The guard's whistle blew, its shrill warning of their trains impending departure calling out through the steam that was beginning to build, its white clouds swirling around the carriage wheels and across the platform, the gritty scent of burning coal starting to pervade her senses as the last of the heavy doors were slammed shut, echoing off the high ceiling of the station. She collapsed back into her seat, its velvet cushions taking her weight and wrapping themselves slightly around her frame. The journey up from the coast had felt longer than it needed to have done, the anxious anticipation of what was waiting for them at their destination, she supposed. After a month away, she admitted to herself that she was desperate to be home.
She bolted slightly as the train shuddered, the engine whistle now sounding followed by the loud clunk of heavy wheels beginning to slowly turn. Resting back on the high seat, she rolled her head to look through the murky window, the thin layer of grim to be found there the inevitable consequence of coal-fired transportation. She watched as the station slipped from view, replaced by the backyards of the Victorian brick terraced housing that butted up so tightly against the track, their seemingly endless rows of washing strung up, drying in the smog-filled air of the city. How different really were the lives of those who resided in those homes to her own, she contemplated. Of course, the resources and level of comfort differed widely, she knew her life was one of privilege, but they loved and lost just as she did, didn't they? Just as she had. Surely that was a unifying trait across all peoples, all classes. But she wondered. Did the women living in these cramped quarters embrace married life with the same sense of joy and fear as she did now? Had they discovered a great passion, one they knew they couldn't live without, and yet wrung their hands at what it meant? Had they too longed to hear the simplicity and beauty of their vows before God and now accepted that they had changed everything?
Her thoughts continued in this vein for some time, the grey of the inner city giving way to the greener suburbs before she felt her husband's hand on hers, bringing her back to him and their shared present.
"My dear, you were miles away," Bertie said lightly, smiling warmly as she returned her attention to him. "I was thinking of a refreshment from the dining cart. Can I fetch you something?"
Edith squeezed his hand at his thoughtfulness but shook her head in decline. She watched him as slid open their compartment door and stepped into the corridor that ran the length of their carriage, the clickety-clack of the train considerably louder in her ears until he turned to quietly close it behind him. As a first class passenger, a Marquess no less, he hardly needed to fetch his own tea but she knew he'd want to stretch his legs, discovering over their short marriage how hard he found it to be still for too long, relishing any opportunity to be on the move. As she waited for his return, she moved to make herself more comfortable. Theirs was a private carriage with no expectation of having to share, so why suffer, she thought. They had hours ahead of them yet. She peeled off the gloves first, the grey material revealing her pale, elegant hands, and then felt for the long pin that secured her hat. She lifted her sky blue cloche, careful not to disturb her hair too much, and returned the pin to it for safekeeping, placing the whole bundle carefully on the seat beside her. She looked down at her left hand as her ring caught in the light, rays of sun now streaming in and illuminating the space as broad expanses of open land now appeared between the larger properties on the very outskirts of London. For all her doubts and worries about what was waiting for her as the train continued to speed up, she let her contentment of being the new Marchioness of Hexham delight her as the delicate gold band on her fourth finger appeared to glow.
Tea duly ordered with the assurance that it would be served to them without delay, Bertie wandered slowly back to their carriage. The train was quiet, many of the compartments he passed lying empty. That was to be expected, he concluded, given the hour of their departure. He'd acquiesced at his darling wife's request that they hurry through breakfast in order to catch an earlier train than he'd originally planned. He knew after so long away she was desperate to have little Marigold back in her arms and he saw no harm in indulging her. They'd travelled over land from Paris the previous day, catching a late afternoon boat to Dover. He'd wondered whether she'd force him onto the last train north but in the end exhaustion had won out and he'd persuaded her that one final glorious night together at the Ritz would be an altogether better conclusion to their honeymoon. And he'd been proven correct in his thinking, waking up in the luxurious position of being in one of the finest hotels in the world, entwined in the arms of his most beautiful wife, had been a moment to savour.
He stopped to open a window, releasing its leather strap to let it fall down halfway, relishing the feeling of the fresh, crisp air of the open countryside as it whipped in and blew against his face and chest. He daren't lean out, as tempting as it was to experience the rushing along, he'd read such terrible stories of accidents that had befallen those who'd risked just a fleeting moment of this sort of excitement, and whilst he sometimes wished he was more outgoing and adventurous, he was, he had to concede, at heart a cautious man.
Hearing the bustle of tea trays behind him, he straightened himself and pulled the window up to close it, he continued on with his return to their compartment and his darling Edith.
Author's note: My first foray into DA fanfic and so I post with nervous trepidation, this the first chapter of something that is evolving slowly in my mind and so I'd love to know what you think before I disappear completely into the rabbit hole of developing it further :-)
