Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
The train station is bustling when we arrive, passengers from all walks of life hurry past us as we make our way to the Simplon Orient Express.
After showing our tickets, a train porter takes our luggage and escorts us to the first-class car at the front of the train.
The chaotic clamor of the station fades as soon as we step onboard.
A steward greets us with a polite bow and guides us to our suite. Comfortable silence settles around us as we walk along the corridor. Crystal light fixtures sparkle against the glossy wooden walls, red velvet curtains are tied to the side of wide windows.
“There are only four grand suites on the Simplon,” the steward says over his shoulder, “and you have access to your own lounge and dining car.”
He stops in front of the door for suite 201, takes out a key from his pocket, and unlocks the door.
We are ushered inside to a spacious suite consisting of three rooms: a living room, a bedroom, and a washroom.
Every inch exudes luxury—mahogany furniture, delicate white drapes, a blue velvet chaise, and crystal light fixtures.
Even the water closet gleams with marble.
Its opulence reminds me of the S.S Charlotte.
The steward stands by the door, just a few inches inside the room. “Your luggage is already in your room, stacked by the wardrobe in the bedroom. Is there anything else I can be of assistance to you, Mr. & Mrs. Abbott?”
Henry and I quickly glance at each other, then shake our heads.
“I think you covered everything. Thank you for your help.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Abbott. This is your suite key,” and hands it over for Henry to take. “Enjoy your stay with us on the Simplon.”
When the steward closes the door behind him, we linger in the living room, uncertain what to do with the first free moments of our new journey. Grazing over the suite, my eyes latch onto the single bed, and blood drains from my face.
How are we going to sleep on a four-day trip to Paris with one bed?
“Don’t worry,” Henry says. He gestures toward the chaise in the living room. “I’ll sleep on the chaise. The bed will be all yours.”
Feeling at ease, I give him a small smile. “Thank you.”
Slowly, the train jolts forward, resuming its journey to Paris.
I continue standing in the middle of the room, glancing around. “What do we do now?”
Henry scratches the back of his neck with his other hand on his hip, his eyes trailing across the room until they land on our luggage. “We can unpack. I can take the armoire, and you can have the wardrobe.”
“That’s a better plan than what I can come up with.”
Henry chuckles. “Did you have a plan?”
I shake my head, biting my lip to fight back a grin. “Nope.”
Making our way to the bedroom, we start unpacking our belongings.
As I reach for one of my new dresses, the larger size takes me aback, and then I glance down at my torso, reminded of why it needed to be at that size.
Scolding myself for easily forgetting the one critical detail of my disguise, I know I’ll need to get accustomed to the cushion device quickly to play the part correctly.
“How does it feel to have that on?” Henry asks, gesturing toward the cushion with a hanger in his hand.
I glance down at the cushion. “Amina did a fantastic job on it. It doesn’t add too much weight, given what is hiding inside it.” A laugh escapes me. “Although I will admit, I can do without the extra rise in body temperature it’s giving me.”
“Almost like the real deal, I’d imagine,” Henry jokes, laughing.
After we finish unpacking, in which I purposely left my undergarments in my valise, we take a seat in the living room.
Glancing out the window, I watch as the train chugs along the northern Italian terrain.
Off in the distance is a quaint village centered around a church with a bell tower.
Lush greenery and bright flora surround the village with overgrown fields of poppies, wild orchids, and voluminous Mediterranean bushes.
“I keep thinking about what Grandad told us about Richmond. Is it concerning that I have a twinge of sympathy for him?” I glance at Henry, whose eyes are already on me.
Henry shakes his head. “Not at all. He was shunned and mocked for following what he was passionate about. Anyone with a dream would feel empathetic to that.”
“I know exactly what that feels like. Sadly, for me, it was over something I cannot control.” Feeling slightly embarrassed, I glance down at my clasped hands resting on my lap.
Gathering myself, I force a smile and lift my head. “At least Oxford never ridiculed Grandad and me for our passion to study the ancient wonders, even though for years they never truly believed in it.”
In Henry’s eyes, I see sadness tinged with anger—not at me, but at the reason I was forced to endure such pain. His hand inches closer, hovering over his left thigh, as if it wants to reach for mine but stops itself.
“I’m so sorry, Clara. It’s simply not right what they do to you and other women like you. I wish I could erase the pain they already caused you, but I can’t. What I can do is promise I will do everything I can to make sure they never treat you this way again.”
“And that’s all I could hope for.” I give him a small, appreciative smile, wishing I had this friendship much earlier in my time in academia.
“I cannot imagine what that kind of treatment has done to Richmond,” I continue after a moment of comfortable silence. “Mockery like that can change a person, for better or worse. I hope for Richmond it was the former, but I have a terrible feeling I may be wrong.”
“The way people react to such treatment is within their control. If Richmond chose to become the worst version of himself from it, then that is where my sympathy for him dries up.”
“Before we meet the other passengers…I was thinking we should develop a backstory for our disguises and establish guidelines about what we are comfortable doing.”
“Should we start with the guidelines first?” I ask.
“Since we’re pretending to be a married couple, what are your thoughts or reservations on physical touch? I’m thinking hand-holding…possibly a kiss on the top of your head—those kinds of gestures,” Henry says.
