I Was On That Train

Jeffrey Brett

Description

The sooty, bellowing, clattering steam trains of another era gave every journey an atmosphere of excitement and expectancy. The whole course of a traveller's life might depend on whether he caught the nine fifty or the ten ten; his fate might be decided by his choice of compartments. In each of these short stories a train journey provides the backdrop for a momentous encounter or life-changing experience, but each story has a different twist. There is comedy as well as tragedy, romance as well as mystery and fellow travellers include figures from history, guardian angels and ghosts!

Sujets

• Short story
• Romance

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 16 décembre 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780722345818
• Langue: English

Extrait

Title page
I Was On That Train
Jeffrey Brett
ARTHUR H. STOCKWELL LTD
Torrs Park, Ilfracombe, Devon, EX34 8BA
Established 1898
www.ahstockwell.co.uk



Publisher information
© Jeffrey Brett, 2015
First published in Great Britain, 2015
2015 digital version by Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright holder.



Dedication
For
Emily, Dawn and Jenny
For their interminable belief, support and encouragement.
Thank you
Love always.



The Perfect Murder
The Hackney coach driver was keen to arrive at the station entrance as he manoeuvred his vehicle in between other cabs that had already secured a parking spot. The historic facade of Victoria Station, London, was a welcome sight as he turned around to let his passengers know that they’d arrived. But what was he talking about passengers ? He’d only picked up a single fare. It had been to say the least a rather unusual journey. A man, a gentleman so it would appear by his dress had hailed his cab outside the Grand Mansions, in Bayswater Road. A well-travelled man too going by the number of different station labels that adorned his large suitcase, his only item of luggage.
The journey had started out normally, as it always did, a little idle chit-chat that was the normal repertoire of a London cabbie, but somewhere into the short journey a third voice, a voice of scholarly distinction had joined in the conversation. That’s when the driver despite checking his rear-view mirror and seeing only the man sitting alone in the back seat had decided to shut the interconnecting window mumbling something about needing to concentrate on his driving. Despite his humming to himself the voices had continued to haunt him from the back seat. As the man paid the fare and summoned the assistance of a porter for the suitcase, he looked back and thanked the driver. The taxi driver tutted to himself, he’d had a right nutter here, despite having the appearance of a toff. He pocketed the money and turned away from his parking bay, not even waiting to see if a return fare was waiting. He needed to be away from the man in case he changed his mind.
At the ticket office the trainee clerk raised an eyebrow when the gentleman asked for a single ticket to Brighton and a mysterious second voice interjected with ‘Don’t tell them I’m going too!’
The clerk raised himself higher on his stool to get a better view, but all he saw was the lone passenger and despite hearing a second voice he was definitely alone.
Doubt however still invited the question ‘Are you travelling with a young child?’
‘Oh no, sir, I assure you that I require just the one ticket, thank you!’ replied the passenger.
The young clerk wasn’t sure, but as the man picked up his suitcase and proceeded across to the platform barrier he heard the voice again. ‘Steady on, Lord Fortney.’
He stood up again and looked around the station concourse not wanting to appear bewildered, but all he saw were other commuters going about their business. None appeared to be paying any attention to the smartly dressed gentleman as he arrived at the barrier. He must have been mistaken. It certainly was going to be a long shift and to make matters worse he spied the stationmaster looking enquiringly his way.
The guard clipped the ticket and bade the gentleman a good journey.
‘The Brighton train leaves in ten minutes, sir, the station clock is accurate to the second. Plenty of time to kill. You find yourself a good seat now and there’s a restaurant car near the back of the train once the train leaves Victoria.’
Heading down the platform a short distance behind the gentleman was a lady also from the Knightsbridge area, accompanied by her chauffeur. She berated the poor man as he struggled with her many bags.
‘Do come along, Watkins, I could have done the porterage better had I arranged it myself!’
It was just as well that she was walking forwards as she missed Watkins’ reply. He thought of her young niece Beatrice down in Brighton, questioning the girl’s sanity as to why the girl had invited her aunt to stay.
