I aided him to dress for his supper, and all the while I kept my senses alert for anything that would portend trouble. The worst of it was that after so much upheaval and danger in the last few days, everything had the capacity to alarm me. When ten nerve-wracking minutes had ticked by, accompanied by two sharp reprimands from McMillian, I tried the opposite tack, shutting out the tweaks and niggles that made me suspect I was still in a nest of Brotherhood members in the same way a man may fall into a nest of vipers. With no opportunity to seek out, or even to identity Mycroft Holmes, I felt truly at sea again.
Corporals Hirsh and Pfosten were waiting when McMillian left the compartment at last. Pfosten took the lead and Hirsh brought up the rear of their little escort as they bore McMillian off to eat in the lounge car, the two corporals as stiff as soldiers in a toy box.
I put McMillian’s compartment back in order, obeying his instructions to make all ready for departing the train. I made sure all his things were packed away with as much care as I could bring to the work. I took every precaution in my handling of his things in case some new deviltry had been recently concealed there. I could not say what I suspected—a dart tipped with a rare poison, perhaps, as the dart that struck my attacker in Luxembourg must have been, or a spider with a deadly bite—but I had no wish to find it by accident.
When I had completed my tasks, I went to my compartment, and for the rest of the evening, I made notes for Mycroft Holmes and reviewed the information in the notebooks I had carried in my carpetbag, and dressed the welt on my forehead once more. It was developing a yellowish-green undertinge, with the purple parts fading to a slate-blue. At least Elizabeth could not see me. Just the thought of my fiancée made me suddenly long for England and safety.
All the while as I went about these mundane chores, I tried to convince myself that no one was watching me, or McMillian, now that we were bound out of Germany by this new path. We crossed the Rhine before ten in the evening, arriving at the station shortly thereafter. From there we were taken to the second-best hotel in Strasbourg for the night. My room was two doors down the hall from McMillian’s, an arrangement I could not like, but knew better than to protest while the guards were with us.
The next morning I woke with the true beginnings of optimism in my heart and the first real appetite I had had since Luxembourg, which I lost almost at once when I recalled all those warning tales which spoke of foolish adventurers who allowed themselves to relax their vigilance before they were completely beyond reach of harm, and paid for this indulgence tenfold. I poked at my food with my fork and tried to rekindle my relish without success.
Such glum thoughts did not possess McMillian, who declared that he had passed a capital evening with the other men in the lounge and had made a gentlemanly amount of money over two rubbers of whist. He was glad to be on solid ground, if only for a few hours more. “For once we reach Metz, we will be as good as on English soil,” said McMillian confidently.
“I hope it may be true, sir,” I said, and began to stack his cases, chests, and trunks, in preparation for our departure to the train station. I could not banish the realization that on English soil there was Vickers, who had started me on my way here.
“I’ve always liked Strasbourg,” said McMillian as he gazed out the window. “It is so ... European. Not at all like England or Scotland.” He indicated the heavy clouds. “More rain today. It could slow down the train.” His annoyance at this inconvenience was apparent in the downward turn of his mouth.
“So it would appear, sir,” I responded, trying not to look at the sky.
“Our guards should be waiting by now,” he said a bit later, with a faint sigh.
“They are a wise precaution, sir,” I said, trying to sound unconcerned, for I was in the grip of a growing apprehension that boded ill. In vain I told myself it was only the distress of the last week that made me feel so vulnerable with no obvious reason.
“Did you sleep well, Jeffries?” asked McMillian, a note of complaint in his voice, as if my passing a poor night would necessarily impinge upon him. “You do not have any cheer about you this morning. Perhaps that cut on your forehead is troubling you again. While we are in Strasbourg you may want to have a physician look at it, in case there is an infection.”
“I slept well enough,” I replied, fingering the cut as I spoke. It was starting to heal and it itched. “And my wound is improving.”
“Gives you a reprobate air, no doubt of it,” said McMillian in disapproval. “Still, you got it honorably, I suppose. That bullet could have done far worse than strike you.”
“Yes, indeed, sir,” I said, recalling how near it came to Mycroft Holmes.
McMillian is unaware of my meaning, but favored me with a complacent expression of his own superiority. “It is good that you realize these things, Jeffries. It bodes well for your continued employment.”
I could not bring myself to thank him, but I bowed, rather stiffly, and went to look over the baggage that must be carried to the train station this morning in order to have it aboard the train for Metz, which departed at ten-forty-five and was supposed to arrive ten hours later at our destination. We had been assured by Corporal Hirsh that another guarded compartment was reserved for McMillian’s use, and that there would be no other occupants of the car but McMillian, the guards, and me.
