“Balderdash! Not going anywhere. Intend to stay here and defend the battlements!”
“Then we shall go without you,” she said. “The spirits’ summons cannot be denied. Baine, when is the next train to Coventry?”
“Nine-oh-four, madam,” Baine said promptly.
“Excellent,” she said, turning her back on the Colonel. “Bring the carriage round at a quarter past eight. We shall leave for the station at half-past.”
He did, but we didn’t. Or at half-past nine. Or ten. Luckily, there were trains at 9:49, 10:17, and 11:05, which Baine, the walking Bradshaw, rattled off each time we experienced a delay.
There were various delays. Mrs. Mering declared the drama of the morning had left her weak, and she could not go without a sustaining breakfast of blood sausage, kedgeree, and stuffed chicken livers. Tossie could not find her lavender gloves. Jane brought down the wrong shawl. “No, no, the cashmere is far too warm for June,” Mrs. Mering said. “The tartan shawl, the one from Dunfermline.”
“We’re going to miss Mr. C,” Verity said, standing waiting in the foyer while Mrs. Mering changed her hat again.
“No, we’re not,” I said. “We can leave in half an hour and still catch the 11:26, and the diary didn’t say anything about what time of day it happened. Relax.”
She nodded. “I’ve been thinking about the bishop’s bird stump,” she said. “What if someone hid something in it to keep someone else from stealing it? And they came back to take it out again, but there wasn’t time, so they just took the whole thing?” She looked up the stairs. “What can be taking them so long? It’s nearly eleven.”
Tossie came tripping down the stairs in her lavender gloves and a medley of lavender frills. She looked out the open door.
“It looks like it’s going to rain,” she said, frowning. “We shan’t be able to see any sights if it rains, Mama,” she said to Mrs. Mering, who was descending the stairs. “Perhaps we should wait till tomorrow.”
“No!” Verity said. “What if Lady Godiva has something urgent to tell us?”
“It does look like rain,” Mrs. Mering said. “Has Baine packed the umbrellas?”
“Yes,” I said. Also the guidebooks, the luncheon hamper, the smelling salts, a spirit lamp, Mrs. Mering’s embroidery, Tossie’s novel, Terence’s Tennyson, several issues of the psychic weekly magazine, The Light, and an assortment of lap robes and rugs, all of which Baine had managed to pack so well there was still room for us in the two carriages, though it was probably a good thing Professor Peddick had decided to stay with the Colonel.
“I wished to discuss several points regarding the Battle of Thermopylae with the Colonel,” he told Mrs. Mering.
“Well, don’t let him stay out if it rains,” she said, apparently softening a little toward her husband. “He’ll catch his death.”
Terence led Cyril over and hoisted him up onto the running board.
“Mr. St. Trewes,” Mrs. Mering said in Wagnerian tones, “you cannot possibly be thinking of taking that creature with you.”
Terence stopped in mid-hoist, Cyril’s hind legs dangling in the air. “Cyril’s a perfect gentleman on trains,” Terence said. “He’s been everywhere on them — London, Oxford, Sussex. He loves to look out the window, you know, at passing cats and things. And he always gets along famously with the railway guards.”
But not with Mrs. Mering.
“A railway carriage is no place for an animal,” she said.
“And I’m wearing my new travelling dress,” Tossie said, patting at the frills with a lavender glove.
“But he’ll be so disappointed,” Terence said, reluctantly lowering him to the ground.
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Mering said. “Dogs haven’t any feelings.”
“Never mind, Cyril,” Professor Peddick said. “You can come with me out to the fishpond. I’ve always been extremely fond of dogs. So has my niece, Maud. Feeds them from the table.” They walked off together.
“Do get in, Mr. St. Trewes,” Mrs. Mering said. “You will make us late for the train. Baine, did you pack my lorgnette?”
We finally left for the station at half-past ten. “Remember,” Verity said to me as I helped her into the carriage, “Tossie’s diary only says ‘the trip to Coventry.’ It doesn’t say which part of the trip. Mr. C could be someone at the station or on the train.”
We arrived at the station at 11:09. The train had already gone, which was probably just as well since it took us nearly ten minutes to get everyone and everything out of the carriages. By the time we got out onto the platform, there was no one there.
“I don’t see why the train couldn’t have waited!” Mrs. Mering said. “A few minutes either way surely wouldn’t make a difference. So inconsiderate!”
“I know it’s going to rain and ruin my travelling dress,” Tossie fretted, looking at the sky. “O, Terence, I do hope it doesn’t rain on our wedding day.”
“ ‘Ah festal day, so fair, so bright,’ ” Terence quoted, but absently, looking off toward Muchings End. “If it does rain, I hope Professor Peddick won’t leave Cyril outside.”
“I do hope they don’t decide to go fishing in this weather,” Mrs. Mering said, “what with Mesiel’s weak chest. He caught a dreadful chill last spring. He was in bed for two weeks, and such a frightening cough! The doctor said it was a miracle it didn’t go into pneumonia. Mr. Henry, do go and see if there’s any sign of the train.”
I walked down to the far end of the platform to check. When I came back, Verity was standing apart from the others. “I’ve been thinking about the bishop’s bird stump,” she said. “In The Moonstone, the jewel was taken by someone who didn’t know he’d stolen it. He was sleepwalking, and he put it in something, and then a second person stole it from him. What if the person who took it—?”
“Was sleepwalking?” I said. “In Coventry Cathedral?”
“No. Didn’t know they were committing a crime.”
“Exactly how many drops have you done in the past week?” I asked.
Baine reappeared, with a porter who was at least seventy years old, and they and the groom began transferring our luggage from the carriages to the edge of the platform. Verity looked speculatively at the porter.
“No,” I said. “She was married to him for over fifty years. That means he’d have to live to be a hundred and twenty.”
“Did you see any sign of the train, Mr. Henry?” Mrs. Mering called.
“No, I’m afraid not,” I said, walking over to her.
“Where can it be?” she said. “I hope its being late isn’t an omen. Mr. Henry, have the carriages gone?”
“We must go to Coventry today,” Verity said. “What would Madame Iritosky think of us if we ignored the spirits’ message?”
“She herself thought nothing of departing in the middle of the night in response to a message she received,” I said, wishing the bloody train would hurry up and come. “And I have no doubt the weather will be fine when we reach Coventry.”
“And there are such lovely things in Coventry,” Verity said and then obviously couldn’t think of any.
“Blue dye,” I said. “They are famous for their Coventry-blue dye. And ribbons.”
“I might buy some for my trousseau,” Tossie said.
“Professor Peddick tends to be absentminded,” Terence said wistfully. “He won’t go off and leave Cyril, do you think?”
“Azure ribbons, I think, for my going-away hat,” Tossie said. “Or baby blue, perhaps. What do you think, Mama?”
“Why can’t these trains arrive at the time listed on the schedule instead of making us wait for hours?” Mrs. Mering said.
And so on. The train arrived at exactly 11:32, pulling into the station with an impressive whoosh of steam, and Verity practically pushed everyone onto the train, keeping an anxious eye out for anyone who looked like he might be Mr. C.