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It was nearing dark when the train arrived at the little station of Kronaberg. The lights from the lanterns shone an eerie light over the empty platform, illuminating the billowing fog and very little else. The train’s engine slowed gradually to a halt. The silence that followed, broken only by the irregular ticking of cooling metal, made Miss Brown uncomfortable.
Both girls had been ready to disembark; Miss Felice-Lytton , wrapped in her handsome coat, held her purse and a very small suitcase in her lap. Miss Brown stood and made her way down the corridor to the exit. The door had been opened and the little steps lowered for the passengers, but there were no other passengers decending, and none behind her in the corridor.
She stepped down onto the platform and looked around. The dense fog made it impossible to see for more than a dozen feet ahead.
“Help me down, darling.” Miss Felice carolled behind her. She extended her arm and wiggled her fingers. Miss Brown took the hand her friend held out and helped her descend to the platform.
“Goodness, it’s foggy, isn’t it?” Little clouds came from Miss Felice-Lytton’s mouth as she spoke. “And chilly too. I’m glad I got my warm cloak out before we arrived. If this is summer in Kronaberg I’d rather not be around for winter.” The little blonde straightened her hat and looked around. “Where is the porter?”
Miss Brown shook her head. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone around.”
“Of course there is someone around, silly. Someone has to take our luggage off the train.” Miss Felice-Lytton sniffed at the absurdity of Miss Brown's statement.
A sudden thump sounded over the platform. Miss Felice-Lytton frowned. “That had better not be our luggage.” She raised her skirts a little and stomped furiously off in the direction the sound had come from.
As the sound of Miss Felice-Lytton’s footsteps retreated into the fog Miss Brown heard heavier footsteps approaching. They were irregular footsteps; the footsteps of someone who walked slowly, stopped, walked a little faster and stopped again before walking further. From the fog a stooped, elderly brunette emerged. Her grey hair hung over her shoulder in a neat braid.
As the porter came to a halt she dutifully tipped her cap and said: “Good evening ma’am” and looked back over her shoulder. Miss Brown looked too, curious to see what it was the porter was looking for but the fog prevented her from seeing anything. The porter looked at Miss Brown, wide-eyed, then peered over Miss Brown's shoulder into the fog there.
Miss Brown cleared her throat with some emphasis. “To the Queen’s Arms, please," she stated firmly.
The porter looked blankly at Miss Brown again. The young brunette felt annoyance bubbling up. This was not the way things were supposed to go. The porter ought to tip her cap and whistle over a few colleagues to arrange for the luggage to be carried onto a carriage that would take them to their inn. Instead the old porter jumped nervously, startled at the sound of Miss Felice-Lytton striding smartly back towards them.
“Well!” the blonde huffed. “It was our luggage indeed and not a soul about to take responsibility. They simply tossed our luggage onto the platform and left!” Then she noticed the porter behind Miss Brown. “You! See to it that our luggage is loaded onto a carriage, please. At once.” she snapped.
“Er...yes, ma’am.” The porter quickly hustled into the direction from which Miss Felice-Lytton had come.
“What a strange place,” Miss Felice-Lytton remarked. “I wonder where everyone is.” She sighed. "I suppose we had better find a carriage, darling. I don’t think someone is going to do it for us.”
The two girls walked into the fog in the direction they assumed to be the exit. Outside the station the streets were deserted and silent. Miss Brown looked at her watch. “I don’t understand,” she said. “It isn’t even ten p.m. yet. The train arrived on time.”
Miss Felice-Lytton touched her friend’s arm. “Do you hear that?”
“What?”
“That scraping sound.”
Miss Brown put her watch away and listened. Miss Felice-Lytton was right. From behind the girls the sound of something scraping on the ground became louder.
Suddenly Miss Felice-Lytton cried out and ran into the fog.
“Darling?” Miss Brown’s heart raced. Without thinking she dashed into the fog after her friend. Almost immediately she found the cause of Miss Felice-Lytton’s distress. It was the porter, was pulling their luggage over the ground towards the exit of the train station. Miss Felice-Lytton shook her finger in the porter's face, upbraiding the cowed brunette who stood more stooped than ever, twisting her cap in her big hands, allowing the fierce little blonde’s voluble reproach to wash over her as she nodded her head and tried fruitlessly to speak.
Miss Brown watched with mixed amusement and pity. It was like watching a parakeet scold a shaggy dog. "...and don't think I won't have a word with the District Governess about this...this gross dereliction of duty! Oh, it's a shame is what it is.”
“But, ma’am, 'scuse me ma’am. All the other girls went home, ma’am. It’s my old bones, ma’am. I can’t carry them big trunks all by myself anymore.” The porter looked defeated.
Miss Brown intervened. “Let me help you.” She picked up Miss Felice-Lytton’s trunk and moved it to the street side of the station. The elderly porter scuttled to and fro with hat boxes and suitcases, halting every so often to stare intently into the fog, as if she could penetrate it with the force of her gaze.
When Miss Brown put down her own trunk at the sidewalk the girls heard a carriage approaching.
