Copying him, Hal was surprised to find the metal casing was warm and vibrating. The locomotive puffed out a sigh of steam, as if it were alive – a dragon, ancient, powerful, and ready to fly.
CHAPTER THREE
DIAMOND DOGS
‘Gentlemen.’ The train guard appeared. ‘I’ll be blowing my whistle in seven minutes.’
‘Thank you, Graham.’ Uncle Nat saluted.
A lightning storm of camera flashes blinded Hal as they hurried back along the platform. Standing on the red carpet was a silver-haired woman in a Robin Hood hat garnished with a long pheasant feather. An astonishing number of pearl necklaces hung around her neck, draping over her tweed hunting jacket. She moved her gloved hand in a circular motion, giving the paparazzi a steely smile.
‘Keep up,’ Uncle Nat called, as he stepped up into the dining car, passing his coat and umbrella to the head steward.
Hal walked backwards to the train, unable to take his eyes off the five fluffy white dogs with diamond-studded collars behind the silver-haired lady. A red-faced man with a mousy-brown fringe was clinging to their leads, trying to control them.
Hal loved dogs. Every birthday and Christmas, he begged for one, but his parents always refused. They said dogs were expensive and a big responsibility. When they’d told him he was going to have a little sister, he’d asked how they could afford another human, especially since children were an even bigger responsibility than a dog. He hadn’t meant to be rude, but he found himself being sent to his room anyway.
Stepping into the dining car was like stepping back in time. Neat dining tables draped with white linen tablecloths and flanked with high-backed armchairs were set on opposite sides of the aisle, like a curious narrow restaurant. The air was heavy with furniture polish.
‘What’s so interesting?’ Uncle Nat asked.
Hal pointed out the window. ‘Imagine being rich enough to have five dogs.’
‘That’s the Countess of Arundel, Lady Elizabeth Lansbury – one of the wealthiest women in England. I met her recently at the Duchess of Kent’s gala. A very impressive woman.’
‘Do you think she’ll bring her dogs on the train?’
‘I hope she doesn’t,’ said a reedy voice. ‘I’m allergic.’
‘Ernest White.’ Uncle Nat crossed the carriage and grasped the hand of an old man wearing a grey wool suit. He was sat at one of the tables reading a newspaper through half-moon spectacles. ‘What a treat to see you.’
‘Always a pleasure, young Nathaniel. Quite the commotion out there, isn’t it?’ Ernest White looked over his spectacles at Hal. ‘Is this your boy?’
‘My nephew Harrison.’
‘I have a grandson called Hal.’ Ernest shook Hal’s hand. ‘He works on the Caledonian Sleeper. Son of my youngest daughter – she drives freight trains up in Scotland.’
‘I didn’t realize you’d be joining the royal tour, Ernest. Not working, I hope?’ Uncle Nat sank into the armchair opposite him.
‘Lord, no. Too old now.’ Ernest looked over at Hal. ‘I was the head steward on the royal train for forty-seven years.’ He sighed. ‘Some of the happiest moments of my life took place on this train. They knew I’d want to say goodbye to her. I was so pleased when I got the invitation.’ The old man’s eyes filled up. ‘It means a lot.’
Not wanting to stare, Hal looked down at Ernest White’s newspaper.
There was a fuss behind him as Lady Lansbury swept into the dining car.
‘Ghastly people!’ She threw her hands in the air. ‘One photograph is never enough for those beasts.’ She disappeared through the door at the other end of the carriage, abandoning the man with her dogs who was struggling to get them all on to the train.
‘They’re Samoyeds!’ Hal said excitedly, holding out his hand to the closest one, who promptly licked it.
The dogs’ fluffy white tails wagged as they poked their noses into the carriage corners, seeking interesting smells. The dog handler cursed as he was pulled in different directions. Hal tried to help, pulling one out from under a table. It jumped up and licked his face.
‘Heel!’ shouted the dog handler, and the dogs scrabbled back to him. He herded them through the carriage door, following Lady Lansbury.
‘I wonder what their names are,’ Hal said.
‘Baron Wolfgang Essenbach,’ Ernest White said, ‘and his youngest son, Milo.’
