He shook the man's hand and climbed into the waiting cab. Speaking to the driver in German they set off. Within a few minutes the driver pulled in front of the train station and offered to help the man with his bag. He politely refused, paid the fare, and disembarked.

Pulling his ticket from his pocket he showed one of the conductors on the platform. The conductor read the details and pointed to a far platform, rattling off directions in fast German. The man nodded, thanked the conductor, and made his way toward his platform.

As he climbed the stairs to take the walkway to the far boarding platform he saw a woman struggle with her bag on the first landing. It would be hard to miss her, struggling as she was to lift the overlarge bag up an intimidating second set of stairs. More than that, he could not pull himself away from the small, blonde woman still giving all her effort to her task.

He slowed his pace, watching for anyone else who might assist her. When no one else came, everyone giving her a wide berth, he strode toward her. The rap of his cane on the concrete stairs set the rhythm of his halting pace up the stairs but stopped when he reached her.

"Could I be of service?" The woman startled a little when he spoke to her. As she looked up at him she frowned but he almost drown in the blue of her eyes. When she cleared her throat to get his attention he shook himself and tried again, "Could I be of service?"

"I'm sorry," She waved her hands, "I don't speak German."

He bit his tongue, appreciating her efforts with a nonnative language and trying to place the accent that flattened the vowels in her mouth. Swallowing, he changed to English, "Might I be of service?"

"Oh thank goodness," She put a hand to her chest, "When you started speaking German I was terrified you wouldn't speak English and then I'd have to try and mime to you what was going on."

"What is going on?"

"As you can tell, given that you stopped, I've got to get this bag up these stairs, over that walkway, and down the stairs on the other side to make my train." She threw her hands in the air, "I seem to have purchased more than I can carry."

"Holiday?"

"Business." She leaned forward, as if she wanted to share a secret. "But I do try and fit in a little holiday on every business trip."

"When one's in a city as beautiful as Vienna it would be a crime not to." He set down his bag and practiced lifting hers. It strained a little and he wondered if he could get it all the way to her platform but he knew she never could. "Tell you what, how about you grab my bag and I'll grab yours since I think we're on the same train. That way we both reach our platform with the minimum of strain."

"Sounds agreeable enough." She reached for his bag but paused, "Are you on the express to London?"

"I am," He lifted her bag in his left hand, "I'm John, by the way. John Bates."

She stuck out her hand and he moved his cane to rest on his left arm to shake it, "Anna Smith. But I already know who you are, Mr. Bates."

"Do you?" John was almost loathe to take his hand back but his leg twitched and he needed the support of his cane.

"Of course," She lifted his bag and started up the stairs, her shorter stride keeping pace with his limping gait. "I was here for the conference as well. Wanted to see what new methods they're using in Europe that maybe will inspire our bobbies back home."

"And do you inspire them?"

She shrugged, "Not really since they find me more tiresome and underfoot than helpful. I guess it'll mostly come out in how I report their approach to their cases… which they won't thank me for."

"You're a crime reporter."

"By that tone I'd hazard you don't hold a high opinion of such individuals."

"I try not to judge but in my experience reporters would sell out their own mothers to report on a story and I don't have time for that kind of nonsense."

"That's fair," She shrugged, "My mother always said never make an enemy by accident so I tend toward the safe side, not stepping on any toes."

"Can't leave you too many stories."

"Makes me more friends though and they talk to me where they scoff at the others." She smiled, "It's effective, as a strategy, but mostly they ignore me anyway."

"Not sure how anyone could do that." John risked a smile at her and felt a rise in his chest when she returned it.

"You're very charming for a policeman."

"How'd you know I'm a policeman?" They reached the stairs and took them slowly, mindful of the other people and John's cane.

"Other than being a crime reporter?"

"By your accent you're not one in my precinct. I would've remembering interacting with someone as captivating as yourself."

