Chapter 3
I had never been to Scotland. I’d never even been out of England, only straying from the comfortable familiarity of London for the occasional seaside holiday to Ramsgate as a child.
Most folk would say I wasn’t suited for world travel, and they would be right.
My scholarly life and introverted nature had ill-prepared me for the challenges that came with venturing to another country.
Those challenges began on the first day and only grew worse as the day wore on.
Heavy traffic delayed our arrival at King’s Cross Station, but fortunately our train’s departure was also delayed by an hour, so we made it with time to spare.
But our late departure meant I worried about arriving in a strange city in the dark.
That worry, combined with the movement of the train, made me feel a little queasy in the stomach, so I didn’t eat the sandwiches I’d packed for the journey.
When I stood to alight from the train as it pulled into Edinburgh’s Waverley Station, I felt dizzy from the lack of sustenance and lost my balance.
I toppled into the burly, bald-headed Scotsman reading a newspaper on the seat opposite.
Thankfully he didn’t get cross. He merely chuckled into his red beard as he helped me to regain my balance.
He commented in a strong Scottish accent about my inability to hold my drink.
“Oh, I’m not drunk,” I quickly assured him.
He merely chuckled again and handed me my hat. I hadn’t noticed it fall onto the seat beside him.
I hurried after Oscar and wondered how I’d ever cope with the language barrier when we eventually voyaged to the continent, since I could barely understand a fellow who spoke English.
Although I spoke French reasonably well, I doubted it would help me outside of France, and my Latin and Ancient Greek wouldn’t be useful at all in day-to-day conversation.
It was yet another thing to worry about.
Having collected our luggage from the porter, Oscar stretched his back and rolled his shoulders. “That was a long journey, but at least I read an entire book. What about you, Gavin? You didn’t seem to be concentrating very hard on your notes.”
I’d planned to jot down ideas for a new book about the history of magic but had given up barely an hour into the journey. “I found concentrating difficult,” I told him.
Oscar’s gaze followed the big Scotsman who’d shared our cabin as he joined the queue to buy a newspaper from one of the lads near the kiosk. All of the newspaper sellers were popular, with a small crowd gathering to make their purchase. It would seem the Scots enjoyed their evening papers.
When Oscar turned back to me, an odd little smile teased his lips. “Was he the reason you couldn’t concentrate?”
I pushed my glasses up my nose. “I think I simply need the comfort of my own environment.”
The smile briefly flared before his lips flattened. “Let’s find a cab.”
I picked up my valise by the handle and trailed after Oscar, whose long strides made it difficult for someone as short as me to keep up. “There might be none left by the time we battle through this crowd.”
“We’ll be fine.”
I refrained from asking him why he’d think that.
I didn’t want to annoy him on our first day together.
With a hand to my hat, I glanced at the big Scotsman again.
He’d purchased his paper and was reading intently, as were several other passengers.
According to the front-page headline, a second local girl had disappeared from the same area as the first a mere day earlier.
I followed in Oscar’s wake as he forged a path through the crowd on the platform to the exit. I’d vowed not to let my anxiety hold me back. I may have only made that vow to myself, but I planned to keep it. I wouldn’t fall at the first hurdle.
Even so, I kept as close to Oscar as possible.
He was quite comfortable jostling the other passengers without being rude or aggressive.
He looked calm and untroubled, whereas my heart beat a little faster at every interruption, of which I encountered a few.
It seemed as though newsboys shouted the latest headlines in my ear, not Oscar’s, the messenger runners bumped only me, and lost tourists seemed to think I knew directions to this hotel or that.
A souvenir seller with a wooden tray tightly packed with trinkets attached to a leather strap tied around his neck stepped in front of me. “Postcard, sir? Map?” He pointed to the items in his collection, both bordered with a red tartan.
“No, thank you.” I tried to move around him, but he blocked my path.
“Authentic tartan scarf? Ribbon for your sweetheart back home?”
“Excuse me.” I managed to dodge around him and avoid the trolley full of luggage that a porter was pushing toward me, only to step into the path of a fast-moving empty trolley.
The porter ordered me to move aside. I bit down against the stinging pain in my lower leg from where the trolley had hit me and limped on, only to realize Oscar had disappeared.
