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Now that her worry had abated, exhaustion took its place, leaving her more tired than she’d been before. “Merci, Nicholas,” Julia spoke through a yawn. “I’m afraid I was quite lost for a moment.”
He looked up at her from the platform and tipped his black hat. “As we say in my country, ‘Sometimes one must lose himself to find himself.’” He chuckled as if he’d told a joke. “Or in zis case,herself. Au revoir, mademoiselle.”
“Au revoir.” Julia yawned again. She walked along the darkened corridor and retired to her sleeping compartment for the night, so pleased with her accomplishment that Frau Maven’s snores didn’t bother her at all.
Chapter Three
Julia heard a voice outsideher compartment door. “On arrive!” the conductor called, moving down the passageway.
She rolled over, stretched, and winced at the tightness of her bodice. She must have fallen asleep in her gown last night, something she’d never done before. The very idea of not hanging the dress properly in her closet and changing into the nightgown she’d carefully laid out was utterly unaccepta—
She looked around the sleeping compartment, registering what she was seeing, and all thoughts on garment care halted abruptly. She sat up. The deep mahogany wood and velvet curtains had been replaced by durable-looking benches and window blinds. The porcelain basin and its stand were gone altogether, as were Julia’s clothes and luggage. Her cake sat on a small wooden table attached beneath the windowsill.
Now fully awake, she jumped up from the berth. Surely, she couldn’t be in the wrong compartment.Impossible. But there was no mistaking the disparity in her surroundings. This was clearly not a first-class sleeping car on a luxury train.
How could this have happened?
She forced herself to take a breath, sit down, and think through the situation rationally. Last evening she’d boarded the train, bid good night to Nicholas, and then...
Then what?She blinked, trying to remember. After leaving Nicholas, her memory was fuzzy. She remembered moving down the corridor, and she must have found her compartment number on the door. But in her sleepy state and impaired by darkness, she hadn’t realized she was in the wrong car. What other explanation could there be?
Her predicament was embarrassing but easily corrected. She’d have to walk through the train in her wrinkled gown with squashed feathers in her hair to her real sleeping compartment. But with any luck, most of the other passengers would be busy in their own quarters, preparing to disembark in Paris. She looked at both of her watches, noting that she’d been woken later than usual.Muchlater. Had the train been delayed? Her father would not be pleased at having to wait for hours at the Paris station.
She needed to return to her compartment quickly to change her clothes, hopefully before Frau Maven realized her charge had slept in a different part of the train.
A new thought brought an odd mixture of horror and relief. What if the compartment had been occupied when Julia had blindly stumbled inside?
She hung her wrap over her arm with her handbag, picked up the cake, and left the compartment, chuckling to herself as she imagined the catastrophe she’d narrowly avoided.
The laughter died on her lips, however, when she came to the door separating the train cars and a conductor stepped into the passageway, blocking her path. He looked down a long thin nose, beneath which a bushy straw-colored mustache twitched. “S’il vous plaît, mademoiselle.Passengers are not permitted in the baggage car.”
The baggage car? But the first-class carriage was directly behind the baggage car. She blinked again, glancing out the window to determine the train’s direction and trying to comprehend how she’d become so disoriented. “I’m returning to my compartment, if you please,” she told the conductor, doing her best to stand tall, despite how silly she knew she must look. “In the first-class car.”
The conductor glanced back at the compartment she’d come out of, raising his bushy brows. “The PLM Railway has no first-class car, mademoiselle. Perhaps you are confused. Too much to drink last evening, eh?” He looked pointedly at the smashed feathers and the cake.
“No, I...” Julia’s words trailed off as cold filled her insides. “What did you say? ThePLMRailway?” She looked back out the window. Instead of the green rolling hills and the blue Marne River overhung with lush willows, the view was of tall rocky mountains with scrubby-looking trees. On a distant hill, she could make out a stone city surrounded by a wall. Pulling her gaze back to the conductor, she realized he didn’t wear the brass-buttoned uniform of a Wagons Lit conductor but a gray coat and a hat with an unfamiliar symbol. The chill spread, tingeing her thoughts with panic.
“Sir.” She grabbed on to his arm, choking on her words. “Where am I?”
“We left Montélimar perhaps an hour and a half ago, mademoiselle.”
“Provence?” Julia released the man’s arm, feeling lightheaded as the truth of the situation settled over her.No, no, no. This can’t be happening.She’d traveled hundreds of miles in the wrong direction. She looked at her watch, then the pocket watch that hung at her waist. Her father and grand-mère would have met the train—the right train—hours earlier. They must be frantic with worry. She leaned against the wall of the corridor, feeling faint, her thoughts rushing in every direction as she tried to make sense of the situation.
“Mademoiselle, you are unwell?”
“I must send a telegram to my father right away.” She moved closer to the window, looking down the tracks in hopes of seeing a city. “I was expected hours ago in Paris. He will be sick with worry.”
“Paris?” The conductor shook his head and made a tutting noise. “Oh la la, you are very far from home.” He held out a hand, urging her to return back along the corridor. “Come along, mademoiselle. Return to your compartment and rest. I will bring something to calm you.”
Julia didn’t move. An ache had started in her head, and she rubbed at it absently. “That is not my compartment.”
He moved closer, as if to herd her in the direction he wanted her to go. “Mademoiselle, you are confused and—”
The train’s whistle cut his words short.
The sound firmed Julia’s resolve. She drew herself up, standing tall. This was not the time to fall apart. She was perfectly capable of managing a small miscalculation. The train slowed, nearing its next stop. She would simply disembark and, at the station, find a timetable, purchase a new ticket, and send a telegram to her father. Thank goodness for the cash in her handbag. Within a few hours, she would be on her way to Paris, and tonight, she and her family would laugh about theerreurover a slice of gugelhupf. “I am not confused, thank you,” she told the conductor in a much calmer voice.
The twitch of his mustache indicated he wasn’t entirely convinced, but he moved away to his post by the door in preparation for the train’s arrival at the station.
