As soon as Hal was in his bunk, he opened the sketchbook. He held the pen above the paper for a second and then drew a pair of dancing eyes.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE FIRTH OF FORTH
The Highland Falcon pulled her sleeping passengers through the dark, tossing steam over their heads like fleeting dreams as she climbed the East Coast Main Line. The shutters of level crossings bowed as she approached the ghostly cobweb of roads around towns. A little after midnight, her brakes sang gently, and she halted in a siding to take on coal and water. With a tender full of fuel, and her pipes hissing fresh steam, the Highland Falcon clanked back on to the main line, steaming towards Scotland.
‘Hal, wake up. You’ve got to see this.’
It was light. Hal blinked, opening his eyes. Uncle Nat beckoned him down from his bunk. The blind was up, and the curtains open. Hal saw a clear expanse of blue, stretching to the horizon. He pressed his face into the glass and realized that they were travelling across a giant bridge made from a lattice of red iron that stretched as far as he could see in either direction.
‘Where are we?’
‘North of Edinburgh –’ Uncle Nat pulled the window down – ‘crossing over the Firth of Forth.’ He put his head out and shouted, ‘Take a look at this!’
Wriggling in between his uncle and the window, Hal stuck his head out.
‘The Forth Bridge!’ Uncle Nat whooped. ‘One of the greatest railway bridges in the world!’
The Highland Falcon blew her whistle, and Hal felt a thrill as the train rocketed across the high bridge, the water shimmering far below. In the distance, the river became the sea, rolling out to meet a bright blue sky. The rhythmic clatter of the train on the rails made the ironwork of the bridge vibrate and ring.
‘Over two and a half kilometres long,’ Uncle Nat shouted, ‘and four thousand men to build it. Blooming marvellous.’
They ducked their heads back inside, and Uncle
Nat shut the window.
‘You’re covered in coal smuts!’ He chuckled, turning Hal to face the mirror.
Hal laughed. ‘So are you!’
Uncle Nat handed him a hot flannel, and he wiped his face.
‘We’ll be arriving at Ballater, the station nearest Balmoral Castle, around midday. We probably won’t eat lunch till nearly two,’ said Uncle Nat. ‘We’ll need a hearty breakfast.’
In the dining car, Steven Pickle was stood nose to nose with Gordon Goulde.
‘If she had lost it –’ he jabbed a finger at Gordon’s shoulder to punctuate the word – ‘it would have been found by now. It’s not in our compartment, so it must’ve been nicked!’ ‘Is there a problem?’ Uncle Nat asked. ‘You bet there’s a problem,’ Steven Pickle growled. ‘I was telling Jobsworth here that I want the train searched. One of his crooked crew has pocketed my wife’s diamond brooch!’
‘All my attendants have a long history of serving the royal f-family,’ stammered Gordon. ‘They’re completely trustworthy.’
‘Someone’s pinched it,’ snarled Steven Pickle, stepping back. He looked at Hal, narrowing his eyes. ‘And when I catch them, I’m going to wring their neck.’ He stomped away, plonking himself down at a table, opposite his wife, who was wearing sunglasses.
Wheat fields framed by beech hedgerows rolled past the windows as Hal and his uncle ordered breakfast. Hal was sketching the Forth Bridge when Lady Lansbury arrived in a cloud of white dogs, greeting everyone cheerfully as she sailed through the carriage. Hal reached out under the table and ruffled Bailey’s fur as she passed. He turned to a clean page in his sketchbook and started to draw the dog.
‘It’s disgusting,’ Steven Pickle grumbled loudly to Lady Lansbury, his knife and fork clattering down on to his plate. ‘We’re victims of a crime, and no one is doing anything about it. My wife’s a wreck.’
Lydia nodded her head but didn’t lift her sunglasses.
‘My dear,’ said Lady Lansbury, placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘Are you unwell?’
‘Sick to my stomach,’ Lydia replied. ‘Remember my twinkling bow? The one covered in diamonds that I was wearing last night? It’s gone. Stolen.’
‘Cost me the price of a house, that thing,’ Steven Pickle grumbled.
‘Oh my!’ Lady Lansbury’s hand went to her throat. ‘Are you quite sure?’
