did Prince Oscar; I ordered the pate, and Miss Gatspy asked for the deviled eggs. A dry French white was selected by Holmes to start, with a rich Bordeaux for later in the meal.

“I am glad to see you are not badly hurt,” said Prince Oscar, his face somber but his eyes oddly wistful. “You had quite a run for it.”

“That is certainly one way to look at it,” I said, doing my best to seem unbowed by the events that had left me so cudgeled.

“What were you doing off the train?” asked Miss Gatspy, a sharp note in her question that warned me she would not accept a trivial answer.

“I thought I might help the police in their search,” I said blandly, meeting her sharp look with a steady one.

“Your employer sent you to find something,” she said with certainty, and added, for the benefit of anyone who might be listening, “How very like
Satchel’s
to want every tidbit of information, favorable or not, about travel.”

“Yes. Very like,” said Holmes and prepared to taste the wine.

Our appetizers were replaced by soup—an oxtail in heavy broth or a creamed carrot soup in the Belgian style—and then a tureen of chicken in custard before our main courses. I found myself ravenous and queasy at once, inclined to eat and abstain in the same instant. Hunger won consistently, but I could sense that I would be wise not to indulge overmuch. By the time my entrée—a pork loin with turnips and mustard—was served I had slowed my consumption and was dawdling over the meal.

“Have a care, Guthrie,” said Miss Gatspy. “After so much ill-usage, you may not want to indulge too much.” She smiled, so I could not be sure whether she was genuinely concerned or joking.

“Possibly not,” I conceded. “I appreciate your concern.”

She chuckled. “Nothing of the sort, Guthrie,” she said, mischief brimming in her eyes. “You think I should mind my own business, and you would be very much more comfortable if I would tell you precisely what that business is.”

I had been cutting a bit of turnip, but her acute remark so caught my attention that I arrested myself. “Are you willing to tell us what—”

“I have already said what my intentions are, and you prefer to disbelieve me. Well, if that is your desire, so be it. I will do my best to attend to ... Herr Schere. I trust you will do nothing to impede my efforts.” She had ordered the sole, and she stopped talking to try the fish with her fork.

“So long as that is truly your intention, there is no reason for us to be at odds,” I said, strangely relieved that I had put my portfolio between my back and the back of my chair. Not that there was anything in it at present more strategic than Sutton’s sketches, I reminded myself, feeling a bit discomfited that I should be so suspicious of Penelope Gatspy.

“You would have a better use of your time if you would try to find the assassin—” she began only to have Mycroft Holmes interrupt her.

“Yes, and it is something that merits more study, but not, perhaps, here?” He poured a bit of the Bordeaux into her glass, saying, “It is not proper with fish, but unless I order a white for you—”

“My dear sir,” said Miss Gatspy archly, “if an inappropriate wine is the worst I have out of this journey, I will think myself very well satisfied.”

“Very good,” Mycroft Holmes approved, as he poured the Bordeaux into her glass. “Never let it be known that I did this.”

“Certainly not,” she said, and returned her attention to me. “And you, Guthrie. Does Holcomb’s lapse trouble you? You must work with him.” She lifted her glass in an ironic toast.

I felt an unreasonable inclination to shake her. This was no game we were engaged in—the danger we faced was real. At the same time I admired her courage, knowing she was a woman in a thousand, a recognition that made me more conscious than ever of our mission. I seconded her toast, unable to think of anything else to do. “He is never dull, I will say.”

Mycroft Holmes laughed aloud. I found myself thinking how much he shared Sutton’s talent, performing with all the verve of those who trod the boards. “Guthrie, I am deeply complimented that you should say such a thing of me.” He sipped his wine.

“Well, why should I not?” I asked, feeling caught in a contest I did not entirely understand.

I had no answer from Holmes or Miss Gatspy; my employer glanced around, saying, “At least Arthur Burley has left the train. That is one thing we can take comfort in knowing.” His visage was ironic and his smile was a bit sour, but he toasted the journalist. “Good luck to him.”

We all echoed this sentiment and went on with our supper.

I ate only half of my entrée and I refused the sweet at the end of the meal, for I realized it would not sit well with me. The most immediate pain had passed, a dull, relentless ache taking its place. The conversation of the others remained innocuous, and ordinarily I would have done my part, bur this time I could not summon up the banter that was called for. I told myself the strain of the journey was telling on me, but I knew it was more complicated than that. We had so much at risk, and if we failed to protect Prince Oscar, our failure would be exposed for all the world to see. As I drank my tea, I noticed the train was slowing down. “Good Lord, what now?”

“Something of importance,” Prince Oscar suggested as the buzz of conversation among the other diners increased.

“Haven’t our travels been eventful enough?” I asked, making no excuse for my petulance.

