Chapter Text
“No sign of him anywhere, sir.” Enola heard the policeman who had just brushed past her say.
Enola’s neck prickled even as she walked steadily toward the train. Surely even the great detective Sherlock could not have deduced her escape plan so quickly?
She breathed out quietly when she heard the next words, this time in the clipped tones of a lady:
“I want an assurance that my son is not...”
Eyes scanning for an open carriage door, Enola quietly registered the policeman’s words: “He's not on this train.” Then another man’s polished tones: “Of course he's on the train! You simply haven't looked properly.”
“Sir, I've had my officers search this train from top to bottom.”
Good, Enola thought. They won’t be searching the train again. She spotted an open door and hopped on.
“- Darling, perhaps we should just...” an even more posh lady’s accent — if that were possible. And here Enola thought she and Mother had sounded like they inhabited a different world from Mrs Lane and the villagers around Ferndell.
“Quiet, Mother.” Well that polished man sounds bossy, Enola thought. I cannot imagine Mother would stand for that kind of order from her sons, Enola thought fondly.
The thought of her mother reminded her of her mission. Phase One was going as planned and it was time to work on Phase 2.
Yet the carriage was empty and her curiosity was piqued. So she leaned out the window and watched the small group of elegantly dressed, but clearly distraught, men and women at the end of the platform.
“He had the carriage drop him here this morning. He must be here somewhere.” That must be the missing boy’s mother — it must be a boy, judging by the age of the woman, and a grown man would not engender such worry, Enola thought.
“Well, we're not even sure the darling boy's on the train. I'm so sorry. This is such a fuss.” That must be the grandmother.
“This train must leave. We're running extremely late.” The station master was clearly agitated, for a different reason.
“You don't understand. This is my son.” My son, not our son, Enola thought. So the man isn’t her husband.
“It leaves now.” A whistle blew.
“Don't let this train leave, we’ve got someone on it!” The woman sounded desperate, frantic underneath her demanding tone.
Enola held her breath for a beat.
“All aboard!”
“ I insist!”
Enola felt sorry for the poor woman, who looked like she was holding back tears of frustration — and from her stiff posture: intense worry. She felt an odd kinship with the woman — she had known the same anxiety and fear since her 16th birthday presented her with a missing Mother.
Enola glanced ahead as the train jerked to a start. A man in a brown bowler hat was just jumping on board near the front of the train. Oddly, he looked toward the end of the platform and touched his hat. Enola looked back as the train pulled away. It was too far to make out the faces now to see who the man was nodding to.
These observations percolated in the back of Enola’s mind as she turned around to find a seat. A gentleman in a tweed jacket opened the carriage door and entered at that moment. Right, let’s find somewhere quiet to think, she thought, and headed toward the back of the train, instinctively putting some space between her and the man in the brown bowler hat.
She found an empty compartment in the next train car. With a sigh, Enola slid the door shut and sat down, taking off her — Sherlock’s rather — jacket as she did so.
She would have to find a place to stay in London and she had no inkling where to start. Mother had only spoken of London in general terms. They had never visited Mycroft or Sherlock and all Enola knew she read in the newspapers and books. She wished she had thought to bring one with her to look for advertisements or place names.
Now she also had a more immediate concern before she reached London. She hoped the man in the brown bowler hat knew what the boy he was looking for looked like, because she most certainly did not want to be confused with the missing young man. All these thoughts flashed through her mind as she rolled up Sherlock’s slightly-too-long shirt sleeves. Perhaps she should affect an accent like Mrs Lane’s...
A rustle in the empty carriage made her pause. Enola looked about in consternation. A slight thudding as if against carpet, then a sneeze. Enola gasped as with a dawning realisation came an undercurrent of alarm. The outsized carpet bag on the rack opposite her was shifting; a blade poked out and started slicing through the fabric.
As a hand emerged out of the bag Enola knew.
Later she would reflect that it was quite a clever plan — hiding in a bag. Perhaps she would borrow the idea some time.
For the moment, Enola had a stowaway to deal with.
************
Tewkesbury had waited a decent interval after the train started moving. The bag was dusty and his eyes were starting to water. He heard the train whistle go for what must have been the sixth time. It seemed quiet in the carriage. Right, he thought, nothing ventured...and then he sneezed. Well, here goes nothing then.
He pulled the blade out of his jacket pocket, poked a hole in the fabric of the bag and started sawing. Well, as much as one can saw when the motion of one’s elbow is limited to a two-inch range.
Luckily all he needed was a hole large enough to stick his hand through. Now if he could just unbuckle the straps, Tewkesbury thought, and yes! With his head out of the beg he reached for the second strap. This was going we...whoa... the carriage spun as the bag tumbled over the rack and ooooph!