‘Positive!’ Steven Pickle replied for his wife. ‘Aren’t you?’ Lydia opened her mouth, but he kept on talking. ‘I’m not happy, Lady Lansbury – not happy at all – because someone forgot to add it to our insurance. Still, no one pilfers from a Pickle and gets away with it.’
Lady Lansbury pursed her lips and looked around. ‘Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, but your troubles make me bold enough to share something odd that has happened to me.’ She paused. ‘I too appear to have lost some valuable jewellery. It was in my vanity case, but now, well, it seems to have gone missing.’
Lydia Pickle gasped. ‘No way! Then there is a thief on the train.’
‘Rowan Buck, my gentleman-in-waiting, looked everywhere this morning – I can be quite a scatterbrain – and of course, I have so many jewels, it’s common for me to lose one or two from time to time. But after hearing your story … well – now I’m wondering.’
‘What did they take?’
‘My pearl earrings. A beautiful pair of natural pearls the size of blueberries in antique diamond settings. I was wearing them last night at dinner.’
‘Oh!’ Lydia squealed. ‘That’s when my brooch went missing. Last night, before dinner!’
Steven Pickle swivelled in his seat and pointed at Hal. ‘You were loitering outside Lady Lansbury’s compartment last night. I saw you.’
All the passengers in the dining car fell silent and looked at Hal, and he felt himself go bright red.
‘I caught him sneaking about,’ Steven Pickle continued.
‘I …’ Hal’s voice stuck in his throat.
‘Did you take something from my room, young man?’ Lady Lansbury asked. ‘As a game, perhaps? If you did, it would be best to own up now.’
Hal shook his head. ‘I wanted to see your dogs – I love dogs.’
‘He’s lying,’ Steven Pickle said.
Lady Lansbury narrowed her eyes.
‘Now then, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’ Uncle Nat stood up. His voice was calm and reasonable. ‘I suggest that you both report your suspected crimes to the police once we arrive at Ballater and allow the proper authorities to look into the matter.’ He nodded and sat down to show that the conversation was finished.
‘I’m watching you,’ Steven Pickle growled at Hal. ‘Thieving little brat.’
‘Mr Pickle, if you level one more accusation at my nephew, I will report you to the police for harassment.’ Uncle Nat calmly folded his napkin. ‘Now let that be an end to the matter.’
Steven Pickle opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it. He picked up his fork and stabbed it into a piece of black pudding on his plate.
‘Gordon.’ Uncle Nat called over the head steward. ‘We’ll take breakfast in our room this morning, please.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘I didn’t steal anything, Uncle Nat – I promise,’ Hal said as soon as they were safely back in their compartment.
‘Of course you didn’t, I know that. Mr Pickle is a buffoon and a bully. Lydia Pickle probably misplaced the brooch. It will turn up in their compartment. You’ll see.’
Breakfast arrived on a tray with fold-down legs, like the one Hal had seen Amy leave outside the door in the royal carriage yesterday.
‘What if there is a jewel thief?’ Hal said, picking up Ernest White’s newspaper. ‘Look, it says someone’s stealing precious jewels from high-society people in London. What if the thief is on board the train?’
‘Well, if they are, we’ve nothing to worry about,’ said Uncle Nat, as he poured them each a glass of orange juice. ‘We haven’t got anything worth stealing.’
‘But, if there is a thief … shouldn’t we try t
o catch them?’
‘Hal, in a few short hours, the prince and princess will be boarding this train with their royal guard. Only a lunatic would steal from such a secure place.’ Uncle Nat took a bite of his toast. ‘Trust me – there are no thieves on this train.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
A ROYAL STOWAWAY
After breakfast, Hal got up, brushing the crumbs from his lap. ‘I’m going to see if anyone wants to play darts with me.’ He grabbed his sketchbook and slid his biro down the spine.
‘Would you mind if I didn’t?’ Uncle Nat lifted his journal out from his case. ‘I have work to do, documenting last night’s departure.’
‘No – that’s fine.’ Hal smiled, holding up the sketchbook. ‘If no one wants a game of darts, I’ll draw.’
‘We’ll be passing Dundee soon, crossing over the Tay. There’s a grand view from the bridge – keep an eye out.’
‘I will.’ Hal slipped the book into the back pocket of his jeans.
‘If you have any trouble from Mr Pickle, you come and get me.’
