and bit her lip. That man Lang. Why on earth
62
can’t he just let us go off to our own houses and answer questions
later on?’ ‘But don’t you understand?’ said Stella impatiently. ‘They think
one of Mi did it!’
‘Don’t be silly,’ begged Miranda, shivering. ‘Of course they can’t. It was obviously some thief who got into the carriage at one of those stations we stopped at during the night. It must have
been.’
They say it couldn’t have been. I don’t know why, but they seem to be quite sure. They say it must have been someone in this coach.’
Stella gave a little shudder that was half disgust and half unwilling excitement, and Miranda, looking at her, realized suddenly that none of this was real to her. It was merely some fantastic story in which she did not believe and had no part. She might resent the temporary inconvenience that it caused her, but her resentment was to a certain extent offset by interest in what was, to say the least of it, an unusual situation.
But then Stella, thought Miranda, had not seen the dead face of Brigadier Brindley, or that hideous, sprawling stain across his breast and on the carriage floor.
Miranda shivered again and turned away to touch up her mouth with lipstick, annoyed to find in the process that her hand was not entirely steady, and that the face that looked back at her from the square of mirror was unnaturally pale in the cold light: the grey eyes with their lovely tilting lashes wide and frightened. She pulled the collar of her soft squirrel coat close about her throat and said: ‘I’m ready. What do we do now? Just wait here until someone comes to put the handcuffs on us?’
Stella said: ‘Darling, you are upset! I’m so sorry. What a pig I am: I forgot how utterly hellish it must be for you. I ought to have been distracting your attention instead of talking about this sordid mess. Leave all this clutter and come and sit in our carriage. I daresay the police are very neat packers.’
‘What about the children?’ asked Miranda, closing the door
63
behind her. ‘Lottie and the Wilkin kids? It’s a bit tough on them being kept hanging about like this with no breakfast.’
‘Oh they’re all right. A charming W.V.S. girl turned up and took them all off to have a meal in some refreshment room or other. I don’t envy her the job; the Wilkin gang are a bit of a handful. Mademoiselle is madly upset because she wasn’t allowed to go with Lottie. She’s soaking herself with smelling salts and muttering in French. What a trial foreigners are! Robert darling, here’s Miranda, and we’re both famished. When do you suppose they’re going to let us off this beastly train?’
Robert, who had been staring out of the window with his hands in his pockets, swung round and smiled at Miranda, and she thought fleetingly, and for perhaps the hundredth time, how astonishingly goodlooking he was. It was what most people thought when they looked at Robert, and some of them added as a mental note ‘too goodlooking’.
‘Hullo, ‘Randa. I hear you had a pretty hectic night?’ He put his arm about her slim shoulders and gave her a friendly hug. ‘What exactly happened? Why didn’t you call me?’
‘I meant to,’ admitted Miranda, sitting down tiredly on the edge of the lower berth, ‘but I couldn’t remember which compartment you two were in. How much longer are we going to stay here, Robert?’ She did not wish to discuss the happenings of the past night and hoped that the question might sidetrack him.
‘Not much longer, I imagine,’ said Robert, turning back to the window again. They appear to be taking the Brigadier away at last: can’t think why they didn’t do it earlier.’
Stella went to stand beside him and their bodies shut out the view of the grey platform so that Miranda did not see the stretcherbearers carry a blanket-covered burden past the window.
A few minutes later a military policeman walked along the corridor and
62
can’t he just let us go off to our own houses and answer questions
later on?’ ‘But don’t you understand?’ said Stella impatiently. ‘They think
one of Mi did it!’
‘Don’t be silly,’ begged Miranda, shivering. ‘Of course they can’t. It was obviously some thief who got into the carriage at one of those stations we stopped at during the night. It must have
been.’
They say it couldn’t have been. I don’t know why, but they seem to be quite sure. They say it must have been someone in this coach.’
Stella gave a little shudder that was half disgust and half unwilling excitement, and Miranda, looking at her, realized suddenly that none of this was real to her. It was merely some fantastic story in which she did not believe and had no part. She might resent the temporary inconvenience that it caused her, but her resentment was to a certain extent offset by interest in what was, to say the least of it, an unusual situation.
But then Stella, thought Miranda, had not seen the dead face of Brigadier Brindley, or that hideous, sprawling stain across his breast and on the carriage floor.
Miranda shivered again and turned away to touch up her mouth with lipstick, annoyed to find in the process that her hand was not entirely steady, and that the face that looked back at her from the square of mirror was unnaturally pale in the cold light: the grey eyes with their lovely tilting lashes wide and frightened. She pulled the collar of her soft squirrel coat close about her throat and said: ‘I’m ready. What do we do now? Just wait here until someone comes to put the handcuffs on us?’
Stella said: ‘Darling, you are upset! I’m so sorry. What a pig I am: I forgot how utterly hellish it must be for you. I ought to have been distracting your attention instead of talking about this sordid mess. Leave all this clutter and come and sit in our carriage. I daresay the police are very neat packers.’
‘What about the children?’ asked Miranda, closing the door
63
behind her. ‘Lottie and the Wilkin kids? It’s a bit tough on them being kept hanging about like this with no breakfast.’
‘Oh they’re all right. A charming W.V.S. girl turned up and took them all off to have a meal in some refreshment room or other. I don’t envy her the job; the Wilkin gang are a bit of a handful. Mademoiselle is madly upset because she wasn’t allowed to go with Lottie. She’s soaking herself with smelling salts and muttering in French. What a trial foreigners are! Robert darling, here’s Miranda, and we’re both famished. When do you suppose they’re going to let us off this beastly train?’
Robert, who had been staring out of the window with his hands in his pockets, swung round and smiled at Miranda, and she thought fleetingly, and for perhaps the hundredth time, how astonishingly goodlooking he was. It was what most people thought when they looked at Robert, and some of them added as a mental note ‘too goodlooking’.
‘Hullo, ‘Randa. I hear you had a pretty hectic night?’ He put his arm about her slim shoulders and gave her a friendly hug. ‘What exactly happened? Why didn’t you call me?’
‘I meant to,’ admitted Miranda, sitting down tiredly on the edge of the lower berth, ‘but I couldn’t remember which compartment you two were in. How much longer are we going to stay here, Robert?’ She did not wish to discuss the happenings of the past night and hoped that the question might sidetrack him.
‘Not much longer, I imagine,’ said Robert, turning back to the window again. They appear to be taking the Brigadier away at last: can’t think why they didn’t do it earlier.’
Stella went to stand beside him and their bodies shut out the view of the grey platform so that Miranda did not see the stretcherbearers carry a blanket-covered burden past the window.
A few minutes later a military policeman walked along the corridor and
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