Crown Phoenix: Night Watchman Express Read online

Chapter 19

  The Night Watchman Express

  er room seemed very empty that night as Miriam got ready for bed. By the time she had left the drawing room and gone upstairs, Mana had already been hustled out of the house, and so she hadn’t even been able to say goodbye to her teacher.

  Her nightgown was folded neatly on top of her pillow. She picked it up, but as she slid it over her head, something heavy fell out of one sleeve and bounced onto the carpet. Miriam tossed aside the nightgown and picked up the object. She stared at the dark object in her hand.

  “The comb,” she whispered, turning it over. Mana’s comb. It had been the cause of the trouble! Why had Mana refused to show it to the Cantwells? And why had that sister wanted to see it so badly? Miriam didn’t believe the story of her ‘being interested in island artifacts’. No, there was much more to it than that.

  For all the trouble it had caused, it was beautifully made. It had been hand carved, the wavy lines forming the pattern that was inlaid with what still looked like pearls. It seemed incredibly old, but the wood was almost as hard as stone and hadn’t cracked at all.

  Miriam shook her head. Why, and this was the most perplexing question of all, would Mana refuse to show anyone the comb and yet leave it behind her when she left the house? She ran one finger over the teeth, feeling how smooth the wood was.

  One thing was certain; the governess had put the comb in her nightgown because she trusted Miriam with it, and so a proper hiding place had to be found somehow. For Mana’s sake.

  Miriam looked around her attic room, but she couldn’t think of a secret nook where she could tuck it away. She put it under her pillow and got into her nightgown, letting her clothes slip to the floor.

  Would Mana like that? No, she reasoned, her governess would not. Miriam sighed, picked up her clothes, and went to the cupboard to hang them up.

  She got into bed and turned out the light but couldn’t fall asleep. Staring at the ceiling, she reviewed the scene in the drawing room. If only she could have thought of something clever to say, or have found some way to help Mana! It was just too frustrating being young and not being able to do anything. Furthermore, and most frustrating, Miss Cantwell had called her ‘the little girl’.

  Miriam sighed and flopped onto one side, and the other after a few minutes. What was wrong with her? She was always able to fall asleep right away since Mana came to be her governess. Well, of course, brainless, she told herself. That was it. Mana was no longer here, sitting by the fire and humming one of her songs, watching while Miriam slept.

  She would just have to get used to it, since she refused to be a little girl any more needing a governess in her room while she lay in bed. She would show them that Miss Cantwell was entirely wrong. She would show them that Mana was the finest governess anyone could wish for, and that she, Miriam, had learned her lessons. Resolutely she closed her eyes and slipped into an uneasy sleep.

  Again, she found herself in front of a tall, iron door. All of its seven locks were closed. And again, the man and the woman stood on either side of the locked door, their faces in the shadows.

  You’ve got to believe me, Miriam shouted in the silence of her dream. I am innocent! I didn’t commit any crime!

  Beyond the door, Miriam knew, there was a terrible dark place where she would be brought. She would have to live there, and work there, in its darkness. And even worse -

  Suddenly, the long whistle began, rising like a scream, getting louder and louder.

  She woke up suddenly, her heart pounding. She hadn’t had that dream in ages. Sitting up in bed, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again unless she had some milk or something to drink.

  She found her robe and crept downstairs, trying not to make the steps creak. The house was dark and silent, and all the doors in the hallways were closed. There was no sign of any of the servants, so it had to be very late. Well, I can pour myself a cup of milk, Miriam reasoned.

  She headed to the kitchen, but a light was shining from Uncle Virgil’s study. Wonderful. Now she would be discovered out of bed and sent back to her room in disgrace. She froze, but there was no sound at all coming out of the room.

  As quietly as she could, she went to the doorway and looked in, but the room was deserted. The light came from the little lamp on the desk, shining down on two pieces of paper.

  Miriam took a deep breath and went to the desk, expecting at any minute to hear Theodosia’s loud, angry voice telling her to go back to bed and stop being a nuisance or a guttersnipe.

  The first document was a receipt made out to a Judson Poole, dated that evening, for ‘services rendered’. Miriam looked at it for a moment but couldn’t understand it. The other paper, lying under the receipt, was a train schedule for the Night Watchman Express. What on earth? Miriam noticed a tiny notation written in pencil on the bottom of the schedule: ‘M. Postulate’.

  So this had something to do with Mana! Maybe they were putting her on the late train, since she had missed the other departures. Glancing up at the clock, Miriam saw that it was not as late as she thought. If she hurried, perhaps she could make it to the station in time –she could try to say goodbye.