“It’s Skipton just ahead,” said Holmes. “There may be a train waiting for water, as we shall be, for there is a junction at Skipton as well as the water and we are very late coming through.” He looked out the window, seeing only the darkness of the spring night with occasional points of light showing the outlying houses of the town.

“We are nearing the long, empty stretch to Carlisle,” and Miss Gatspy. “It is a part of the country that many admire.” She finished her sweet and smiled at me. “Do you admire this wild part of England? Before you answer, remember that my own family came from the North.”

“I recall,” I said, somewhat testily, for I had not yet determined which of the things she had told me were truth and which were mendacities. “And as a Scot, I am drawn to the rugged crags and empty moors.”

“How very unexpected,” she said, amused by my confusion. “Perhaps we should return to our compartments so we may make whatever plans we might need?”

Mycroft Holmes took her suggestion with alacrity, rising and summoning the waiter. “Give me the bill, if you would.”

The waiter hastened to comply, and I levered myself to my feet and turned to take my portfolio as the train stopped.

“There’s a freight ahead on the tracks,” the waiter explained. “We will be moving up shortly. It’s the last water for a while.” He waited while Mycroft Holmes paid him and added a tip for service, then bowed and went away.

We were almost to the first car when the train lurched and we staggered as the train inched forward.

“That will be the freight leaving,” said Holmes. “We’re pulling onto the siding where it was.” The car swung as the train turned. “There. You see?” He continued on his way, making sure his hands were ready to brace himself if we should be flung about again.

“When do you think we will arrive in Edinburgh?” Prince Oscar asked as we crossed the platform to the first car. “This will make us more late, will it not?”

“No matter what schedule the train keeps, it must stop here for water,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Do not fret about this. If
we reach Carlisle in two and a half hours, we should be in Edinburgh by one in the morning, assuming we have no other delays but those necessary ones of switching in Carlisle.”

“Ah yes, the two rear cars going to Glasgow,” said Prince Oscar.

“There will be baggage to transfer,” I reminded them. “That may not go as quickly as we would like.” I recalled the resistance of the baggage compartment door and my impression of an interior chain.

“What is it, Guthrie?” Holmes asked, apparently discerning something of my concern from my countenance. We had reached compartment five and Miss Gatspy had just excused herself for a moment.

I reiterated my impression of the chain, and added, “I cannot be sure, but if there is an interior chain, I am baffled as to why they might need one.”

“There are any number of reasons, all of them rational,” said Holmes, as he indicated the door to my compartment—it being the most central to the car, we had determined we would talk there, for if the train were being watched, we would have to suppose that the watcher had determined that compartment four was Herr Schere’s. “It may be that the ordinary lock is in poor repair and therefore something more secure is wanted. It is possible that some of the baggage cannot be fully contained, and therefore the door requires a chain. Or the police may have ordered it when we reached Sheffield.” He pulled out the small side stool and sat down, looking like an eagle attempting to perch on a wren’s nest; he indicated the Prince should occupy the day-bed. “Lower the shade, if you would, dear boy,” he said to me. I complied at once, and then took up my place near the door, my shoulders braced in the angle of the compartment. I was resigned to standing.

Prince Oscar sat down carefully. “Now what was that about two assassins?” he asked, without any preamble whatsoever.

“Yes. Well, that is the current assumption we must deal with,” said Holmes, with as little preparation as the Prince had shown. “Our information confirms we are dealing with a brace of them.”

A knock at the door announced the return of Miss Gatspy. I hastened to admit her and was mildly annoyed to see her take her place next to Prince Oscar, for I thought it would be more suitable for her to stand.

Just as Holmes began to speak, a rush and a penetrating whistle alerted us that a train was coming through on the main track, bound to the south. We could not see it with the shades lowered, but the clatter of its passing silenced us until it was gone.

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS

Yvgeny Tschersky has come to the flat bringing a file filled with reports
—
most of them in Russian—about a pair of assassins. It is most unusual for him to visit in this manner, so I must suppose he perceives a danger or an urgency in his reports that requires his most circumspect attention. He told me MH would want to see this and that he should arrange to return it clandestinely, since it was not supposed to leave the Russian Embassy. Tschersky tells me that these assassins have eluded police and other pursuers for more than four years that he knows of, though he suspects they have been working for longer than that. I have placed the file in MH’s study for his perusal on his return.

Sutton has not yet returned, but I am not yet concerned. No doubt he will be back in time to send his report with my own to MH. I have my telegrams to prepare to be sent to Carlisle, and then it is only a question to hear from Edinburgh that they have arrived safely and the Prince is unharmed. The Norwegian yacht
Morning Star
will escort HMS
Imperative
bearing HHPO home, and our part will have concluded successfully.