Tightness constricted my chest, and I felt a little lightheaded again.
Recognizing it for the anxiety I sometimes experienced when I was out of my depth, I was able to breathe through it as a doctor had once shown me to do.
With the tightness easing, I focused on the exit ahead and followed the rest of the passengers who’d alighted from our train.
Oscar waited for me beside a carriage while a station porter secured his valise to the roof.
“Apparently it’s a bit chaotic at the moment because they’re expanding the station.
Some of the entrances and exits are closed off and one of the platforms has been demolished to make way for new ones.
Nothing that we Londoners aren’t used to, though.
” He clapped me on the shoulder and steered me to the rear of the vehicle.
“Give the groom your luggage and let’s get on our way. ”
“Groom? Isn’t he a station porter?” Even as I said it, I realized the man wasn’t dressed in the North British Railway porter’s uniform with shiny brass buttons and Nbr embroidered on the jacket lapels.
The youth couldn’t have been older than twenty and wore the cap and sturdy boots of an outdoor member of staff for a private household.
“Kinloch sent a carriage to collect us. Hand over your case, Gavin. We don’t want to keep the fellow waiting.” When I didn’t move, Oscar took my valise and passed it to the groom. His gaze, however, focused on the station entrance behind me.
“But we’re not supposed to meet Kinloch until tomorrow,” I said. “It’s getting late and I’d rather check into the hotel now.”
The final rays of sunlight bathed the sandstone of the station building in golden splendor, but it was fading fast. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Hopefully we could find a decent chophouse near the hotel.
I didn’t fancy eating my sandwiches. The cucumber would have made them soggy after a long day stuffed in my valise.
Oscar indicated the carriage. “We can’t be rude to Kinloch and ignore his invitation.”
“You didn’t tell me we were being collected upon our arrival. You let me think we had to find a hackney.”
A commotion behind me caught Oscar’s attention, followed by a booming American voice. “You there! What do you think you’re playing at?”
Oscar wrenched open the carriage door. “Get in, Gavin!”
The coachman, draped in a tweed greatcoat, despite the fine weather, pinned Oscar with a sharp glare. “Ye are Mr. Defoe, aren’t ye, sir?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but Oscar grabbed my arm. “Get in, and he can’t throw us out.”
“Oscar!” I cried.
A dark-skinned woman dressed in navy-and-white striped silk, matching hat and white gloves, pushed past me from behind and thrust her closed umbrella across the doorway before I could step into the cabin. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I believe you’ve made a mistake. This vehicle is for us.”
I’d expected an American accent like the man who’d shouted, but it was English, and an upper class one at that. The woman was extraordinarily pretty with high cheekbones and brown eyes fanned by long lashes. She was slim and tall—taller than me, but a little shorter than Oscar.
He couldn’t take his gaze off her. “I believe we were here first, ma’am, but since you’re also paying Mr. Kinloch a visit, we’ll allow you and your companion to join us.” He raised his brows in question at the coachman.
“It’s all the same tae me.” The coachman hunkered down into the collar of his greatcoat as he faced forward.
Oscar smiled as he held out his hand to the woman to assist her up the step.
She accepted it, returning his smile as she locked her gaze onto his.
There was something quite mesmerizing about her, a quality that was more than mere physical beauty.
It was her confidence, I realized, as I watched her with Oscar.
She seemed so utterly sure of herself, of every lithe movement of her limbs, every languid blink of those large eyes, and every syllable that fell from her lips. I envied her that confidence.
I was so transfixed by her that I wasn’t aware she’d forced Oscar to take a polite step back by drawing close to him. Nor did I notice she’d lowered her parasol until a man brushed past me and climbed into the carriage. Oscar noticed too late, too, and opened his mouth to protest.
Before he could utter a word, the woman stabbed the end of her umbrella into his left shoe at the toes. “It’s not nice to take something which isn’t yours.”
Oscar winced in pain although he quickly plastered a smile on his face as the woman climbed into the carriage. “If you’ll give us a moment to remove our—”
The woman closed the door and the American man commanded the driver to make haste.
“Our luggage!” Oscar cried.
The groom who’d secured it to the roof had to run to catch up with the vehicle as it pulled away from the curb. He managed to jump onto the footboard at the back before it sped off.