  Having made up her mind, she left the office (keeping the light turned on and the door opened, just as she had found it) and ran back upstairs noiselessly. The hallway was still dark and silent, so she hurried up to her room and rummaged for some clothes.

  Quickly, quickly, she said to herself as she pulled on a dress. Why did garments twist themselves around you when you were in a hurry? And stockings were such fiddly things; she yanked two out of a drawer, not bothering to notice if they matched or not, and tied her suspenders.

  Should she bring anything else? She ran to her chest, and pulled out the typing machine. Her money-box was underneath it. Maybe Mana would need some funds. Miriam opened it and grabbed the few small notes that were inside. She crossed to her bed and took the comb out from under her pillow. She went back downstairs. In her haste, she didn’t notice that she had left the Crown Phoenix typewriter sitting out in the middle of the attic room floor.

  She was about to head out the back door when she remembered that Mana had not eaten since breakfast that morning. Almost certainly she must be hungry by now. Miriam dashed to the kitchen, which was as dark and empty as the halls, and grabbed what came to hand from the dresser – a packet of biscuits, chocolate and a few apples. These she crammed down the front of her shirt, so she wouldn’t break the comb in her pocket.

  Heading to the back door, she wondered how much time she had left. If she cut through the park on the side of the house, she could make it to the station in twenty minutes. She might just be able to make it –

  Suddenly, she bumped into something live and warm in the darkness. There was a muttered exclamation, and a hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. “Got you!” someone said.

  “Simon, you idiot!” she whispered back. “It’s me!”

  She heard the sound of a striking match, and a small light flared up, showing Simon and Neil. “What are you doing?” Simon asked.

  “I think Mana’s leaving right now on the train,” Miriam said. “I wanted to take her some things before she left.”

  “What? Why do you think she’s leaving now?” Neil whispered.

  “I found a train schedule with her name on it, under a receipt made to a Justin Poole, or somebody.”

  “You’ll never catch the train,” Simon said, looking at his watch. He shook out the match, plunging the corridor into darkness.

  “Well, not now that you’ve interrupted me,” Miriam said, annoyed.

  “Just go back to bed and stop playing about, will you? Miss Postulate will be fine.” Simon said.

  Miriam pushed her hair back out of her face. “I just wanted to say goodbye to her.”

  Neil drew a breath, and there was a loud sigh from Simon. “All right,” he relented, “but you really won’t make it unless we hurry.”

  “We?” Miriam asked. “What
do you mean?”

  “Well, the only way to get there is to take the carriage if it’s there, of course!” Simon replied with great impatience. “Come on, idiot!” He grabbed her hand and pushed open the back door, and the three of them stepped outside.

  “You can drive it?” Miriam asked, following obediently.

  “I know the basics,” he said, heading for the stables. “Come on, hurry up!”

  The carriage was parked at the end of the stables. “Good thing I know how to back a horse through the posts,” Neil muttered, “so you won’t have to saddle up and ride.”

  “I could have done it,” Simon argued, but he swung himself into the front seat. Miriam hopped in beside him, and Neil plunged into the dark stables, waving away Miriam’s offer of help.

  He returned with one of the horses, which whinnied in a sleepy way, and maneuvered it between the upright posts, offering a handful of oats as a reward. “Good show, Neil,” Simon said as the animal, tossing its head, got into position. “Come on, get in.”

  Simon tried to hold the horse back, but it instantly began to move, annoyed at being disturbed from a late supper of oats. Neil was just able to grab the door as the vehicle slid past him, and he swung himself onto the seat beside Miriam.

  Cautiously, Simon guided the horse through the gate onto the road, and he grinned suddenly. “This is something!” he said, slapping the horse with the reins. Its speed quickened in response.

  Neil caught his mood and emitted a quiet whoop. “To the station, chap!” he said.

  “Righty–ho, your Grace,” Simon answered, increasing the speed and making Miriam gasp. Still, it was exhilarating riding down the lane, the tall bushes rushing by on either side.

  “You’ve still got your pyjamas on!” she said suddenly, looking through the driver’s window at Simon.

  “Well, I’ve got a jumper on top,” he said, turning the corner. “No one will notice – and if they do, they’ll think I’m wearing striped pants. And besides, one of your stockings is coming down, and they don’t match.”

  “I’ve got my trousers on,” Neil blurted out. “Simon wanted to rush downstairs as soon as we heard someone creeping about, without stopping to change.”

  “So that’s what you were doing down there in the dark,” Miriam said. “Hunting for thieves. And you tell me I was playing about!” she added bitterly.