"You are a charmer and you're right, I'm not based on London," Ms. Smith dodged a man swinging a briefcase quickly by them, heedless of how it might have impacted anyone else. "I'm based in Yorkshire. Scarborough, to be exact."

"Then how do you know me?"

"I listened to your presentation, Mr. Bates. I did say I attended the conference."

He paused, resting the bag at to the side on the walkway, "How'd you find it?"

"Tame."

"Team?"

"Yes, tame."

"What's that mean?"

She shrugged, "I know you've done more daring things to great effect in London in the areas of observation skills training, advanced questioning, and the like but what you presented you barely scratched the surface of your successes."

"No one likes a boaster."

"It's not boasting if it's fact, Mr. Bates."

"Then one should never feed meat to a baby, Ms. Smith."

"But a baby hardly grew to adulthood still drinking mother's milk." Ms. Smith pointed to her bag, "If that's too heavy I can try and-"

"No," He hefted it again, "I don't think you can manage your trinkets."

"I'll have you know there are novels in there."

"Must be why it's so weighty." He feigned testing the weight, "Avid reader?"

"I am a reporter and I like books."

"Did you leave all your clothes at home to fit them?"

"Might've done but needs must, Mr. Bates." Ms. Smith led the way down to the platform and they took up positions on a bench not far from an older couple. "When would I ever be back in Vienna to buy them again?"

"That's a good question." John shifted on the bench, stretching out his leg, "When will you be?"

"Not anytime soon. I had to scrape and plead just to come for the conference."

"You wouldn't holiday here?"

"Mr. Bates," Ms. Smith turned to face him, "How much do you think a crime reporter makes?"

"Not much more than a policeman I'd imagine."

"You'd be right." She gestured to the station around them, "When, on that salary, could I ever possibly afford to come here?"

"I don't know." John laughed, pulling out his ticket and checking his seating, "I scrimped and saved for a month just to find a seat in second class."

Ms. Smith drew out her ticket and compared it, "What do you know Mr. Bates, we're next door neighbors now."

"And what of our other neighbors?" She narrowed her eyes and then followed his gaze to those around them. He pointed to the couple at the end of their bench, "What do you make of them?"

"Recently married." She pointed to the wedding bands, "She keeps fidgeting with hers, like she's not used to it but it comforts her to check it's there."

"What if she just doesn't like it?"

Ms. Smith gave John a look, "Watch how they can't keep their hands apart for more than a second. That's the sign of love, not marital frustration borne of years in company with one another."

John leaned over slightly and saw how the couple kept adjusting their grip but never quite let go. "Nice touch. You did pay attention to my presentation."

"I also heard your lecture, in York, about deductive reasoning and the applications of observation in crime solving."

John suppressed a grin, "Wanting to prove yourself Ms. Smith?"

She lifted her chin, "Try me, Mr. Bates."

"Alright," He eyed the platform and pointed to a table with three couples. "What about them?"

"Married. The women are sisters."

"Really?"

Ms. Smith pointed, "The blonde man keeps putting a hand on the woman with dark eyes. His gaze occasionally darts to her stomach, giving me the impression she's either had a bad go with the food here or, the more likely, she's pregnant. The blonde woman with the man whose ears stick out a bit, they're newly weds and he thinks he's the luckiest man in the world to have her. The last two, the one with the Irish accent and the brunette, have been married the longest since their touches are a little more restrained but by the way her arm is resting on her stomach I'd say she's also pregnant. Perhaps baby number two since he's not fidgeting as much about it."

"I'm impressed."

Ms. Smith laughed, "I cheated a bit."

"How so?"

"I know them. Those are the Crawley sisters. The thinnest of them, Mary Crawley, married Matthew two years ago. The second oldest, Edith, is the editor of a woman's magazine in London but lives in Scotland as lady of a very large castle owned by her husband, Bertie. And the last two, Sybil and Tom, caused a bit of scandal up north because he's an Irish socialist and insisted their first child be christened in the Catholic Church when he married the daughter of an Anglican Earl."

