To Journey Together (4 page)

"Of course, she's a lovely girl and has a wonderful

brain. But she's—tiring, if you know what I mean."

Elinor, who had been bored to exhaustion by the

self-advertising Inez during her one visit, said she

knew exactly what Edward meant and that, while

no doubt Inez was very clever and well-read, there were perhaps other qualities more endearing in people one wanted to know intimately.

"Yes, that's it. I thought you'd see my point," said Edward, who had taken much longer to see this particular point than all the rest of his exasperated family. But the talk about Inez did serve to steady Elinor and take her thoughts off the wrench of parting.

Liverpool Street station looked rather grim and murky when they arrived there, but to Elinor the whole place was irradiated by the sign which said, "Boat Train. Harwich—Hoek van Holland."

This was IT! The train which was to take her to strange places unknown— out on the Great Adventure.

The Conneltons were already there, Sir Daniel sitting quietly in his corner seat, and Kenneth and his aunt attending to the disposal of the last of the luggage.

Elinor thought she had never seen anything more fascinating than the tables with their shining white linen, their pretty individual lamps, and the cutlery already set out for dinner. It was almost like the opening scene of a perfectly wonderful play—her play.

Introductions were made, Edward and Kenneth Brownlow exchanged a word or two, and then Lady Connelton, satisfied that all the luggage was conveniently disposed of, turned to Edward.

"We are so glad to have your sister with us," she said. "Please tell your mother that we will take good care of her."

Then she and her nephew got into the train, leaving Elinor to have the last few minutes with her brother.

The minutes dragged as they always do between people who have already said everything there is to say at least twice. Then the porters went along shouting the final warning to board the train, and everything sprang into rapid and exciting life. Kisses were exchanged, last messages called from windows. Elinor found herself leaning from the corridor window

as the train, with great breathless puffs, began to move.

Edward walked alongside for a few seconds, waving, but very soon the pace became too fast. The distance between them was lengthening, the links with home were stretching—stretching—snapping. She could no longer see Edward as an individual figure, only as part of a waving crowd.

The platform slid away, heads and waving hands were drawn in, windows were raised, people sought their seats once more. The journey had begun.

"Well, we're off !" Lady Connelton smiled at Elinor as she rejoined them.

Elinor managed to smile back quite gaily and not to think too much of the family as the train gathered speed.

ELINOR, who had so often typed details of train-times and general information about journeys for others, knew that the run to the coast took only about an hour and a half, and she was not surprised that, almost as soon as they had finished their leisurely dinner and their eyeing newspapers, Sir Daniel took out his watch and said, "We shall be in in about five minutes. There are the harbour lights now."

She gazed eagerly from the windows, and through the dark of the late winter evening she saw lines of distant lights strung out at intervals, and once, where they clustered together to give concentrated light, the outlines of a two-funnelled steamer.

Everything was new and thrilling. Even though everyone else shivered when they stepped out of the cosy warmth of the train into the dank chill of Harwich station, Elinor hardly noticed the cold.

The quick passage through the Customs was a novelty rather than a nuisance, and when an official said, "There's your boarding card," and thrust a card into her hand, she looked at it as though it were a ticket to Fairyland.

It was only a short distance from the Customs shed to the boat, but Elinor stumbled twice, because she could not look where she was going—only at the big white ship that loomed ahead.

"Careful." It was Kenneth Brownlow who suddenly took her by the arm. "There are always chains and cables and goodness knows what lying about here."

"I—I'm all right, thank you," she assured him. But he kept his hand lightly round her arm until they reached the foot of the gangway which led on to the ship.

As Elinor stepped on board she became aware of an immense degree of efficiency and cleanliness all round her. The paint could hardly have been whiter, or the brass brighter, or the directions more explicit.

In no time she was being ushered into her small, bright cabin by a brisk stewardess, who checked her ticket, told her when she would be called in the morning, and even, as though she were a child, added firmly, "I expect you'll want to go right to bed. It's a short night."

But Elinor—also responding like a child—had no intention of being hustled off early to bed when there were other, more interesting matters afoot. First she examined her cabin, delighting in her brassbound porthole, the little light over one corner of her bunk in case she wanted to read, the washbasin which really supplied hot water from the tap which said it would, and all the other neat amenities.

Then, having tested all these, she went along to her employers' cabin, to see if Lady Connelton required her for anything.

But Lady Connelton seemed to be more of the stewardess's way of thinking.

"No, thank you, dear. We shall go straight to bed and get what sleep we can. They'll be waking us about five-thirty, I suppose. But if you want to have a look round, you'll find Ken somewhere about. I'm sure he will look after you and show you anything you want to see."

Elinor thanked her and said good night. But she decided to avoid Kenneth Brownlow. She could not quite forget what he had said about "nice, quiet little things being boring if one had to see too much of them." On one thing she was determined; he should not have an opportunity of being bored with her.

It was easy enough to find her way on deck, and, with several other people, she stood at the rail, watching the last of the freight being lowered into the hold. It was a fascinating sight, the cranes lifting the great bales of merchandise, the cars and the heavy luggage, swinging them high overhead and then lowering them far down into the bowels of the ship.

Brilliant lights shone on the scene, illuminating it like a stage "set," and the shouted directions and the rattle of chains running over winches added their exciting overtones. Elinor became completely un-

aware of who was coming and going around her, and she started quite violently when an already familiar voice said beside her, "I thought you had gone to bed."

