I saw the stationmaster ready his flag, and for the first time since I had arrived in East Carmine, I felt myself relax. I smiled and looked out the window. The only alighting passenger looked like Bertie Magenta. Same large ears and mildly dopey demeanor. I looked closer. It was Bertie Magenta. He was dressed in a light synthetic-violet three-piece suit with matching hat, and was carrying a small overnight case. He held a perfumed handkerchief to his nose and had wrapped his shoes in newspaper, presumably to avoid soiling them.
“Bertie?” I said, having lowered the carriage window. “Is that you?”
“Hello, Eddie,” he replied. “Are you leaving?”
“It’s a long story. What in Munsell’s name are you doing here?”
“Very droll,” he said with a laugh. “Another one of your quippy japes?”
“Not at all,” I replied, “I really want to know.”
“Because you sent for me. Something about a frightfully vivacious sub-Beta gal who would be willing”—he leaned forward and lowered his voice—“to offer favors on approval.”
“Tommo!” I cried, suddenly realizing what had happened. Foolishly, I had mentioned Bertie’s name in his presence.
“No, I think her name’s Imogen, and she looks and sounds like just the sort of filly I’m after. If she’s half as purplicious as you made out in your telegram, I will happily give you the fifty-merit introduction fee you asked for.”
“There’s been a misunderstanding.”
“What?” said Bertie. “You mean she’s not available?”
“No. Well, yes, I suppose she is, but—”
“Welcome to East Carmine!” came a voice, and I turned to see Tommo and Fandango walking along the platform. Behind them in the station yard was the village’s Ford. Bertie was being given the full treatment, and while Fandango greeted Magenta warmly and led him toward the Ford, Tommo leaned on the window to talk to me.
“What are you doing on the train, Eddie?”
“Something I should have done the moment I got here. And just for the record, you had no right to contact Bertie.”
He smiled. “I meant to explain what I was up to, but I couldn’t think of a way of doing it without your flying into a rage. So I didn’t.”
“You forged a telegram from me!”
“Let’s just say I might have misrepresented the sendee a little bit. It’s no worse than lying about the rabbit. In fact, I’m doing the Magentas a favor—always a good move, if you know what I mean.”
“But Bertie’s a vacuous oaf. I wouldn’t wish him married to my worst enemy!”
“You’re not wishing him married to your worst enemy. You’re wishing him married to the lovely Imogen.”
“This will make her and Dorian miserable. How can you have a part in that?”
“When I have no cash I’m miserable,” he said, “so it’s either them or me. Good-bye, Eddie.”
And he walked off toward the station yard to join Fandango and Bertie.
I sat back in my seat, my relaxed feelings replaced by annoyance and frustration. I felt partially responsible, but there was, in fact, nothing I could do. I’d be overnighting in Cobalt and back in Jade-under-Lime by lunchtime tomorrow. I looked down and opened the telegram. It wasn’t perhaps the best thing I could have read.
TO EDWARD RUSSETT RG6 7GD ++ EAST CARMINE RSW ++ FROM CONSTANCE OXBLOOD SW3 6ZH ++ JADE UNDER LIME GSW ++ MSGE BEGINS ++ DELIGHTED TO HEAR NEWS OF YOUR GOOD FORTUNE HOPE YOU AND MISS DEMAUVE VERY HAPPY TOGETHER AND THAT ONE DAY OUR PATHS MIGHT CROSS AGAIN ++ SINCE YOUR MARRIAGE HAS REDUCED MY MARRIAGE MARKET I HAVE ACCEPTED ROGERS OFFER AND WE ARE TO MARRY IN THE SPRING ++ BE WELL CONSTANCE X ++ PS ROGER SENDS REGARDS AND ASKS IF HE CAN HAVE YOUR TENNIS RACKET ++ MSGE ENDS
I suddenly felt sick, angry, relieved and cheated all at once. I closed my eyes and scrunched up the telegram.
“Bad news?” asked the Blue woman with the veil.
“Ten minutes ago it would have been,” I said, thinking of Stafford’s words, “but right now it’s probably the best news I’ve had.”
I got up and opened the door of the carriage as the stationmaster was putting his whistle to his lips. But before I could climb out and shut the door behind me, Bunty strode up with a look of thunder.
“There was a deal, Russett!”
“The deal is off.”
“We’ll tell you if the deal is off!”
And before I knew it, she had pushed me roughly back inside the carriage. I used my foot to keep her from shutting the door and wormed my way half out again, whereupon Bunty punched me painfully in the midriff, then grabbed my ear. The stationmaster and the Blue woman in the veil looked on, he with the whistle poised in his mouth, and she tutting audibly, shocked and appalled by the unseemly tussle playing out in front of her. Bunty was stronger than I, and the struggle soon descended into her pushing with all her might from outside as I tried to keep hold of the varnished door frame on the inside. I caught the eye of the stationmaster. I knew he wouldn’t risk his job by assisting me, but I also knew that punctuality was of vital importance. So I suddenly let go of the door frame, and Bunty and I both tumbled inside. The stationmaster slammed the door and blew his whistle. By the time we had disentangled ourselves, the door locks had clunked and the train had begun to move off.
“You idiot!” yelled Bunty, her hair unpinned and her pinafore askew. “Just look at me!”
I told her it appeared we were now traveling companions, and she said only for the next forty minutes until Bluetown, where she would alert their departures clerk as to my behavior and use force if necessary to keep me on the train.
“And the next stop after that will be Greenways,” she added—“out of Red Sector West and our hair forever.”
I didn’t reply to this, except to say I had cut my lip, and excused myself to go to the toilet, leaving Bunty apologizing to the woman in the Blue veil and explaining that I was “trouble of the worst kind.”
But I didn’t go to the toilet. I went to the next carriage, lowered the window and climbed out until I was standing on the step. I timed my moment and jumped. The train was going at a reasonable speed by now, but I wasn’t much bothered as I tumbled on the grass and fell into a thorn bush. I sat up, scratched and bleeding, and watched the train until it was out of sight, then walked back down the line to the railway station.
“Changed your mind?” asked the stationmaster as I struggled back onto the platform twenty minutes later.
“The Outer Fringes grow on you.”
“So does lichen if you stand still long enough.”
My Last Evening Ignorant
4.2.12.34.431: The menu at village tearooms shall not be deviated from.
I made my way to the Fallen Man, where long-established custom would find Carlos Fandango offering tea and scones to Bertie, and discussing potential dowries, feedback ratings and virtues. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I knew I needed to do something.
Dorian was pacing around on the opposite side of the street, and before I could say anything, he punched me on the nose. It wasn’t that hard, but enough to stop me in my tracks.
“That’s for betraying my confidence,” he said. “I thought you were positive toward our predicament. And now I find you’ve invited this Magenta idiot to come over and feel the goods before purchase. What is Imogen to you? Ripe fruit?”