‘I’ll keep out of his way.’
‘You’d better stay away from Lady Lansbury’s dogs, too.’
Hal closed the door behind him, took five paces forward, paused, and then tiptoed backwards, turning and running towards the royal carriages.
‘There is a jewel thief on this train,’ he whispered to himself, ‘and I know exactly where she’s hiding.’
As he ran, Hal thought about Amy delivering that tray of food. Was she the thief’s accomplice? If so, the girl and possibly the stolen jewels were in that royal carriage. If he caught the thief and found the jewels, he might get the reward mentioned in the paper. Then I could definitely get a dog.
Putting his fingers into the brass niche of the connecting door to the royal carriage, he slid it sideways. The runners were well oiled and made no sound. Slipping through, his heart pogoed about in his chest as he tiptoed across the spongy carpet to the spot where Amy had left the tray. He pressed his ear to the door, but the beating of his heart was so loud, he couldn’t hear anything. He turned the handle silently. The room was dark. He smelt talcum powder and perfume. He saw a double bed – its covers rumpled. On the bedside table was a half-full glass of orange juice.
Hal stepped into the room, treading on playing cards laid out in columns. Someone had been playing patience. The compartment was empty. He pulled out his sketchbook, sat on the edge of the bed, and drew a quick diagram of the layout of the room.
There was a click as the door swung shut behind him.
‘Gotcha!’ a voice shouted.
Hal nearly jumped out of his skin. Standing in front of the door dressed in a black T-shirt and blue dungarees, her arms folded across her chest, was the girl who had stuck her tongue out at him. Strapped around her hips was a tool belt. He could see a spanner, two screwdrivers and a Swiss Army knife. That’s how she got into Lady Lansbury’s compartment, Hal thought. She picked the lock.
‘No – I’ve caught you,’ Hal said, shoving his sketchbook into his back pocket.
The girl, who was taller than Hal, fixed him with a defiant stare. ‘Who are you? And what are you doing creeping into my compartment?’
‘It’s not your compartment; it’s the royal family’s. No one’s allowed in here.’
‘You’re in here.’ The girl cocked her head. ‘And I caught you creeping into the royal carriage without permission. You’re gonna be in deep trouble.’
‘Yeah, well you’re going to jail!’ Hal held out his hand. ‘Give me the brooch and the earrings, and I’ll tell the police you came quietly.’
The girl frowned. ‘What?’
‘The jewels that you stole last night from Mrs Pickle and Lady Lansbury.’
‘There’s been a theft?’
Hal nodded. ‘They’re going to tell the police when we get to Balmoral.’
‘Ah nuts!’ the girl cursed under her breath.
‘It’ll be much better for you if you give yourself up now.’
The girl rolled her eyes. ‘I’m not a thief, you idiot.’
‘I’m not an idiot.’
‘You are if you think I’m a thief.’
‘Why are you hiding if you’re not a thief?’
‘I’m a stowaway.’
‘A what?’ Hal faltered. He hadn’t expected her to say that.
‘I wasn’t going to miss the Highland Falcon’s last journey, but Dad said no children were allowed on the train.’ She looked at Hal accusingly. ‘Although that obviously isn’t true.’
‘I wasn’t supposed to be coming,’ Hal said. ‘My uncle brought me because my mum’s in hospital.’
‘Is she sick?’
‘Yes … No. She’s having a baby.’ Hal felt his chest get tight. He didn’t want to talk about his mum. ‘You’re a stowaway? How did you get on the train?’
The girl screwed up her eyes, regarding him with suspicion. ‘You have to promise not to tell.’
‘Tell who what?’ Hal blinked. ‘I don’t know anything.’
‘Dad would get into trouble. He could lose his job.’
‘The waitress who brought you food knows.’
‘Amy? Yeah, she’s cool. She can keep a secret.’
‘I can keep a secret.’
‘Swear it. Say “I –” … What’s your name?’
‘Harrison Beck.’
‘Say, “I, Harrison Beck, swear with my breath and my spit never to tell anyone Lenny is on the Highland Falcon.”’
‘Lenny?’
‘It’s short for Marlene.’ She leaned towards him. ‘You got a problem with it?’
Hal shook his head.
‘Good. Right – say it.’