"Oh—oh, no. I felt I couldn't go while there was still anything to see. This is my first sea voyage."

"Is that so?" Something almost like indulgence sounded in his voice for a moment. "Well, there isn't much left to put on board now. We should be leaving in a few minutes. Do you want to come and have a drink with me?" Then, as though a rather unfamiliar idea struck him, he added, "Tea or coffee or anything?"

"No, thank you." She wished she knew how to leave him, gracefully and promptly.

"Are you afraid it will keep you awake?"

"Oh, no! Nothing ever keeps me awake. Not even excitement."

At that moment there was a final outburst of shouting followed by the rumble of something very heavy being pushed across the far end of the deck, and a sort of shudder which ran through the boat announced that they were moving.

"We're off!" Elinor ran to the side and watched, fascinated, as the narrow channel of water between them and the shore began perceptibly to widen.

He came and joined her there, a little to her surprise, and stood there beside her as she watched the dark shores of England slip away into the night.

She turned away at last and walked along the deck with him. Then, just as they stepped indoors, a steward came up to her companion.

"You're the gentleman from one-eight-three, aren't you?" he said. "Mr. Brownlow?"

"Yes."

"Telegram for you, sir."

Elinor was not actually looking at him as he slit open the envelope and read the telegram. But she heard his exclamation of surprise.

She glanced at him then. "Is anything wrong?" she asked.

"Wrong? Oh—no. No, of course not."

At that moment someone swung open the door leading on deck, and a strong draught snatched the paper from Kenneth Brownlow's hand.

It fluttered past Elinor and dropped a yard or two away. Quite naturally she started forward and seized it before it could blow right away. She had no intention of reading it, but as she stooped to pick it up the few printed words were clearly visible.

"Bon voyage," it said. "See you in Ehrwald perhaps. Rosemary."

Elinor returned the telegram to Kenneth Brownlow, who thanked her without comment. Then they bade each other good night and went to their cabins.

Kenneth Brownlow's private affairs were, of course, no business of Elinor's, but later, as she lay in her narrow but comfortable bunk, she thought for several minutes about him and the problematical Rosemary. Then she gave it up and settled down to sleep to the soothing "slap-slap" of the waves against the side of the ship.

"Five-thirty, madam! Here's your tea."

Elinor sat up and rubbed her eyes, wondering where she was. Then she remembered. On board ship, in her own little cabin! And they must have crossed the North Sea during the night.

"You'll need to hurry," the stewardess told her. "You're taking the Rhinegold Express, aren't you?"

"Yes," Elinor said. And when the stewardess had gone out of the cabin, she repeated softly to herself, The Rhinegold Express." Because it was such a beautiful, romantic name for a train—the Rhinegold Express.

She rose and washed and dressed quickly, noticing through her porthole window that it was still quite dark. Indeed there was even a star or two overhead. Then she speedily repacked her nightbag, and went out to see if the others were ready.

The door of the Connelton's cabin stood open, and Lady Connelton called across to her, "Good morning, my dear. Though it still seems like the middle of the night, really. Are you ready?"

"Oh, yes, Lady Connelton. Did you sleep well?"

"So-so. I shall sleep a great deal more on the train. No need to ask how you slept. You look as fresh as the dawn. The real dawn, I mean. Not this horrid sort of half-night."

Elinor didn't really think anything was horrid at the moment, but she smiled sympathetically. And then Kenneth appeared, followed by two porters who—with a few guttural words to each other, which Elinor took to be Dutch—shouldered immense quantities of luggage between them, and it was time to go ashore.

Landing cards were surrendered, and they stepped off the boat into the cold, fresh air of the morning. It was impossible not to yawn and shiver a little, but, in Elinor's case at least, the shiver was partly one of excitement.

Under the last few twinkling stars that were giving way to the first steely light of dawn, they walked to the Customs shed. On all sides were notices in foreign languages and a great babel of what seemed to Elinor many different tongues. But she was intrigued to realize that "Ingang" over one door was near enough to the Scottish "gang in" to mean quite obviously "entrance".

"Uitgang," by the same process of reasoning, must surely be "exit." Elinor began to feel mistress of the situation!

Once more the Customs formalities were speedy, and less than a quarter of an hour after leaving the ship, they were installed in the palatially large and comfortable compartment in which they were to travel across Holland and Germany to Munich.

"It's surely much more exciting travelling this way than by air?" Elinor exclaimed, as she looked from the great wide windows on to the platform, where early-morning traders were already pushing barrows up and down from which one could buy papers and periodicals in several languages, steaming hot coffee in cardboard tumblers, or rolls, or fruit and chocolate of infinite variety.

"Well—yes, I suppose it is." Lady Connelotn smothered another yawn. "One feels the gradual process of 'going abroad' this way. Air travel is very comfortable, but rather abrupt."

"It is very convenient, nevertheless," her husband said a trifle irritably. "And much less tiring. If the doctors hadn't forbidden it, I should certainly have chosen to fly."

Elinor was very, very sorry about Sir Daniel not being well enough to fly, but she simply could not, help being glad on her own account that some reason had dictated their travelling this way. And more than ever did she feel this when—after an enchanting "toot" from a horn, instead of the more familiar whistle, the train started on its way, and they went along to the dining-car for breakfast.

In all the world, she thought, there could never have been a more delicious meal than the scrambled eggs with ham, the crisp rolls with creamy butter, and the hot fragrant coffee served in big thick cups with which they regaled themselves as the train sped on its way past the fields and canals of Holland.