  “Looks like we caught one, too,” Simon said, reaching back and prodding her shirtfront, which bulged and crackled suspiciously.

  “I thought Mana might be hungry,” Miriam responded with injured dignity.

  “I wouldn’t mind a biscuit – that is what you’ve got, isn’t it?” Simon said.

  “Stop dribbling,” Miriam said. “You’ll just have to go hungry – these are for Mana!” A thought struck her. “Oh, Neil, I almost forgot! Mana told me to tell you that you have to go to Lampala, in case I can’t. She said it was VERY important.”

  “To the island?” Neil asked, bewildered. “Why would she want me to know that?”

  “I’m not sure why,” Miriam said. “She just said that I have to go to Lampala, and to be sure to tell you.”

  “Look! The station!” Simon cried, pointing.

  “And just in time too,” Neil said. “Listen.” He lowered the window of the carriage, and they heard the mournful whistle of the Night Watchman Express.

  “Hurry, Simon,” Miriam said, sitting up.

  “I’d better leave it here in the dark,” Simon said, rolling to a stop. “Neil, you stay here and watch the horse; I’ll go with Miriam and find out what’s happening, if anything.”

  “Very well,” Neil said, rather disappointed. “Tell Miss Postulate I said goodbye.”

  Miriam smiled and opened the door. “I will,” she said. “And Neil – thanks a lot.”

  “Come on,” Simon said. He closed the door and headed off into the dark street, and Miriam, after giving Neil a wave, followed him.

  The station appeared to be deserted, apart from one conductor who lounged on a bench under a dim lamp. Miriam had a feeling, however, as if the whole place was about to burst into great activity, perhaps because of the whistle and the clatter of the oncoming train, getting louder and louder and it drew near the station.

  “There’s no one here,” Simon said, glancing around. “She probably already left, and we’re making fools of ourselves, waltzing around like this.”

  “You’re the one walking around in pyjamas and slippers,” Miriam retorted.

  Simon snorted. “We should just head back. You can always send her a letter.”

  “But I don’t have her address! Let’s at least wait until the train arrives,” Miriam argued. Simon heaved a great sigh, but he resumed walking.

  The whistle grew louder, and the train rounded the curve. Its bright lights flashed, revealing the track ahead, and Miriam caught her breath. The sound was like her dream. It was only a train, she reminded herself; no need to get into a flap. Still, she shivered and hugged herself.

  The whistle died down, and the train chugged into the station. “Let’s go and see,” Miriam whispered. As she crept forward, a stone skittered on the street behind her, as if someone had kicked it. “Simon?” she whispered.

  Something grabbed her from behind, and a large hand covered her mouth. She started to struggle. A dark cloth came over her face, and all she could see was darkness. She opened her mouth to scream, but something heavy knocked her on her head. She was aware of striking the ground, and feeling the sharp flints under one cheek. Nothing more.

  Neil waited by the horse’s head, checking his watch frequently. From where he was, he couldn’t see the station, just the glow of the lamp that was on the platform. He heard the train arrive and he sat forward, but he still wasn’t able to make out if Mana, or Miriam, or anybody was getting onto it from where he was.

  A very long time seemed to pass, and he fell into a kind of doze. Finally the train hissed, sending out a huge puff of steam, and slowly it moved off.

  Now they’ll come back, Neil thought. He waited for a few minutes, and a few minutes more, but no one appeared in the street.

  He simply couldn’t stand by any longer. He got out and looked around, but the place was absolutely silent. He heard the clopping of a horse coming down the street, and he ducked quickly beside the car. The horse passed, pulling a cart, and as it continued down the land, Neil caught sight of a name that was painted on the side: J. Poole.

  Poole! Wasn’t that the name that Miriam had mentioned earlier? On that receipt, or piece of paper, or something that she had found? What on earth was going on? Cautiously he followed the cart, which drew up behind the station. Someone descended and knocked on a window of the square building. The door to the station opened, and someone was handed out – someone who looked very like, no, who was –

  “Miss Postulate!” Neil said to himself. She appeared to be held by two men, and her head was slumping forward on her chest. Unceremoniously, they loaded her onto the front of the cart and the driver nipped back up beside her.

  “The missus is feeling a little poorly tonight,” he said, laughing nastily and putting an arm around the swaying body of the governess. Mana’s head fell back against the armrest, and Neil saw that her eyes were closed.

  “The instructions have changed,” one of the men from the station said. “Received them just now. Take the goods to the dock, mind, and the next crew will be waiting for you there. And mind how you go; they don’t want any interfering.”

