Itseemed that my journey was now common knowledge. I could only hopethat the Liaison was out of the loop.
Openingthe door I lifted my travelling bag into the carriage andgratefully joined it. Was this a lucky portent for my journey? Icould but hope.
Wechuffed into town and stopped next to the stationentrance.
I’d beenon trains before, mainly when accompanying Sir Percival to examineaetheric inventions. This though was different and felt like I wason some adventure.
Having purchased a First class ticket (I’d made a pact withmyself to never go back to my roots), and a newspaper, and learningI’d need to change at Fenchurch Street Isat on a bench and watched my fellowpassengers. They seemed to be a mix of business people and excitedfamilies looking forward to seeing the sights. Did Katherine knowany of them? She’d never mentioned family to me, and then there washer behaviour before Sir Percival and I left to see the Russianstate airship. Had she left because of me? I had to find out and,if possible, repair the damage in our relationship.
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Four
Fenchurch station was a maelstrom of sights and sounds so itwas with quite some relief that I found my way to the platform forthe Southend train. On the way I bought a sandwich from one of themany vendors and realised I could have just paid him a penny as hewas so surprised at the sight of my pink hair. As it was he nearlyshort-changed me before I coolly reminded him of basicmathematics.
Thetrain to Southend was a much smaller one than the cross-country I’dcaught to get into London, comprising only three carriages. I gotin the First class carriage, placed my bag in the rack above myhead, and my hat and newspaper (for emergencies) on the seat besideme. With some toots and some shunts we soon headed out underlowering skies. Even though it was still early morning it felt liketwilight had fallen. The train wound its way through the smoke andhaze of thousands of chimneys, which only slightly cleared when theThames arrived on our right side, its sluggish waters reflectingthe dark clouds that threatened rain.
At oneof the stops a bowler-wearing gentleman in a brown suit andcarrying his own newspaper entered my carriage and sat down.Naturally he was interested in my hair but I put my newspaper togood use and started reading the idiocy of the day, using it toshield myself from entering into annoying conversation.
Luckilyit was but a short journey and before I’d felt the need to plumbthe depths of some nonsensical law currently going through theHouse of Lords we arrived.
“May I?” the man asked in a strong cockney accent, indicatingmy bag above my head.
“Thank you.”
It wasalways nice to have some help considering that I’d never see himagain.
Replacing my hat and folding my paper I stood and moved outof his way when he reached up for my bag. Some strange scent cameoff him, tickling my nostrils. Probably some fashionable haircream, I thought to myself.
I smiledmy thanks and left the carriage, heading towards the ticketinspector at the platform’s exit.
Thestation master was bawling at porters up ladders to hurry up andlight the gas lights as the station was nearly in darkness due tothe strange weather.
Istopped just inside the station’s exit in case the threateneddeluge had begun. But no, it was just very dark. As a precaution Iopened my umbrella and approached the cab rank. I gave thenext-in-line bowler-hatted driver the address of the guest houseMrs Miggins had recommended and got in. We steamed off along themain thoroughfare and I looked around at the place. The impressionI got was that it was trying to be a smaller, local version ofLondon. Did Katherine originally hail from Southend? How did shebecome tangled up with Mr Tok?
Too manyquestions! First things first. Get a place to stay, then head tothe address on the envelope, and then go from there.
The roadturned a corner and we were now puffing along by the Thames, Inoticed an incredibly long pier heading out into its estuarinemouth, and the shops had turned into touristy ones in amongguesthouses. Though I doubted Sir Percival would appreciatereceiving a postcard bearing a fat mother-in-law joke, which wasapparently quite the rage these days.
Ichecked the names of the guesthouses in case my destination was oneof them. It was with some relief that I noticed several of those wepassed had vacancy signs hanging outside.
The cabpulled in to the kerb next to a shop with crab and fish-shapedballoons blowing in the breeze outside. I was momentarilynonplussed until I made out the whale-shaped shingle of theguesthouse next to it, The Whale’s Gizzard it was.
I tookmy umbrella and travelling case out and paid the driver. The cloudsseemed even darker now I was underneath them. I hurried up thewhite steps and opened the front door.
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Five
Closingthe guesthouse door behind me I saw the bright flowery-paperedhallway had a small white reception desk with a curtained doorwayleading off it. To the other side was a closed glass-paned doorleading into the dining room where several tables had been laidwith napkins and cutlery, ahead of me was a flight of stairsleading up to the guest rooms.
Next to the guest register was a domed press bell. As I heardno one coming to see me I pressed the bell. A brightTing! rangout.
“Just a second, dearie!” came a strangely familiar voice fromthe curtained-off doorway.
I stoodrooted to the spot as a veritable doppelganger of Mrs Migginswalked through, drying her hands on a tea-towel. The same tightlycurled hair, the same brown eyes. Had she followed mesomehow?
Peeringbehind me she said, “Just you, luvvie?”
Even theaccent was hers.
“Um, yes. Er, Mrs?”
“Morris, dear. Lovely hair you’ve got.”
“Thank you.”
“How long for?”
I’d notthought that far. She must have seen the indecision in my face asshe said, “We’ll take it as it comes, then?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Shenamed a price which, in my limited experience, seemed reasonableper night and I agreed to it. Then, expertly spinning the registerround to me said, “Name and address please.”
I filled the