There was a charabanc drawn up at the front of the hotel drawn by two big, square-bodied Hanoverians, their coats fuzzy in anticipation of winter’s cold. The coachman was much like his horses, a massive fellow, big-shouldered and tall, with a bad limp and a slouch hat pulled down low over a scarred visage. He spoke a fast and ferocious mixture of French and German in a guttural roar which gave me a moment’s dismay until I sorted out his dialect while he lugged the baggage onto his vehicle, securing it in place with a number of wide straps. “That fop of a foreigner get you here, and quickly,” he ordered, or so the instructions sounded to me.
“It seems he has been assigned to you,” I told McMillian as I held his coat for him. “He will travel on the train with us, and will give us transport from Ghent to our ship.” I shrugged at this arrangement. “He says he has done work of this sort before. At least, I think he has, for I am hard-put to understand him when he speaks quickly, his patois is so—”
“All peasants speak in that way,” McMillian informed me, dismissing the matter. “Probably an old soldier, if what you say about his face is accurate. Someone they’ve kept on in service because he might otherwise starve.” He made a swipe with his hand to banish the matter from his mind. “Well, come, then. We must continue the mission.”
“Certainly,” I said, as I opened the hotel doors for McMillian and followed him down the few broad steps to the waiting charabanc. I held the panel open for him, and then climbed up, taking the backward-facing seat.
The coachman, already on the box, saluted us with his whip before he gave his team the office. The carriage was well sprung and the coachman was very skilled. As a result there was little sway in our passage through the streets to the train station. It was a quiet day, with few people abroad. At the train station the porters were ready for our arrival and went to work at once. Our car had been set apart, and the guards took up their posts immediately once we boarded the train, having arrived at the station well in advance of McMillian and me. With the determined aid of the coachman, the luggage was shifted to the train in rapid order, and shortly thereafter we were under way for Metz.
FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS:
M.H. is still with G. and McMillian, but his telegram of this morning expresses some fear that the travel changes may not be enough to keep the Brotherhood from attempting to ruin all that the treaty seeks to achieve. M.H. has identified two spies aboard the train McMillian and G. rode yesterday and is afraid that there will be more today, for the nearer McMillian gets to England, the more determined the Brotherhood will be that he
shall not arrive. If it would not draw more attention than any of them want to the mission, he would order the Mercury train to Metz, to carry them all to the coast as quickly as possible. But a fast-traveling train presents an impressive moving target, and for the time being, he is convinced the Brotherhood would rather not draw much attention to their activities. He states that McMillian is proving to be a greater liability than he had supposed at first, and therefore he is going to remain with G. and McMillian all the way to England, in whatever persona seems most useful for the task. He asks me to offer his congratulations to Edmund Sutton, for he believes that G. has not yet recognized him in his current guise, which has given him a great deal of amusement.
Early this morning another missive came from Miss Roedale for G. It would appear that she is deeply displeased with what she considers his thoughtless neglect in staying away without any word to her for a week. It is her intention to deliver an ultimatum to G. upon his return regarding what she believes is an unreliable factor in his character of which she was not previously aware. She is afraid this may mean that their married life would be irregular as well, which does not please her. I have not violated her confidence in stating these things, for she sent the note unsealed with instructions that M.H. was to be made aware of its contents as well as G., so that he could see for himself how his demands have compromised G.’s hopes of happiness.
I have obtained the information M.H. has requested in regard to Brotherhood centers in France, including those private holdings of members which have been used by the Brotherhood, and have had it wired to him. I trust he received it before he had to leave. I will send a duplicate copy to Metz, so that he will have it in hand should he not receive the information at Strasbourg.
I must go to hospital shortly. Edmund Sutton has offered to remain at the flat all through the morning, although he often has his own time in the morning for tending to his own affairs. He leaves in the clothing of a rag-and-bone man, and returns a few hours later all rigged out as a sailor. I am astonished at how complete a transformation he achieves, for even I, who have known him for years, do not recognize him at once. In my current situation he is willing to give up his time for himself to enable me to be with Mother. Say what you will, actors are not without compassion for those in trouble, as I have discovered these last few days. I had not realized how much sympathy he has for those as unfortunate as Mother is.
It is my hope that I will soon have further word from M.H. in Germany. These delays and silences are the very devil to endure.
BY NOON THE rain was falling in steady sheets, taking most of the light out of the day and turning the world a monochrome sepia shade of ill-defined shapes beyond the streaming windows. The train had slowed to half its usual speed and its headlight shone as much as warning as to light the way ahead. Though the countryside in this region was not generally difficult terrain, it was hilly and there was always the chance of slides blocking the way in such weather and the engineer was not willing to risk an accident, for which sensible precaution I could heartily have cursed him.
“What sort of cowardly fellow is he, to delay us in this way?” McMillian demanded as he checked his watch for the fifth time in the hour. Boredom had long since made him surly, and he had consumed more brandy than was prudent. With the windows steamed up, he had wiped half a dozen circles on the glass but could not find a view to suit his purposes. “We will miss our connection to Liege, and then what will we do?”
“The engineer has the safety of his passengers at heart,” I answered rather more curtly than I should have.