Hal thought the old man had meant the dogs, until an imposing gentleman with grey-streaked black hair wearing a midnight-blue waistcoat stepped on to the train. Behind him was a tall, glowering figure, all elbows and shoulders. Gordon Goulde welcomed the two men, ushering them in the direction of the observation car.
‘The baron is an old friend of His Royal Highness the Prince,’ Ernest White whispered, ‘and a great rail enthusiast.’
Hal recognized the next guest. Steven Pickle was a rich entrepreneur who ran a train company called Grailax, but he was famous for being on a reality-TV programme. Clinging to his arm was a curvaceous, red-haired woman with a fake tan that Hal supposed must be his wife.
Reaching into his pocket, he toyed with his pen. He was itching to draw them. Steven Pickle’s skin looked like sausage meat. He had bangers for arms and chipolata fingers.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Ernest White hissed. ‘Who invited those parasites?’
‘Evening.’ Steven Pickle greeted them with a nod. ‘Not bad for an antique, is it?’ His beady eyes flickered about the carriage. ‘Could do with modernizing.’
Uncle Nat placed a restraining hand on Ernest’s arm.
‘I’m Lydia Pickle.’ His wife smiled generously, her red lips lifting like a theatre curtain to reveal ultra-white capped teeth. ‘Nice to meet you.’
Mr Pickle’s mobile rang. He pulled it from his pocket and shouted into the phone. ‘Hello? No. I’m busy. Call me back.’
‘Lovely to meet you, Lydia,’ Uncle Nat replied, shaking her hand as she fluttered her false eyelashes at him. ‘I’m Nathaniel Bradshaw, and this is my nephew Harrison.’
Gordon Goulde shut the double doors of the dining car, dropping a brass bar across them. The piercing sound of a whistle made them all look up.
‘Thirty-four minutes past,’ said Ernest White, checking his watch and tutting. ‘Four minutes behind schedule already.’
Hal felt a jolt and a thrill as the train began to move. The photographers on the platform surged towards them.
‘Quick, Harrison.’ Uncle Nat rose. ‘Let’s go to the observation car and wave goodbye to King’s Cross.’
CHAPTER FOUR
A GRAND DEPARTURE
Hal followed Uncle Nat as he dashed through the King Edward Saloon, past the library and games room, and into the glass carriage at the end of the train. Outside, people were running along the platform, waving. Sierra Knight stood on the veranda, blowing kisses. The whistle tooted twice as King’s Cross retreated. The actress pivoted, coming inside. A friendly-looking blonde woman handed Sierra a drink. Hal instinctively liked her because, other than a sparkling bracelet, she wore an ordinary blouse and skirt, whereas everyone else except him was dressed as if they were at a fancy party.
A waitress was stood beside a trolley covered with a white cloth, handing out drinks.
‘Nathaniel!’ A tall man with a shaven head and a camera slung around his neck crossed the carriage with an outstretched hand.
‘My old friend.’ The man clasped Uncle Nat’s hand.
‘Isaac!’ Uncle Nat smiled at him. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes. Harrison, meet Isaac Adebayo. He’s a royal photographer. We’ve known each other for years, ever since we covered the Queen’s Golden Jubilee tour on the Duchess of Sutherland.’
‘Now that’s a magnificent train,’ Isaac said.
‘Not a patch on the Highland Falcon though,’ Uncle Nat said, and the two men began to chat in earnest about their favourite locomotives.
Hal looked around. All of the guests were gathering in the glass carriage, and his heart sank as he real
ized they were all adults. He stared at the baron and his son, noticing Milo Essenbach had a scar from his nostril down to his top lip. It gave him a perpetual snarl. The man sensed his gaze and looked over. Hal looked at the floor.
‘Uncle Nat, I’m going to get an orange juice,’ he said, and Uncle Nat nodded.
As he crossed the carriage, Hal thought about the face he’d glimpsed through the window of the royal carriage. It hadn’t looked like an adult. The waitress smiled at him as he took a glass of juice.
TING! TING! Baron Essenbach stepped forward with a raised champagne glass and spoke to the room with an elegant German accent.
‘In the absence of His Royal Highness the Prince, I propose we must lift high our glasses to this outstanding example of human design and engineering that is the Highland Falcon. We celebrate the place of the locomotive in the industrial revolution, and its impact on the economic infrastructure of your great country.’ He paused to take breath.
