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Authors: Susan Hill
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with scarcely a minute to spare and was obliged to run along the platform and jump into the first available compartment.
The guard’s whistle blew as the door slammed shut and I found myself alone with a striking-looking woman who was surrounded by suitcases, bags and hat-boxes and sitting with a very upright posture in the opposite seat. I removed my hat and muttered an apology for my precipitate entry but she merely inclined her head very slightly and looked away. I noted how well she was dressed in a long, fur-trimmed coat of dark purple wool, with a high fur collar, muff and hat. Her hands, which were folded in her lap, were studded with heavy diamond and emerald rings and I judged her, from my covert glances, to be in the prime of her middle years, wealthy and well connected.
To my pleasure the train ran for some way alongside the Thames, before branching off – we were to pick it up againat the end of our journey. But it was a dismal view, the outskirts of London and then the countryside dull and grey under a gathering sky, and before long I turned away to read my newspaper. When I glanced up again it was because of a change in the light and, looking out, I saw that it had begun to snow. I was not able to suppress an exclamation of pleasure and wonder for, whatever I may have known in childhood, as a grown man I had not seen snow, and sat mesmerised by the swirling flakes and fast-whitening fields as the train ran on. Then the lamps came on in the carriage and at once the outside world seemed to darken and recede, though now and again fat snowflakes splattered silently on the windows before being at once blown off again.
We stopped at a station, and then another, but no one got into our compartment. I went on with my paper, though I was repeatedly drawn from it towards the snow and as I did look up I became conscious that the woman opposite was regarding me steadily. I did not so much see it, for I did not turn my head towards her, or catch her eye, as sense her look upon me, and in the end was made uncomfortable by it and would have spoken, had we not just then stopped at a small station. No one waited on the platform, no one left or boarded the train but we did not move off, only waited in the cold and silence, the luggage rack creaking occasionally above our heads. I looked out. There was not even a porter on the platform. Above the roof, the snow was like feathers flying about the sky.
‘Go back.’
I spun round. She had spoken in a low but quite firm, clear tone. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Her eyes were very blue, and slightly widened, and they stared not so much at as into me, and yet there was a strange, distant expression in them, as though she were seeing not me but something beyond.
‘You should not go. I sense it very strongly. You must stay away.’
Into my head came Beamish’s voice, ‘Leave be’, and Votable’s ‘Be wary’, and I shuddered involuntarily and shrank back in my seat from the woman’s stare, feeling suddenly afraid of these apparently random but adamant warnings. I did not believe in gypsy prophecies or other superstitions of that kind but there had been too many odd hints and happenings. I was watching her face. Quite suddenly her expression changed, she came out of her trance-like state. Her eyes focused upon me and she smiled and coloured faintly. ‘I must apologise. But when it is so clear I cannot help myself. It comes without warning. From the moment you entered the compartment …’
‘Madam … ?’
‘My name is Viola Quincebridge. My husband is Sir Lionel – the judge.’
‘1 am afraid I am new to England, Lady Quincebridge, I know almost no one, have heard of no one.’ I held out my hand to her. ‘James Monmouth.’
‘Yes, of course. You have been a traveller. You …’ Her face clouded again. ‘But it is not the past – or not altogether … it is the future.’
‘I must ask what you know of me.’
‘Nothing. I have neither seen nor heard of you
The guard’s whistle blew as the door slammed shut and I found myself alone with a striking-looking woman who was surrounded by suitcases, bags and hat-boxes and sitting with a very upright posture in the opposite seat. I removed my hat and muttered an apology for my precipitate entry but she merely inclined her head very slightly and looked away. I noted how well she was dressed in a long, fur-trimmed coat of dark purple wool, with a high fur collar, muff and hat. Her hands, which were folded in her lap, were studded with heavy diamond and emerald rings and I judged her, from my covert glances, to be in the prime of her middle years, wealthy and well connected.
To my pleasure the train ran for some way alongside the Thames, before branching off – we were to pick it up againat the end of our journey. But it was a dismal view, the outskirts of London and then the countryside dull and grey under a gathering sky, and before long I turned away to read my newspaper. When I glanced up again it was because of a change in the light and, looking out, I saw that it had begun to snow. I was not able to suppress an exclamation of pleasure and wonder for, whatever I may have known in childhood, as a grown man I had not seen snow, and sat mesmerised by the swirling flakes and fast-whitening fields as the train ran on. Then the lamps came on in the carriage and at once the outside world seemed to darken and recede, though now and again fat snowflakes splattered silently on the windows before being at once blown off again.
We stopped at a station, and then another, but no one got into our compartment. I went on with my paper, though I was repeatedly drawn from it towards the snow and as I did look up I became conscious that the woman opposite was regarding me steadily. I did not so much see it, for I did not turn my head towards her, or catch her eye, as sense her look upon me, and in the end was made uncomfortable by it and would have spoken, had we not just then stopped at a small station. No one waited on the platform, no one left or boarded the train but we did not move off, only waited in the cold and silence, the luggage rack creaking occasionally above our heads. I looked out. There was not even a porter on the platform. Above the roof, the snow was like feathers flying about the sky.
‘Go back.’
I spun round. She had spoken in a low but quite firm, clear tone. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Her eyes were very blue, and slightly widened, and they stared not so much at as into me, and yet there was a strange, distant expression in them, as though she were seeing not me but something beyond.
‘You should not go. I sense it very strongly. You must stay away.’
Into my head came Beamish’s voice, ‘Leave be’, and Votable’s ‘Be wary’, and I shuddered involuntarily and shrank back in my seat from the woman’s stare, feeling suddenly afraid of these apparently random but adamant warnings. I did not believe in gypsy prophecies or other superstitions of that kind but there had been too many odd hints and happenings. I was watching her face. Quite suddenly her expression changed, she came out of her trance-like state. Her eyes focused upon me and she smiled and coloured faintly. ‘I must apologise. But when it is so clear I cannot help myself. It comes without warning. From the moment you entered the compartment …’
‘Madam … ?’
‘My name is Viola Quincebridge. My husband is Sir Lionel – the judge.’
‘1 am afraid I am new to England, Lady Quincebridge, I know almost no one, have heard of no one.’ I held out my hand to her. ‘James Monmouth.’
‘Yes, of course. You have been a traveller. You …’ Her face clouded again. ‘But it is not the past – or not altogether … it is the future.’
‘I must ask what you know of me.’
‘Nothing. I have neither seen nor heard of you
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