Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Sleep will not come for me, despite lying in the soft bed, filled with exhaustion. Fears of vivid nightmares—Mr. Meier’s face—prevent me from shutting my eyes. For a while, I sit in the bedroom and stare out the window, watching the dark shadows pass by.
Not long after, do I hear a light knock on the sliding door, Henry’s eyes shining through the small opening. "I thought you'd be awake. I can't sleep either. Mind if I come in?"
After I shake my head, Henry takes a seat close beside me at the head of the bed, wrapping a comforting arm lightly around me. Mindful not to reopen my wound on my neck, I rest my head on his shoulder.
Societal rules be damned.
“How’s the wound on your neck? Any pain?” he asks.
It’s painful, but he shouldn’t worry about that, not after the day we’ve just had. So instead, I lie.
“It’s okay,” I croak, keeping my head on his shoulder. “I’ve had worse injuries.”
He peers down at me. “Do you mind if I take a look? I want to ensure I cleaned it properly and it’s not infected.”
I nod, then carefully lift it.
Henry cautiously peeks inside the top of the bandage. “It’s no longer bleeding, which is a good sign, and it looks clean. It should heal nicely since it wasn’t that deep of a cut. I can put a new bandage on it in the morning.”
He sets the bandage back the way it was. I notice the bags under his slightly bloodshot eyes—a result of the alcohol, the horrifying experience, and no sleep. But despite all of it, he still has enough energy to give me a small, warm smile.
“How do you know so much about wounds?”
“Oxford had a lecture on it four terms ago. I figured it would be helpful information to know while on an expedition.” His eyes twinkle when he looks down at me. “Turns out I was right.”
“Henry Ashford always prepared and one step ahead.” I sigh, resting my head back onto his shoulder.
I place my hand in the crook of his arm that was wrapped around me.
“The best partner anyone could ask for. I know I never said this before, but I’m really happy Grandad selected you for this expedition.
I couldn’t imagine going through this with anyone else. ”
“I’m happy he invited me too, Clara. At least these arbitrary skills I’ve acquired over the years have finally come in handy.”
I sneak a look up at his face. My chest blossoms when I see a warm smile and bright eyes on his face.
“What do you think will happen once we reach Paris?” I ask after a brief, comfortable silence settled between us.
Henry lets out a tired sigh, glancing down at his enclosed hands on his lap. “Oh, there are so many things that could happen.”
“But what do you think could really happen?”
Despite the apprehension in my voice, I want him to tell me the truth. I need to prepare myself for what’s waiting for us.
After everything we’ve been through, everything he’s learned about me, he should know I can handle it. He shouldn’t belittle me by giving me illusions of safety for the sake of my mental well-being.
“Honestly? We’ll either step onto the train platform and be surrounded by more of Richmond’s men, or be tailed by another Mr. Meier to Dover, where he’ll wait to strike like Mr. Meier did.”
“And we cannot tell who any of Richmond’s men are,” I add.
Henry nods. “There’s that as well. All we can do is stay vigilant and always remain with one another. No more splitting up—not even for a minute.”
“Agreed,” I mutter, shoving aside the flashback memories of what happened earlier tonight, wishing we’d never given Mr. Meier that opportunity to strike.
Soon, we’ll depart from the Simplon, and by late this afternoon, we’ll reach Paris—the city of light and love.
As I fold my belongings into my valise, an ache burns in my heart. I miss Grandad more than I ever imagined, needing him now more than ever. I swallow the sudden rise of bile in my throat at the thought of telling him what I’ve done.
Would my actions repulse him, or would he understand I had no other choice? Would he still be able to look me in the eye and see his granddaughter, or would he forever see me as a murderer?
Once Henry and I have fully packed and are ready to flee when the Simplon arrives in Paris, I secure the bandage on my neck beneath a silk scarf. We make our way to the dining car for breakfast and find we’re the first to arrive.
The air feels different around me as the waiters work silently, their demeanors somber. A chill runs down my spine, knowing we—or rather, I—am the reason for the sudden shift in the atmosphere.
The elderly lady—whom I’ve not had the chance to speak to this entire trip—arrives after us, giving us a solemn nod for a greeting. Then shortly after, the Fourniers arrive, quieter than usual.
“Morning,” Helen mutters as they take a seat.
“Morning,” Henry and I murmur back.
Tired lines form in the corners of their eyes; apprehension settles in every muscle of their bodies.
I suspect no one slept a wink last night after the tragic event.
