"You have a personal train car?"
I could not prevent the surprise leaking into my tone. Even considering Holmes' newspaper clipping, I would have expected a first-class trip instead of the personal coach I associated with the royal family, but Sir Walter only chuckled.
"Of a sort." He led the way up the few stairs into a truly luxurious carriage. "Greyson wanted to show Gideon as much of the world as 'e could wi'out more than a few days of travel at a time, an' I occasionally have duties that take me around the continent. Rather than deal with the hassle of a special every time we wanted to travel, we simply purchased a carriage for ourselves an' worked out a service fee with the rail lines to couple it to whichever train we wished. The arrangement 'as served us well over the years."
I could imagine. While the agreement he outlined left them at the mercy of train schedules, it did not leave them amidst the rest of England's traveling population. For the first time outside of Holmes' royal-funded cases, we need not listen to the other occupied train cars, worry about finding an empty compartment, or have to get up to find the dining car halfway through the trip. Sir Walter's next comment referenced a delivery around suppertime.
"You should tell Mycroft about this, Holmes." Sir Walter's invitation let me claim a spot on a sofa just as comfortable as our settee at home. "Maybe you could convince him to do the same thing."
"And let us use it when he refuses to leave his routine?" Holmes finished, a grin trying to twitch his mouth. His long stride reached an armchair just before the horn sounded. "You do not believe he would do that."
Sir Walter released a faint laugh when I indicated a negative. "No," I admitted, "but it would be nice. We cannot even hear the third-class car on the other side of that wall."
Nor could we hear the engine, or more than the barest hint of the wheels rattling on the rails. Whoever designed this car had done an excellent job insulating it. Our host flushed when I said as much.
"Greyson, Gideon, an' I designed it, and one of 'is contacts built it. Took about three years, start t' finish, but it has more than paid for itself—if only in privacy. Greyson and Gideon take it for a father-son 'oliday about once a year, an' all three of us plan wanderin' rides around the island whenever home gets too boring. The meal that started all this was supposed to plan another one for next month."
Easy conversation became clear pain, and he looked down at his lap, as if the position would conceal the worry biting his lip. Holmes waited only a few seconds before directing the topic to the events that had brought our host to Yorkshire.
"Here we are." Tension noticeably dissipated as we lurched to a rumbling stop, and a more energetic motion than I had yet seen nearly launched Sir Walter from his chair to peer around the curtains. For all his tales of traveling, he clearly loved his home. A glance back almost managed a smile past his worry over Lord Thrombak.
"My driver should meet us 'ere," he promised as I carefully gained my feet, "but I need t' talk with the stationmaster to ensure the train car is returned to its storage area. One time, they forgot to decouple it from the rest of the train, an' several days had to bring it back from Aberdeen before we could use it again. Greyson was not pleased."
I should say not. The train line had probably paid handsomely for that. Sir Walter pushed the door open, peering out over the crowd in search of a familiar face.
"There is my driver." One hand directed my attention through the window to the shining black carriage pulled by an equally glossy chestnut horse. The driver touched one hand to his brim as if aware of my scrutiny. "I shall meet you there in a moment."
Barely glancing back to ensure Holmes had spotted the carriage as well, he cleared the train car's stairs in one long leap and rushed across the platform. The ticket window opened as he approached.
"Watson?"
Though I could not linger by the window to watch. My stick ensured the two vertical steps did not ruin my balance, then Holmes passed me our bags. A short hop saw him to the ground, at which point he reclaimed both our bags and directed his steps toward the carriage.
At a pace quite a bit faster than I could manage. I had not expected the rapid progress apparently failing to realize he had left me behind, and after his muttering earlier...
No. Watching my feet carefully hid my thoughts. He did not have to walk with me. Reaching the four-wheeler before me did not mean either he or Sir Walter would leave me here, nor would Holmes still be cross over our disagreement yesterday. He probably meant nothing by it.
Except he always matched my pace through a crowd.
No. Firm concentration shoved the worry aside. While he never changed his habits without reason, that reason could be nothing more than a desire to speak with the driver before Sir Walter rejoined us. I doubted it had anything to do with me, and I refused to let it bother me. My much slower pace stopped at the four-wheeler Sir Walter had indicated just before hurried footsteps approached behind me.
"Excellent timing, Doctor. Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson, my driver, Milton."
"A good day to you," he rumbled in a voice almost as low as Mycroft's. Dark eyes glanced between us and his employer. "Are we to go home or to Thrombak?"