  “No nosy parkering, aye,” the driver agreed. “Care to have a swallow of the Old Blood and Guts before I take the lovely lady to the seaside?” He extracted a short, stout bottle from an interior pocket and waved it about.

  “Can’t,” the voice said from the station, registering some regret. We’ve got to deal with the mistaken goods on the Night Watchmen. Train doesn’t stop until final destination, see, and one of the little nippers aboard needs to be recalled.”

  “Eh?” the man in the cart said.


  “No matter,” the station voice said. “Be off with you now!”

  The driver shrugged and picked up his whip. Without letting himself stop to think, Neil darted forward and jumped into the back of the cart, which appeared to be full of damp, moldy hay.

  Scrunching down in the filthy stuff, he pulled his jumper up over his nose and mouth and tried not to breathe too deeply or to imagine where the hay had come from.

  The cart lurched as the wheels turned, and they moved off, although in what direction, Neil couldn’t tell. What would Simon and Miriam think when they came back to an empty carriage? Or – his stomach lurched – would they come back at all? The voice at the station had said something about “nippers” being on the train. Was it possible that Miriam and Simon had gotten on board the Night Watchman Express?

  Perhaps he should jump off the cart and go to see what had happened to his friends! With great stealth, he peered out of the hay and over the back of the cart. They were bowling along; Neil felt that if he jumped out, he would break a leg or at least sprain an ankle.

  Perhaps he should make himself known to the driver? He discarded that notion; there had been a nasty tone to the man’s laughter. Neil felt that Poole, if that was the driver’s name, would take to an unseen occupant of his cart none too kindly.

  He reasoned that once he found out where the cart was actually going and what was going to happen to the governess, he could head off and foot it back to the house. If Miriam and Simon weren’t there, he could alert Simon’s parents and tell them what he had overheard at the station.

  The road twisted and sloped down. It now seemed to be composed of lumpy cobblestones, and Neil was bounced about uncomfortably as they descended. “Ho, ho there,” he could hear the driver saying to the horse. The animal was probably not at all happy about taking such a steep descent.

  Finally they stopped. Neil could hear Mr. Poole shift on the seat. There was a small pop, which evidently was the small bottle being uncorked. Neil heard a series of slobbering, swallowing sounds followed by a loud “Aahhh.”

  Neil felt his foot cramping and his legs going to sleep, but he didn’t dare move while the driver sat in the cart. After a few minutes, Poole began to sing loud, tuneless snatches of song about wenches, fights, and stealing other men’s wives. From time to time, he chuckled richly to himself, especially after singing a particularly nasty rhyme.

  Appalled, Neil tried not to listen, but the songs grew louder. He also heard the bottle being unstopped ‘Pop’ a second and a third time ‘Pop’, and Poole glugging at whatever vile liquid was within.

  Neil moved into a more comfortable position, expecting to hear a cry from Poole, but nothing happened. He yawned suddenly and wrapped his arms on his knees. He would just close his eyes for a minute, he told himself.

  He opened his eyes suddenly, hearing a loud, crunching sound as of something being dragged over stones. The sky was no longer dark. He could see gray and pink sky streaking through the chinks of the straw. He must have fallen asleep for a bit.

  Cursing himself, Neil peered over the edge of the cart and found that they had stopped on a beach.

  The driver and Miss Postulate were no longer on the front seat. The crunching sound, he saw as he craned his neck, came from a boat that was being dragged over the stones and sand down to the sea. Poole still held onto the governess, who was walking unsteadily. As he watched, Neil saw her try to push herself away from the man, but he held on tightly to her arm, breathing right into her face and grinning at her discomfort. “Beast,” Neil said under his breath.

  Still, this was the time to escape, if he was going to get away from the man. Looking around, he saw a mass of gorse bushes to one side. Quickly, he dropped out of the cart, nearly falling as the blood rushed back to his legs, and tottered over to the bush. Not minding the thorns, he pushed into the middle of the gorse and peered out at the sands.

  From there, he could see the woman being handed into the boat, which was captained by three other men. Poole blew loud, smacking kisses at her and returned to the cart, grunting to himself with great good humor. Neil pulled himself further into the bush as the cart drove away.

  Miss Postulate was now sitting between two figures in the boat. Neil could see that her hands had been tied behind her back.

  The crew began rowing, steering the boat out to sea. Neil could tell, from the way they were straining at the oars, that they were unused to the ocean and the high waves. Still, they made progress, and the boat slowly faded away into the mist that had sprung up.