Helen opens her mouth, about to say something, then decides against it—seeming uncertain whether it’s respectful to socialize, and if so, how.
“I’m still at a loss for what happened,” Henry says.
Following his lead, I say, “He seemed so happy last night.”
“Maybe his business wasn’t doing so well,” Helen suggests.
“Could be a lot of things. We never know what troubles a man endures—best not to dwell on them,” Antoine says, dismissively patting Helen’s hand.
Benecio soon serves us our meals. Eyes shift across the room, avoiding one another. I keep my gaze down at my plate, unable to look at anyone besides Henry. A heavy quiet settles around us, broken only by the clatter of utensils and teacups.
The steward sullenly enters the dining car as we finish breakfast and clears his throat.
“Pardon my interruption. As most of you may already know,” he begins. “Mr. Meier decided to take his own life last night. After communicating with the French police and our conductor, a formal police investigation will not take place, and we are to proceed—as scheduled—to arrive at Paris midday.”
Relief washes over me at the news. As I quickly glance at Henry, I notice the tension has drained from his body.
“On behalf of the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits, we apologize for the fright and turmoil of what you endured last night. To compensate for your troubles, the company will provide each of you with tickets to travel on any express rail you desire, at no expense to you.”
The steward then slightly bows to us and bids us a good day, leaving before any of us can ask questions he might be uncomfortable answering on behalf of the company.
The mood lifts at the mention of the fully expensed travel tickets. Reading Antoine’s face, I can see he’s already thinking about where he wants to go next.
“Well, that was very generous of them,” Helen says, sipping her coffee.
“It’s the very least they could do after experiencing such a thing on a luxury railway,” the elder lady scoffs. “After the money I paid for such a trip, I’m demanding far more than just tickets for another trip.”
Dramatically, she pushes up from her chair, the legs screeching against the hardwood floor.
“Now where did that steward go…” she mutters, storming out of the dining car.
I glance at Henry; both of us have our eyebrows raised in shock, never expecting the elderly lady to have such strong convictions.
The few hours it takes us to reach Paris pass quickly. Taking Henry’s hand, I step out onto a bustling platform at Paris Gare de l'Est Station. As we wait for our luggage, we walk over to where the Fourniers are standing.
“I can’t believe this is the end of our journey,” I announce, extending my hand to Helen. “It was such a pleasure to meet you,” I add, as Henry firmly shakes Antoine’s hand beside us, bidding each other farewell.
“You too, Georgina.” Then, unexpectedly, she pulls me into a hug. “You’ll be an amazing mother to William or Evelyn. I know it.”
Hugging her back, my heart aches for her, knowing she deserves so much more than life has given and that one day she will find the happiness she deserves.
“Enjoy the rest of your trip,” I say, smiling as we break apart.
I peek over my shoulder one last time as they head in the opposite direction and then face forward once they turn a corner and disappear.
That’s when I realize we’re not the only people in the station.
Scouring around us, there must be at least a hundred people, and any one of them could be working for Dr. Richmond.
On high alert, Henry takes my arm and steers us toward one of the stone columns, shielding us from the eyes of onlookers.
“We made it,” I whisper, still scanning the massive room. “It’s a slight relief that Dr. Richmond wasn’t waiting for us on the platform, or that any of his other men aren’t here.”
Henry nods. “Seems to be that way…for now.” He peeks over the column to be sure.
“What do we do now that we’re here?”
“Do you know French?”
I nod.
“There looks to be an information desk fifty meters from the entrance. If you can check to see which station will get us to Calais, we can plan from there.”
With our heads down, we walk over to the information desk, heading toward the booth with the next available attendant.
“Bonjour, Madame. Comment puis-je vous aider?” the attendant asks.
“Bonjour,” I reply in fluent French. “Pourriez-vous m’indiquer comment me rendre à Calais depuis Paris?”
“Oui,” the attendant says, then gestures to my left. “La Gare du Nord dispose d’une ligne qui dessert Calais. Elle se trouve à seulement quelques minutes à pied.”
“à tout hasard, connaissez-vous l’heure de départ du prochain train?”
The attendant reaches beneath the desk and pulls out a small book. “Il est indiqué ici que le prochain train part dans une heure.”
“Merci beaucoup. Passez une bonne journée.”
“Merci, vous aussi, Madame.” Placing my hand in the crook of Henry’s arm, we gather our luggage and make our way to the exit on the east side of the station.