‘Oh yes, we must!’ Sierra twirled so that she came to a halt between the baron and his son with her glass held high. ‘Here’s to a simply darling train and gorgeous company on our adventure around the British Isles.’ She fluttered her eyelashes at the baron and then his son before turning back to the carriage, but as she opened her mouth to continue, Lady Lansbury stalked in. The countess marched towards Hal, her black dangly earrings swinging and reached past him for a glass of champagne, lifting it to make a speech of her own.
Hal felt exposed standing next to Lady Lansbury, so he shuffled backwards and sank down into a chair, wondering why adults liked speeches so much.
‘In memory of those who dedicated their lives to the railway, like my dearly departed George, the Count of Arundel. May the final journey of this historic train emblazon the steam locomotive on the lion hearts of the people of the United Kingdom, for humanity did something remarkable when it produced the steam locomotive. It changed the world forever.’ She raised her glass. ‘The Highland Falcon.’
‘The Highland Falcon,’ everyone repeated.
‘Bottoms up!’ Lydia Pickle cried, emptying her glass in one gulp.
Hal blinked. From his seat, he could see the white cloth on the drinks trolley rising. He saw dark hair, brown skin, green eyes, and then the whole face of a girl about his age. He froze, not wanting to move in case she disappeared. He watched her scan the room. Their eyes met. She stuck out her tongue and dropped the tablecloth.
Springing up, Hal lurched forward as Steven Pickle stepped in front of him.
‘Oomph, sorry,’ Hal said, as they collided.
Mr Pickle looked like he was going to shout at Hal, but his phone rang, and he turned away to answer it. ‘Hello? No! I told you. I’m busy!’
‘S’all right, love.’ Lydia Pickle wrinkled her nose and winked, smiling at Hal. ‘I keep doing that too.’ She pointed at her leopard-print high heels. ‘Nightmare!’ She grabbed on to Steven Pickle’s arm, clutching her empty glass to her bosom. As she tottered away, the glass clinked against a gaudy bow of sparkling diamonds pinned to her chest.
Hal looked past her to the trolley. Lady Lansbury approached Baron Essenbach, who was now talking to Uncle Nat in the middle of the carriage. The Pickles joined them. Hal seized his opportunity and darted around the group.
‘Would you like some more orange juice?’ the waitress asked.
Hal nodded. ‘Yes please.’ He looked down. ‘Oh, my shoelace is undone.’ He pretended to tie his trainers and lifted the corner of the white cloth, expecting to see the girl – but no one was there. He stood up and looked around. Where could she have gone?
‘There you are,’ Uncle Nat said. ‘Shall we go and dress for dinner?’
‘Dress for dinner?’ Hal thought about the clothes he’d put in his rucksack and knew instinctively that his jeans, joggers and jumpers weren’t going to be right.
‘Yes, and we haven’t explored our room yet,’ said Uncle Nat, looking like an excited child.
‘Right.’ Hal followed his uncle to the door.
‘Oh! It’s gone!’ squawked Lydia Pickle. She dropped to all fours, crawling around on the floor. ‘My brooch! I’ve lost it!’
Steven Pickle grunted, sitting down beside Ernest White, who turned away and glared out of the window. There was a flash of light in the glass as Isaac snapped a photograph of Sierra. On the other side of the carriage, Lady Lansbury was having a conversation with Baron Essenbach in fluent German, while Milo Essenbach stood by looking murderous.
Uncle Nat rolled his eyes and mouthed, ‘Let’s go!’
As Hal left the observation car, he looked back at the trolley. Whoever she is, he thought, I’m going to find her.
In the King Edward Saloon, away from the chatter of the party, Hal could hear the rhythmic clatter of wheels on rails. He ran his fingers along the felt cloth of the billiard table and eyed the dartboard. I wonder if that girl plays darts. He’d like to try to throw darts on a rocking train.
Uncle Nat scanned the titles of the leather-bound books as they passed through the library. Beyond it was a lounge furnished with card tables, each with two decks. Hal thought the train journey might not be so boring if he had someone his own age to play with. He wondered why the girl was hiding.
In the dining car, Hal spotted Ernest White’s discarded newspaper. He picked it up as they walked past, curious about the jewel thief. There was a cubbyhole of a kitchen at the end of the carriage, and then they came to the guest compartments.