“Don’t be insolent with me, Jeffries,” warned McMillian. “I can still end your employment if you displease me. Remarks like that one do displease me.” He rocked back in his settee as far as it was hinged to go. “If only this infernal rain would stop. We might make up for some of the time we have lost.”
“We might,” I agreed in the best sycophantic manner I could summon up. “And then it should be no later than midnight when we reach Metz.” My problem with feeling safe, I had decided, originated with the ill-at-ease feeling that possessed me when I added a von to the city ahead, and recalled that this region had been changing hands between France and Germany for more than a thousand years. Von Metz was undoubtedly German, and just as undoubtedly, the territory from which he took his name was now part of France, a prospect that ended any small degree of comfort I could take from our current location.
“Let us hope so,” said McMillian, soothed by my deferential attitude.
I shared his concern about the slowness of our progress and reminded myself that it was of necessity having the same effect on our pursuers. Assuming, my thoughts continued in an unwelcome manner, that they were, in fact, behind us and not waiting in ambush up ahead, in which case they might well be as restive as we were.
My fears proved prophetic. About two in the afternoon as we were crossing over a series of rills and freshets made into brooks by the rain, the train gave a lurch, then its brakes shrieked, the whistle howling in alarm. There was a loud, metallic scream echoed almost at once by human ones as the first of the cars buckled free of the track, and the two behind, including the car in which McMillian and I were riding, canted and sagged away from their rails, to lean against the hill as if taken with a sudden severe cramp.
McMillian swore heartily, struggling to get to his feet, thrashing about in his effort.
“Sir,” I said as I sat up gingerly. “It might be better to move more carefully. We do not know how precariously we are balanced.” Though I doubted even his most forceful activities could cause serious damage to us now, the notion of him blundering about in the car, where our armed guards were most certainly taking every measure to protect us, filled me with apprehension. Having escaped assassins, I had no wish to be shot by those assigned to keep me safe.
“But—” protested McMillian, only to have this drowned out by what sounded like an explosion ahead of the train.
Now I moved quickly, making my way on the leaning wall to where the door yawned over the slope beyond the tracks. In fair weather it would be an easy drop to the ground, but not now. Taking what measures I could to minimize my risk, I dropped out of the car, and pulled myself to my feet quickly, brushing mud and fine gravel from my hands as I did. The rain was everywhere; it quickly soaked through my coat to my skin and drained what little warmth I had been able to preserve for myself from me.
Ahead I saw the two conductors and their assistants walking along the side of the derailed cars, shaking their heads and gesticulating. Behind a small number of the passengers were emerging from the cars that were still on the tracks, many of them dazed, a few clearly upset.
We would not be reaching Metz tonight, not even by midnight. Another unwelcome thought intruded on this unhappy reverie—if another train were expected along behind us, it could be on top of us before it could safely stop, and then there would be a true disaster. I began to think I should warn someone of this possibility—which seemed the more likely to me because I supposed I was still being pursued—when I saw one of the two conductors take a lantern in his hand and begin to trudge down the length of the train. I hoped this meant he would continue on to some siding where a warning could properly be posted. Two of the assistants were preparing to assess the damage, tugging on oilcloth coats and taking lanterns and crowbars to help them in their work.
A short, burly fellow came rushing by me from one of the cars behind me, calling out loudly that he was a physician and was volunteering his services. He held a leather bag in one hand and clapped his hat to his head with the other. I swung around again to look behind me, and noticed that more people had left the train and were beginning to mill about in the wet.
One of the guards came out of the car, moving with exaggerated care. “What now, sir?”
“You ask me?” I wondered aloud. As I recalled, his name was Dietrich. “What does McMillian tell you?�
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The guard—Dietrich?—laughed once without any amusement. “He tells us to put the engine back on the tracks, set the cars to rights and get us moving.”
“Of course,” I said, still not sure why this fellow should come to me instead.
“They told us you were to be consulted in an emergency,” said the guard in a lowered voice. “This appears to be an emergency. So—”
“Yes, it does appear to be one,” I agreed slowly, wondering where the guards had been given their orders, and by whom.
Ahead, the physician began to bustle back down the line of cars, stopping first at the one in advance of McMillian’s, calling out if any of the baggage-handlers had been hurt.
“Nothing but cuts and bruises,” came the unconcerned answer. “Worst of all is the mess.”
The physician went on, arriving at McMillian’s car next. He glanced at me. “Is there anyone else in there?”
“Yes,” I said. “Three guards and a Scottish nobleman.”
The physician nodded portentously, and declared, “I must see how they are. You seem to have been injured yourself, sir.”
“Two days ago,” I said. “The Scotsman is in a terrible temper,” I added, thinking it only fair to warn him.
“I will strive to keep that in mind,” he said as he began to climb up the leaning car toward the door to the interior, his bag clutched tightly in his hand.
Against the Brotherhood Page 24