‘I, Harrison Beck, swear with my breath and my spit never to tell anyone Lenny is on the Highland Falcon.’
Lenny spat on her hand and held it out for him to shake. Hal grimaced as the warm saliva rubbed between their palms, sealing the promise.
‘My dad is the train driver,’ she said proudly, wiping her hand on her dungarees. ‘Mohanjit Singh. The best steam-engine driver in the country.’
‘Your dad’s the driver?’ Hal was impressed. ‘So he let you get on the train?’
‘No! He’d never break the rules. The whole family drove up to Buckinghamshire, where the royal train is kept, to wave Dad off. After I hugged him goodbye on the footplate, I told Mum that he’d changed his mind and had said I could come. I hid in the tender on the way to London. When we got to King’s Cross, I owned up.’ She grinned and jumped up on to the bed, bouncing up and down. Her long black plait whipped about like a crazed snake. ‘I knew Dad’d have to let me come on the trip then. I couldn’t go all the way back to Torquay on my own.’
‘Wasn’t he angry?’
‘A bit.’ She shrugged. ‘But he feels the same way about trains as I do – they’re in our blood.’ Lenny dropped on to her bottom, and a toy mouse flew up out of the chest pocket of her dungarees. She grabbed it and stuffed it back in.
‘Is that a teddy?’ Hal scoffed. ‘How old are you?’
‘I’m twelve in three months.’ Lenny glared at him. ‘And it’s not a teddy. It’s Penny Mouse. Dad gave it me the first time he let me ride on the footplate of the Highland Falcon, so I thought she should come too. How old are you?’
‘I’m eleven.’ Hal sat down beside her. ‘And I’ve got a toy puppy called Pumu back home because I’m not allowed a real dog.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘I didn’t mean to laugh at your mouse. Can I see it?’
Lenny handed him the mouse. Its nose was a clump of black stitching gathered around horse-hair whiskers, and it had a strip of black leather for a tail. ‘She lives in loco tenders and eats cheese. When I was little, I used to suck her tail.’
‘Gross.’ Hal gave it back.
‘So, tell me about this jewel thief,’ Lenny said, swinging her legs off the side of the bed.
Hal reached into his back pocket, took out his sketchbook, and pulled out the front page of Ernest White’s
newspaper. ‘Last night, someone stole Lydia Pickle’s diamond brooch. Then, this morning at breakfast, Lady Lansbury said that someone had broken into her compartment and stolen her pearl earrings. I think this thief who’s been stealing jewels from high-society parties –’ he pointed at the article – ‘and the train thief could be the same person.’
‘Whoa!’ Lenny took the article. ‘It says here they stole a ruby ring right off someone’s finger!’
‘There’s a reward for whoever catches the thief. It’s ten thousand pounds.’
Lenny shook her head, looking unimpressed. ‘That’s not enough to buy a steam loco.’
‘You want to buy a train?’
‘Not just any train. I want a streak – an A4 Pacific. Ten thousand pounds wouldn’t even get you the name plate from a classic engine.’
‘You’re odd.’
‘No – I love trains.’ Lenny looked at him. ‘Don’t you?’
‘I’ve never really thought about them.’ Hal looked about. ‘I suppose this one’s quite cool.’
‘Quite cool?’ Lenny looked disgusted. ‘You get to go on the final journey of one of the greatest trains ever built, on an A4 Pacific, the train that holds the world land-speed record for steam, and you think it is quite cool?’ She shook her head. ‘There’s something wrong with you.’ She jumped to her feet and grabbed his hand, pulling him up off the bed. ‘C’mon.’
CHAPTER NINE
RAIL LEGS
Lenny checked the corridor was empty and darted out of the door, pulling Hal behind her. Carpet was replaced by linoleum as they headed towards the front of the train. Hal could smell frying bacon, coffee and engine oil.
‘These are the service cars.’ Lenny let go of his hand as they passed cupboards, hatches and shelves stacked with white towels and bed linen. ‘That’s the pantry.’ She grinned at him over her shoulder. ‘Good for emergency biscuits.’
A horn suddenly blared, and the carriage lurched as an express train shot past. Hal stumbled and whacked his elbow against the pantry door.
‘Argh!’ He grimaced as his arm fizzed like a thousand angry hornets. ‘Funny bone.’
The Highland Falcon Thief Page 4
