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“Should?” Mary raised her eyebrows. “Quite probably. But I am not yet ready to take it. To return to your original question, yes, I believe I shall go to the theater. I shall insist upon it. I have brought with me some gowns suitable for such occasions. Unfortunately I could not bring my favorite because it is silk, and I marked it right at the front where it shows.”
“Can it not be cleaned?” Hester said sympathetically.
“Oh certainly, but there wasn’t time before I left. I’m sure Nora will take care of it in my absence. But apart from the fact that I like it, unfortunately it is the only gown I have which really sets off my gray pearl pin, so I didn’t bring it. It is quite beautiful, but gray pearls are not easy to wear; I really don’t care for it with colors, or with anything that glitters. Still, no matter. It is only a week, and I daresay we shall have few enough formal occasions. And I am going in order to see Griselda, not to sample London’s social life.”
“I expect she is very excited about having her first child?”
“Not at the moment,” Mary said, pulling a small face. “But she will do. I am afraid she worries about her health overmuch. There is really nothing wrong with her, you know.” Mary stood up at last, and Hester rose to her feet quickly to offer her arm in assistance. “Thank you, my dear,” Mary accepted. “She just worries about every little ache and pain, imagining it to be some serious fault with the child, or some irreparable defect. That is a bad habit, and one men dislike intensely, unless, of course, it is something wrong with them.” She stood at the compartment entrance, slender and very straight, a smile on her lips. “I shall warn Griselda of that. And assure her that she has no cause for anxiety. Her child will be perfectly well.”
The train was slowing again, and when it reached the station they both alighted to take advantage of the facilities offered. Hester found herself returned to the carriage first. She did what she could to tidy the seats, spread the rug ready for Mary and shook the footwarmer again. It really was getting very chilly now and the darkness beyond the windows was spotted with rain. She took down the medicine chest and opened it. The vials were all stacked in neat rows, the first one already used, the glass empty. She had not noticed it when she had seen it in Edinburgh, but the glass was tinted and the liquid hard to see. Nora must have used that one this morning, which was foolish. That meant they were one short. Still, possibly it was easy enough to replace, providing she warned Mary in time.
She stifled a yawn with difficulty. She really was very tired. It had been thirty-six hours since she had had a proper sleep. At least tonight she would be able to put her feet up and relax, instead of sitting upright between two other people. “Oh, you have the chest down,” Mary said from the entranceway. “I suppose you are right. Morning will be here soon enough.” She came in, swaying a little with the rough movement as the train jerked forward and began to pick up speed.
Hester put out her hand to steady her, and Mary sat down.
The conductor appeared at the doorway, his uniform spotless, buttons gleaming.
“Evening, ladies. Everything well wi’ ye?” He touched the peak of his cap with his forefinger.
Mary had been staring out of the window at the streaming night, not that there was anything to see but the rain and the darkness. She turned around abruptly. Then her face paled for an instant, before the calm returned in a flood of relief.
“Oh, yes, thank you.” She took a quick breath. “Yes, all is well.”
“Right y’are, ma’am. Then I’ll bid ye good night. London at a quarter past nine.”
“Yes, thank you. Good night.”
“Good night,” Hester added as he retreated quickly, walking with a peculiar ungainliness that kept his balance perfectly.
“Are you all right?” Hester said anxiously. “Did he startle you? I think perhaps we are a little late with your medicine. I must insist you take it now. You do look rather pale.”
Mary pulled the rug over herself and Hester tucked it around her.
“Yes, I am perfectly all right,” Mary said firmly. “The wretched man reminded me of someone else, that long nose and brown eyes; he looked just like Archie Frazer for a moment.”
“Someone you dislike?” Hester took the stopper out of the vial and poured the liquid into the little glass provided.
“I don’t know the man personally.” Mary’s lip curled in distaste. “He was a witness in the Galbraith case, at least what should have been the Galbraith case, had it come to court. It was dismissed. Alastair said there was insufficient evidence.”
Hester offered her the glass and she took it and drank, pulling a slight face. Oonagh had also packed some small sugared sweets to take away the taste, and Hester offered her one. She took it gratefully.
“Then Mr. Frazer was a public figure?” She pursued the subject to take Mary’s mind off the taste of the medicine. She returned the glass to its place and closed the chest, lifting it back onto the luggage rack.
“More or less.” Mary lay down and made herself as comfortable as she could, and Hester tucked the rug more closely around her.
“He visited the house one night,” Mary continued. “A little weasel of a man, creeping in and out like some nocturnal creature bent on no good. That is the only time I have seen him in person. It was by lamplight, just like that wretched conductor, poor soul. I am sure I am maligning him.” She smiled. “And possibly Frazer too.” But still there was uncertainty in her voice. “Now please go to sleep yourself. I know perfectly well you are ready for it. They will call us well in time to rise and make ourselves respectable for London.”
Hester looked at the single oil lamp which gave the soft, yellowish light in the compartment. There was no way to turn it down, but she doubted its glow would keep either of them awake.
She curled up in the seat as comfortably as possible, and was amazed that in a few minutes the rhythmic rattle of the wheels over the ties lulled her to sleep.
She woke several times, but only to try to make herself more comfortable and wish she were a little warmer. Her dreams were troubled with memories of the Crimea, of being cold and overtired and yet ready to keep awake to care for those who were immeasurably worse.
Finally she woke up with a start to find the conductor in the doorway, looking at her cheerfully.
“London in half an hour, ma’am,” he said. “Morning to ye!” And he disappeared.
&nbs