‘Number nine. This is us,’ Uncle Nat said.
Hal pushed the slim wooden door, stepping into a beautifully decorated compartment. Along the right wall of the room stretched a settee of ocean-blue tapestry shot through with gold on which his rucksack and Uncle Nat’s suitcase and coat sat. ‘Where are the beds?’
‘Train compartments are a box of delights.’ Uncle Nat pointed to a tiny porcelain sink tucked away in the left corner, behind the door. A thin gold mixer tap arched over the bowl. ‘Running hot and cold water, a gentleman’s shaving mirror on an expandable bracket,’ he stretched it out like a concertina, ‘and a glass shelf for toiletries. A wardrobe rail with seven gold hangers for shirts and jackets.’ He pointed down. ‘And three drawers for smalls.’
Uncle Nat took a step to his right. ‘Here, an essential item of furniture.’ He lifted a catch, and a wooden desk top dropped down out of the wall, its surface covered with the same blue leather as the chair positioned below it. Uncle Nat transferred his suitcase to the desk and tucked the wooden chair under. ‘I sleep there,’ he said, pointing at the couch. ‘And you –’ he slipped off his trainers and stepped on to the seat cushion – ‘will sleep here.’ He unhooked a latch, and a bunk dropped down, held at ninety degrees by two leather straps that were bolted to the wall.
‘Epic.’ Hal grinned.
‘Or rather, compact, but I get your meaning!’ Uncle Nat jumped down. ‘Under my bunk is a drawer – you can put your things in there.’ He straightened up and spread his hands. ‘What more could two travellers need?’
‘Actually –’ Hal shuffled from one foot to the other – ‘there might be something I need. I don’t think I brought the right clothes for dinner.’
‘I’m sure we can fix that.’ Uncle Nat pushed a gold button above the writing desk, and Hal wondered if a secret door was going to open and throw a shirt at him, but nothing happened.
Uncle Nat took off his mustard jumper and Hal stared.
‘Why are you wearing six watches?’
‘An idiosyncrasy of mine when I’m travelling.’ Uncle Nat looked down at the three wrist watches on each arm. He pointed first at his left wrist. ‘This one has the time in London, this one New York, and this one is Tokyo.’ He pointed to his right. ‘This has Berlin, Sydney and Moscow.’
‘But why?’
‘I bought each one on a different journey,’ Uncle Nat said. ‘They keep me aware of the whole world – not just me in my own time and place. It’s good to remember that there are other places on the planet, fi
lled with wonderful people. I like to consider what they might be doing – are they rising with the rosy-fingered dawn, while I am gazing at the stars?’
Hal stared at the watches. ‘But couldn’t you get all those times from your phone?’
Uncle Nat pulled a grey rectangle from his trouser pocket. ‘I have an analogue phone. It’s hard to have an adventure with a smart phone in your pocket. It stops you from reading real maps and talking to people. I don’t want to stare at a screen. I want to look at the landscape. I want to see the world.’
There was a knock. ‘You rang, sir?’ Gordon Goulde stood in the doorway.
‘Harrison needs a shirt for dinner,’ Uncle Nat said. ‘He neglected to pack one. He may need trousers and a tie too, if you have them.’
Hal smiled apologetically.
‘I’ll see what I can do, sir.’
While they waited, Uncle Nat put on tan brogues and a jacket to match his trousers.
Unzipping his rucksack, Hal pulled out his games console and charger. He opened the drawer under the settee and turned his bag upside down, tipping jeans, boxer shorts, socks, T-shirts and a maroon-and-navy-striped jumper into it. Closing the drawer with his foot, he looked around. ‘Where are the plugs?’
‘What do you need a plug for?’ Uncle Nat asked, tying a silk scarf around his neck and tucking it into his open shirt collar.
‘To charge my games console.’ Hal held it up. ‘I used up the battery on the journey from Crewe.’
‘I’m sorry – I don’t think you’ll be able to charge it in the compartment. It predates electronic devices.’
‘What about that wire?’ Hal pointed up to a cable running along the wall just beneath the ceiling.
‘That’s the emergency brake cord. It runs through every carriage on the train.’
‘Oh.’ Hal sighed and looked down at his games console.
The Highland Falcon Thief Page 2