Pulling open the coach door to the carriage compartment the gentleman turned and saw the lady approaching. He politely offered her the compartment, but she refused his invitation on the grounds one never knew what intentions a man travelling alone could have, regardless of his appearance. Despite the rebuke the gentleman smiled anyway and nodded at Watkins. He entered the carriage dragging his suitcase behind him. He heard the lady tell her chauffeur that the next compartment appeared suitable to her taste.
A voice piped up, ‘Cor, she’s a rum ’un for sure!’
The gentleman agreed, taking his seat as he chuckled.
‘Kindly ask the porter to have a reserved notice placed on the door, Watkins, it will prevent other miscreants from travelling with me.’
The beleaguered chauffeur refused to let the remark get the better of him. He looked at the porter who was nearby and instead raised his eyebrows, of course out of sight of his mistress. Quite often as was the case in hand, ignorance was best left to the unenlightened.
Watkins turned and walked away muttering under his breath, ‘A whole bloody train full of people and she wants a compartment to herself, silly cow!’
‘I heard that, Watkins.’
But the piercing whistle from the guard’s carriage threw a shield of protection around the chauffeur as a gloved hand raised the door window into the closed position and promptly on 9.32 a.m. the train departed from Victoria.
Suddenly a voice boomed down the platform as Watkins was only feet away from the barrier.
‘And don’t forget, Watkins, to walk and feed the dog!’
The platform porters and barrier guard all laughed at the poor chauffeur.
‘She’s a right battleaxe you got there, mate!’ one said.
Watkins nodded as a plume of steam wafted down from the roof of the train coaches and engulfed his mistress. It seemed the whole station erupted into laughter as the guard closed his carriage door with a wink of his eye. Watkins could be heard chuckling the loudest.
‘So, Henry junior, do you fancy a tipple, old chap?’
‘Have I ever refused, m’lord?’
The coach walls were not as thick as the designer had originally intended. The inference of a titled gentleman in the next compartment was overheard by the lady from Knightsbridge. She mused to herself that perhaps the journey was not destined to be as boring as she had initially thought. She wondered if she should introduce herself, but protocol dictated she’d best leave it a little while longer into the journey, it was never good to force yourself upon a man so soon.
Instead she placed her book down on the seat beside her and rested her head back to listen some more. There were distinct advantages of having the compartment to herself. As she cocked her ear to listen again, she surmised that the gentleman must have met somebody else on the train as there were definitely two persons in the compartment next door and the other voice certainly belonged to a younger person.
‘Thought you wouldn’t. This is going to be a messy business!’
‘Not too messy, I hope, Lord Fortney, you know I’m a little squeamish.’
The Knightsbridge lady thought hard, did she know of a Lord Fortney? Her mind scanned the catalogue of her social acquaintances, but alas for the present no memory or image was forthcoming.
‘Of course it all depends on whether Mother is home or not today,’ continued Lord Fortney.
The younger man replied, contemplating his reply as he spoke. ‘Umm, Tuesday is bridge night, Wednesday is the dogs and Thursday is her night off, that is unless Maud wins at bingo then it’s down to the Duck and Dog. You know how the old girl likes to celebrate a win.’
‘No, I heard Mother say the other evening that Maud’s run of luck had apparently deserted her this week, so she should be home this evening.’
The Knightsbridge lady put a gloved hand to her mouth in astonishment. She could not believe what she was hearing, a titled man with a mother who frequented drinking establishments and gambling dens. Dashed rotten luck she thought and wasn’t bridge on a Sunday traditionally!
‘So who’s going to do it?’ the young man asked.
‘We’ll toss for it. Do you have a coin?’
There was a moment’s lull in the conversation. With her ear still cocked she guessed that the coin had been flipped and the decision had been made.
‘Unfortunately, old chap, it appears that you lost the toss so the deed is down to you!’
‘What time do you think would be best?’
The lady couldn’t believe the coolness of the young man. She apprehensively realised that this was probably not his first time. She was glad that she had not gone next door and introduced herself to the two men. She’d heard at the ladies’ bridge club that unmentionable things happen to ladies on trains.
‘Oh, definitely when she’s asleep.’
‘Too messy. Means you’ve got to dispose of the bedding as well as the body and she’s heavy so it’d mean lugging her across the landing and down the stairs to the cellar.’
‘Umm, I didn’t consider that. Yes, the old girl has broadened her hips lately, too much port I suppose!’ exclaimed Lord Fortney.
The Knightsbridge lady was aghast with shock. The plot being hatched in the next carriage was ghastly, where was Watkins when she needed him?
‘Look, I’ve drawn a plan of the apartment, so we can choose where best to do it.’
‘Why a plan? We lived there once, remember.’
‘It