"Home," Sir Walter answered quickly, lurching forward to open the door for us. "You may go to Thrombak first if you like, of course," he added to Holmes and me, "but given the late hour and Gideon's strange behavior, it might be better to go to him tomorrow or Saturday. Gideon said Greyson had not returned from town that day, so the trail by rights should start from the small collection of buildings about three miles north of my estate. We will pass through there on the way."
"To Rossenthwaite for today is fine." Holmes nearly cut me off in his haste to enter the coach first, "though I would appreciate stopping in that town for a couple of minutes. I have one thing better started now, before too many people know we are here. Where does he normally go?"
"Certainly." Sir Walter displayed the confusion I concealed when Holmes shifted to the exact middle of the two-person bench, forcing me to sit beside Sir Walter. "And everywhere," he continued without comment. "That town is a small one, with only a butcher, baker, fabric shop, and a dry goods store as its primary draw. For the daily goods required in each of our households, it serves, but we have to go to the somewhat larger town to the south to get the more uncommon items."
A problem typical of the more rural areas. I remembered many delayed shopping trips as a child. My parents usually preferred to send the staff for supplies, but circumstances had forced us to go ourselves a few times. The outing alone took hours, and if our list required two or more stops, the time only lengthened. A trip for three necessities could take all day. I had quickly taken to slipping away a few minutes after we arrived, finding Alec to occupy ourselves in view of the shops until my parents called me back. Given an option, Harry flatly refused to go at all.
Holmes would have made me go alone, should we have found ourselves in a similar situation. The knowledge did not help the many deductions currently nagging me.
My friend leaned forward on his bench, apparently oblivious to my thoughts. "Do you have an extra coach or a couple of horses we can borrow?"
"Either," Sir Walter promised easily. "Or both. My older carriage requires two horses. You could take it to Greyson's and bring enough tack to ride anywhere the coach could not reach."
Holmes' expression declared that a fine idea even as he also displayed the deep thought that disliked interruption. Something about the suggestion had provided a possible lead, and he would ignore any conversation until he had chased it as far as it would go. I quickly waved Sir Walter to silence.
We weaved between deep ruts, climbing hills and ducking under large trees on our slow path southward. The occasional stream trickled next to the road, and I heard a wide range of the smaller water creatures clicking, croaking, and splashing in the wet. Birds flitted from tree to tree, each joyfully singing songs no human could learn. We crested a hill to send a small deer bounding away. Milton frequently pulled us to one side to edge around some other coach. Nearly half an hour passed before another, smaller town loomed on the horizon.
And Holmes finally voiced a question. "How active is Gideon?"
One shoulder lifted in a half shrug. "As much as any young boy, I suppose. He has taken riding lessons from his father for as long as I have known him, but while he is unafraid to wander the grounds for hours searching for only he knows what, he is more likely to claim a comfortable spot with a book or follow Greyson into whatever the day's duties require. I think the only time Greyson has chided him for moving too quickly has been when their cook rings the supper bell."
"Cook," Holmes noted. "How many staff do they employ?"
"Very few," he returned. "Cook is an old friend of Greyson's wife. I do not know her true name. They pay a man to act as butler and housekeeper, another as groundskeeper, and I believe two or three young men from town have a rotation in the stables. I never see more than one of them at a time, and Greyson certainly has no time to care for their horses himself. Gideon would not do so unless his father made him. The boy stays fastidiously clean."
"What about visitors? Does Lord Thrombak ever invite someone over for a business-related visit?"
"Not often. Maybe once or twice a year?"
"Hmm." Holmes frowned, evidently changing a deduction based on this new information. We slowed at the edge of the town before I could decide whether to ask.
"This is where Greyson and I come most frequently," Sir Walter confirmed. "You wanted to look at something here?"
"I did." A gesture returned me to my seat. "I will only be a moment."
I much preferred to go with him, even if only for a "moment's" work, but I sat back down without comment. The wig pulled from one pocket joined a sudden accumulation of aged wrinkles, and a twist of his shoulders sent an entirely different man limping through the sparsely filled streets. I followed his path until he ducked between two buildings, then started scanning faces. In the absence of a topic to raise—or the required concentration to follow it—perhaps I would spy something by chance that he would otherwise have missed.
If nothing else, the search might at least prevent me from thinking.
Uh oh. That doesn't sound good. What do you think will happen? Don't forget to review :)
and thank you to SlowisSmooth for your review on Predator and Prey. I love that quote