Tewkesbury landed with a thud on his back and inhaled a plume of dust. Ow. Well that didn’t hurt as much as it could have, he thought as the dust cleared. And that’s when he looked into the horrified face of a young boy seated near the window.
“Hello!” The boy looked alarmed. Tewkesbury thought to reassure him; maybe he would have company on the journey to London.
“Please get out of this carriage.” Or maybe not. The boy sounded younger than Tewkesbury. Why was he traveling alone? Maybe he was scared.
“I can't. I'm in hiding,” Tewkesbury said. He couldn’t help but feel some pride that he had pulled it off. “Bit of a to-do. Bribed a porter to put me in this and get me on board. Very daring.”
He got out of the bag and stuffed it in the rack above the boy, sitting down across from him enthusiastically, still chuffed with adrenaline.
“ Get out of this carriage right now.”
The slight panic in the voice caught Tewkesbury’s attention. Something about the pitch of the voice registered in his mind. That’s when he took a closer look at his traveling companion. No boy he knew filled out breeches like that.
“You're a... a strange-looking gentleman,” he ventured.
“You think you look normal?”
Touche. Well she doesn’t mince words, Tewkesbury thought with some amusement. This would be entertaining.
“You're not a boy at all,” he challenged.
“I might be a boy.” Hah. He gave her points for trying
“Who are you?” Tewkesbury was really curious now. Looks like I am not the only one with secrets on this train, he thought.
“What are you?” Oh bother, Tewkesbury thought. Let me try doing things properly instead of this verbal chess game.
“I'm Viscount Tewkesbury, the Marquess of Basilwether.” That clearly meant nothing to her. Which was probably a good thing. He stuck out his hand. She did not take it.
“You're a nincompoop.”
Oh well, it was a good effort, Tewkesbury thought as he pulled back his hand. He was getting annoyed by her continued resistance to his overtures. For some unfathomable reason, he felt compelled to impress her.
“I'll have you know, I have just undertaken a particularly daring escape...”
“You have not escaped. There is a man in a brown bowler hat currently on this train searching for you, and once he finds you, he will think I helped hide you, and I will be endangered by this. Therefore, I ask you to get out of this carriage.”
Huh. I believe her, Tewkesbury thought. Maybe it’s because...
“You remind me of my uncle. I've left him at the station,” he said aloud.
He saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes. Very pretty brown eyes, sharp with intelligence. Eyes that at this moment were widened in disbelief.
“He's bossy too,” he continued doggedly. “ Left them all: my mother, my grandmother. But I'm fine. I'm free.”
“Good. Get out of the carriage, then.”
Alright, she truly wants to be rid of me, Tewkesbury thought with a mental grimace. And a touch of disappointment he would not be getting to know her better.
“A man in a brown bowler hat?” He asked. Well at least she had warned him so that he could avoid whoever it was his family had sent to track him down. He wondered who they'd been able to send on such short notice. Maybe one of the servants.
He took a deep breath. "It'll be fine," He breathed again. " It'll be fine."
He left and headed toward the front of the train. All the compartments in this train car were full as he passed them, putting paid to any notions he had of staying near to the girl in boy's clothing.
As he was about to open the door to the next carriage he froze. A man in a brown bowler hat had just entered the other end and was slowly walking down the corridor, looking carefully in each compartment.
Tewkesbury stepped back into the previous train car and ran back to the compartment he had just left, gasping as he slammed the door shut behind him. The brown-eyed girl did not look pleased at all.
"He's coming!" Tewkesbury said in a panic. He had just started on his escape. He did not want to go home so soon.
"Of course." The girl sounded almost resigned, and definitely exasperated.
"He's checking every carriage," Tewkesbury said, in hopes of some assistance. Somehow, he knew she would be able to help him. She seemed so confident.
All she said was: "Wonderful!" as she got up and put on her jacket purposefully. Yep. She was certainly self assured.
"You have to help me," Tewkesbury pleaded. Not very manly of him, but, desperate times. Perhaps she would be moved by pity, he thought, not really caring how pathetic that might be. "He didn't see me," He offered in a last ditch attempt. If she wasn't worried he'd been seen, she was more likely to agree to hide him.
"Of course he did," she said matter of factly. "Therefore, I say good day to you, Viscount Tewkesbury, Marquess of Basilwether." She turned in the corridor to shut the door.
"You really do remind me of my uncle," Tewkesbury said with a small smile, despite the threat of discovery. "You have that same stare."
He saw her roll her eyes before sliding the door shut.