"The Crawleys?" John craned his head to see an older couple sitting just a few tables away. "As in the daughters of Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham?"

"Yes," Ms. Smith frowned, "Was this a test?"

"Not intentionally." John pointed to the older couple, "Before I worked at the Yard I served with Lord Grantham in the Great War."

"Then you know the family?"

"I haven't seen any of them in years." John shrugged, "Small world I guess."

"Very small." Ms. Smith nodded toward a set of older women, "The Dowager Countess and Mrs. Crawley seemed to have joined them on their trip."

"Mrs. Crawley?"

"Matthew's mother."

John made a 'hm' sound, "Must've been a very large family holiday."

"Must have." Ms. Smith laughed, "What about those two?"

"Which two?"

"Those two," Ms. Smith used her hand to steer John's head toward two men debating hotly on the side of the platform. "What do you make of them?"

"Government types." John used his finger to draw up and down them. "The shorter of the two, with the lovely baritone, more than likely works a very demanding government job and uses opera singing as an outlet while the other man is nobility and recently married."

"Smell it on him can you?"

"Well," John shrugged, "I've worked with Charles Blake before and met his friend there, Tony Gillingham, more than a few times at social functions."

"Now we're just having a go at one another." Ms. Smith settled on the bench, "We travel all this way, to Austria no less, and we just see people we see everyday."

"Not him," John put his hand on Ms. Smith's shoulder, "The tall, lanky stalk of a man reading a book in what looks like Japanese."

"How mysterious." She shivered, "I always like someone I can't identify."

"Car enthusiast." John gestured to the man's trousers, "Those are oil stains. You can see them on the black of his pants when the light catches them just right."

"And those two?" Ms. Smith folded her arms and used her elbow as a pointer to the man with dark hair and a soulless expression whispering furtively to the woman with a sneer.

"Probably second class like us but not overly proud of the fact. Seem rather bitter to be honest." The train whistle shrieked through the station and John stood, helping Ms. Smith to her feet. "But we'll have two days to find out if we care to know more."

Someone knocked into John and he stumbled slightly. His cane slipped on the cement but Ms. Smith stepped forward to steady him. John struggled to get his cane back in place before she collapsed under his unexpected weight, and nodded his thanks to her.

"Alright there Mr. Bates?"

"Yes I am." He steadied his grip on his cane, "That was unexpected."

"Some bloke in too much of a hurry. Same one from the stairs if you believe our luck." Ms. Smith groaned, "And he's on our carriage."

"Not the happiest of circumstances." John picked up Ms. Smith's bag. "If you lead me to yours first, Ms. Smith, I can deposit your bag and then we can settle mine."

"Already inviting yourself to my cabin and we've only just met." She faked surprise, "How scandalous."

"I didn't mean to imply- If you thought I had intentions to- Ms. Smith I can assure you that-" John stumbled but she put a hand on his arm, laughing.

"I'm joking, Mr. Bates. Of course we can take care of my bag first and then yours. It's no trouble. And please, call me Anna."

John smiled back at the look on her face and the sound of her laughter, "Then call me John, it'll save us syllables and time."

"Won't it just?"

They fell in line with the others and boarded carefully, conscious of John's cane. While they joined the shuffle of the valets working the bags of first class on and those trying to squeeze into second class John sighed. Anna turned to him, surprise on her face, and he waved his hand at the group.

"Just the frustration of it all."

"They're only a few bags, Mr. Bates."

"We're riding a train with the upper crust."

"Not a fan of the elite class are you?"

"I can't say I'm overly fond, no." He shook his head, "It'll be an interesting evening, that's all."

"Well," She looped her arm through his, "If you're too scared or nervous or tongue tied, don't worry they've a lot of grace. Stay by my side and I'll make sure they don't hurt you."

John chuckled, "I've never felt safer, Ms. Smith."

"Good." She pointed a finger at him, "And it's 'Anna', remember?"

"I remember."