He keeps glancing at the floor, nervously scratching his neck or tugging on his hair. I stifle a chuckle at his discomfort. Somehow, I find it endearing.
I consider his question and wonder if I have any issues with his suggestions. “I don’t have any reservations about that. We can sell the idea without it crossing the line.”
“Right,” Henry says, clearing his throat. “It seems we are on the same page with that. And what about our backstory?”
“How in-depth do we want to go? Would knowing that Edward is a doting and loving husband be enough? Oh! What if we say he’s also addicted to blueberry pastries and has an embarrassing fear of salamanders?
Is that what you had in mind?” I rest my chin in my hand, giving him a sly smirk as I wait for his response.
Henry shakes his head, laughing.
I hadn’t realized how much I wanted him to feel comfortable and at ease until I saw his face light up.
“Yes, that’s actually the details I had in mind. Once we understand who we are, we’ll have a better idea of how to act with each other and possibly deceive everyone as we do it. Including knowing what peculiar phobias or interests they have.”
As I consider his reasoning, I see that it is not a terrible idea. “The more we know, even if it’s tiny—albeit silly—the detail may be, it can help us to remember our disguises. Alright then, let’s take a moment to figure out who Georgina and Edward are.”
And who do I want her to be? Is she snobbish and rude, or a pleaser who does what’s asked of her? Was she born into an aristocratic family, or a different class than her husband?
Considering all my options, I determine who Georgina is based on what I can remember, but also what I can act out to sell it. Having a clear picture in mind, I look confidently over at Henry with a straightened posture. “I think I have an idea of who my person is. Do you know yours?”
Henry smiles, nodding. “I believe I do.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his legs, giving me his full attention before gesturing for me to go first. “Now tell me, who is Georgina Abbott?”
“Georgina Abbott…” I begin, “is born in a well-to-do family in Kensington and is the youngest of three siblings. She grew up loving horses, was always out riding in the field—rain or shine—and proudly never missed a race during the seasons. She loves her siblings but has a strained relationship with her mother, who never accepted that she refused to become the woman her mother wanted her to be.”
I take a breath, collecting myself, then look at Henry.
“Anything else?”
“Yes, actually,” I continue with not a minute to spare. “She loves sunflowers but hates lilacs. She can’t stand the taste of mushrooms, and sky blue is her favorite color.” I flash him a grin. “That’s it.”
Henry shakes his head, biting his bottom lip as he fights a smile.
“Are you about to mock me?” I laugh despite myself.
Henry shakes his head, raising his hands in defense, still biting his lip. “I would never laugh at my wife, Miss Fairfax.”
“Enlighten me, then,” I challenge, placing a hand on my hip. “Tell me all about who Edward Abbott is.”
He raises a fist to his lips, clearing his throat. After a deep breath, Henry collects himself and begins.
“Edward is the heir of a thriving mercantile company, which can explain the wealth of his family. He’s the eldest of two siblings and an excellent chess player.
Being the heir, Edward always followed his father's rules and never felt like he had his own voice…until he met his wife. She showed him how to become his own person and follow his own lead. He loves her adoringly and cannot imagine his life without her.”
I stare at him. “And you were about to mock me? That was very deep and detailed, Mr. Ashford.”
Henry shrugs. “What can I say, your story inspired me.”
“Then would you agree their marriage is a love match and not an arrangement?”
Henry nods. “A love match feels right for them. They met at a horse race, and it was love at first sight.”
“They married a year later and have been enjoying traveling the world together before Edward becomes more involved with the family’s company,” I add.
He nods, agreeing with my conclusion of the story.
A breath of relief escapes me. “This was a good idea. Thank you for suggesting this.”
Henry looks at me, his expression soft. “There’s no need to thank me, Clara.”
Briefly, we stare at one another. I sense there’s something he wants to say but has decided to keep to himself. He glances toward the door.
“Dinner will be served soon. We should start making our way to the dining car.” He stands, heading toward the door, then glances back at me. “Is there anything else you think we should know about the Abbotts?”
I’m about to shake my head when I remember the one small—yet very significant—detail we overlooked.
“Actually, there is,” I say, glancing down at my torso. “We should have names prepared in case we get asked about it.”
“Easy,” he says, reaching for his jacket on the coat rack. “William, if it’s a boy, and Evelyn, if it’s a girl.”
It takes me an embarrassing moment to realize where he got the boy’s name from.
“William? After my grandad?” I ask, following him out the door.
Henry nods. “Evelyn is after my mother.”
As I cross past the threshold, I can’t help but wonder if he’d already picked those names for their ease of memory, or if he imagined using them for his own children one day. Part of me feels inclined to ask, but it feels too intimate, so I keep the thought to myself.
Henry places his hand on the suite’s doorknob, about to close it, and looks back at me. “Are you ready, Mrs. Abbott?”
I peer back into the suite, ensuring we aren’t leaving anything important behind. Then shake my head in disbelief, realizing I’m carrying the most valuable items on me.
I stare back into his eyes for a moment. Knowing that once we step outside, there is no going back. Then I remember how selfless and brave Henry, Grandad, Amina, and Dr. Alarie are for helping me. And I know I can find the courage to do what I need to.
I take a deep breath and slowly release it, mustering the strength and endurance of my favorite Greek goddess.
I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.
“I’m ready.”