Tewkesbury sat down and waited for the inevitable. He hadn't recognised the man so it wasn't a servant from Basilwether. An undercover policeman? His uncle certainly had connections in the army and police force. Maybe he had someone in the county he could call on on short notice. Maybe Tewkesbury could persuade him to look the other way...
The door opened and Tewkesbury prepared to negotiate.
"Ah there you are sir," the man entered with a menacing smile. Wait, menacing? Why...
Oooph, grunt, gasp. Before he knew what was happening, the man had grabbed Tewkesbury by the collar and pushed him against the outer door. Tewkesbury was wincing from the impact when he felt the door give way behind him and grabbed frantically at anything he could. His hand found purchase on the door frame, swinging out over the tracks, while his feet desperately tried to keep a hold on the carriage floor. And the man was leaning out, pushing against Tewkesbury's chest to keep him from regaining the carriage.
From the corner of his eye, Tewkesbury saw a dark shadow looming. He looked to his left in horror. The train was speeding toward a tunnel, and he was dangling in the path of the stone arched wall of the tunnel.
"Aah! Help! Help! Help! Somebody help me! Help!"
Suddenly the man loosened his grip and fell back, leaving Tewkesbury swinging wildly. Then a small hand reached out. It was her! She came back. As the tunnel loomed, Tewkesbury felt her hand close around his arm with an iron grip and a determined, frantic yank and he flew back into the carriage, staggering against the surprisingly sturdy from of the girl as they fell into the corridor.
" Oh! Aah!" Tewkesbury yelled.
"Get up!" She whispered fiercely, pulled him to his feet and dragged him forward. The train was in the tunnel now and he couldn't see where the man was.
They made it to to next carriage as the train emerged from the tunnel. Tewkesbury could see the back of the girl's head, focused on running forward as he scampered to keep up, occasionally looking into the compartments they passed for something, anything. His mind was reeling as he regained his breath.
"Who is that? He was trying to kill me! I'm not ready to die on a train!"
"I'm not ready to die at all. I wasn't going to before I met you," she snapped. Still moving rapidly ahead.
"Where are we going?" Tewkesbury was disoriented. This wasn't happening.
" I don't know yet. Let me think," she said as she glared into another compartment, eyes darting up and around. The woman inside gasped in annoyance.
"Terribly sorry," Tewkesbury said, out of habit. The things that were drilled into a young gentleman's head before he was out of leading strings.
They reached the end of the train car and emerged into the open. They had run out of train. It was just the coal carriage and the engine now. The girl stepped onto the narrow ledge of the engine car, grabbed a handle bar and started edging onto the side. Tewkesbury saw a blur of grass and field flying past them.
"Is this truly the best way to come?" He asked his strange yet plucky companion. It was so loud out here he had to shout.
"Can you think of a better way?" she yelled back. A pause, then: "Do you trust me?"
Tewkesbury didn't like that question, not when they were hanging onto the outside of speeding train.
"No!" He yelled. What he meant was: yes you just saved my life but I know you are about to do something dangerous. So, no.
"If we time it correctly, - we can leave him stranded," she shouted against the roar of the engine and the wind.
"Time what correctly?" Tewkesbury really did not like the sound of that. He could see the wheels churning in her head. In the carriage behind them, a woman screamed again. They were out of options.
"Listen, Tewkesbury. We have two choices," His rescuer shouted.
"And which one involves me not dying?" He knew it was a moot point by now.
"This one!" She yelled and Tewkesbury screamed as he felt her pull him off the train in a leap into nothingness.
For a brief terrifying instant Tewkesbury saw the river hundreds of feet below, then the turf of a grassy slope rolled up toward them and instinct took over. He curled up and tumbled downhill, grunting with every roll until he finally came to a stop.
He gasped for breath, felt the ground beneath him with his hands and pushed himself up with a groan. The girl was sprawled front down in the grass a few feet away, head lifted toward the train that was halfway across the bridge by now. He guessed that the bowler hat man was still on the train.
It was close.
He finally noticed how close they were, how close *she* was to the edge of the cliff before a sharp drop to the river, and started grunting and groaning, partly in reaction to the panic he felt, at the thought of what might have been.
"You do make an awful lot of noise, don't you?" she turned to him with a quizzical look.
Tewkesbury was amazed, and impressed at her composure after almost dying. But he wasn't going to tell her that. She came back for him and saved his life. She had a sense of honor and compassion, he realised. But she was a reluctant protector, and he was going to enjoy annoying her to make her show her hand.
"Well, it turns out, being thrown off a train hurts considerably more than you might think," he huffed. "And I've lost a button," he added for good measure, and was rewarded with a glare of disbelief.
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