The muffled clatter on the cobblestones sounded rather alarming in the deserted street. After a moment a shambling black form lurched out of the fog, quickly resolving itself into the figure of an enormous black horse drawing an equally black carriage. The driver sat huddled under a hairy-looking cloak.
Unconsciously Miss Felice-Lytton had stepped closer to Miss Brown, bumping into her with a sharp gasp as the brunette stepped forward and raised her hand, motioning the driver to stop.
“The Queen’s Arms Inn please, driver.” Miss Brown called firmly.
The driver’s head swivelled slowly to observe the two girls and the porter who stood as if nailed to the ground by fear. The carriage came to a halt.
“I am not taking on any passengers, Miss.” The driver said softly but without apology.
Miss Brown, who had felt rather chilly and uneasy up till now felt heat rising from her toes to her head. “What?"
“It is time to go home. My family worries when I stay out in weather like this.”
“And you will leave us standing here in the street? Is there a storm coming? Is there some obscure religious prohibition against aiding travellers? Our suitcases are thrown off the train, I have to carry my own trunks to the street and now you refuse outright to take us to our lodgings. I am getting a nice little first impression, I must say. What do you suggest we do now?” Miss Brown paused with her hands on her hips, glaring up at the form under the shaggy cloak.
Unmoved, the driver shrugged. “Maybe the porter will take you to the Queen’s Arms. It isn’t far.”
The porter jumped up with shout. "Oh no! No, you'll not keep me out in this...this unholy fog!" She turned around and ran heavily down the street. Her form quickly disappeared and the sound of her uneven footsteps was soon muffled.
Cocking her head slightly Miss Brown looked at the driver and raised her eyebrow. “And now?”
The driver sighed but wasted no time climbing down from the driving box. She gestured at the luggage. “I'll need your help with these, ma'am."
--
Not long afterward, the carriage stopped in front of the Queen’s Arms Inn. As Miss Brown stepped out she almost slipped on the wet cobblestones. In the fog she could barely make out the wooden sign hanging over the door. It showed a picture of two elegant arms that indubitably belonged to an equally elegant lady. The fringes of her dress were visible in the picture though the rest of the lady was not. On the hand of one of arms glistened a big diamond ring. These were not the kind of arms Miss Brown had envisioned when she heard the name of the Inn the first time. These were a much pleasanter kind of arms, really.
“Whoops!”
Miss Brown looked around the corner of the carriage just in time to see the driver catch Miss Felice-Lytton in her strong arms as the blonde's feet slipped on the wet cobbles. "Up you go, Miss. Mind the cobblestones there."
“Oh my! Are you all right, darling?” Miss Brown reached for Miss Felice-Lytton.
The blonde blushed and straightened her skirt. She took Miss Brown's proffered hand, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and looked down at the cobblestones. “How can anyone walk on these stones sticking out?” She said crossly.
“This is what our streets are like, Miss.” The driver, who had been unloading the luggage before catching the blonde, nodded a thank-you as Miss Brown paid her. “The shoes you Southerners wear are too dainty. Girls here wear shoes with steady heels.”
Miss Brown looked at the driver’s shoes peeping out from under a thick woollen skirt that was, in Miss Brown's opinion, decidedly too short. They were steady lace up boots with broad one-inch heels. Miss Brown suddenly realised that the driver must be rather tall. She herself never wore less than two inch heels but this brunette towered over her.
And then there was that small expanse of leg between the boot top and the skirt that Miss Felice-Lytton was taking a little too much interest in. Miss Brown stepped between the blonde and the driver, who was climbing back up into the box.
“I wouldn’t stay out too long if I were you,” the driver warned, settling herself back under the hairy blanket. “Good night.” She slapped the reins and the carriage started with a rattle.
As the carriage drew away into the mist, the girls walked up to the door of the inn. Mellow light shone through the small mullioned windows and the sound of jolly voices and the clink of cutlery could be heard.
Miss Felice-Lytton put her hand on Miss Brown's arm. “Are you certain this is a proper establishment, darling?”
“Yes, quite certain.” Miss Brown cleared her throat and knocked on the door. Immediately the voices within muted. A few seconds later the door was opened wide by a sturdy-looking matron, well in her fifties. She eyed the two girls suspiciously. Two golden braids speckled with strands of white were coiled on the sides of her head. Miss Brown’s gaze was immediately drawn to her impressive bosom. She had never seen a matron wearing such a low cut garment.
“Yes?” the innkeeper said stonily.
“Good evening,” Miss Brown began. She felt heat rising up to her neck and cheeks.
The matron frowned and began to close the door. Suddenly Miss Brown remembered the doctor’s advice and without saying another word she stepped inside, dragging a startled Miss Felice-Lytton in with her.
“Darling!” the blonde gasped.
“Ladies, I bid you welcome to the Queen’s Arms.” The matron, who only seconds before had been closing the door to the two girls, suddenly beamed at them warmly . “I am Mistress Fernwald. And you are the Misses Beaufort I presume?”
The people sitting at the tables resumed their conversations, nearly drowning Miss Brown’s words in their sudden humming.
“Er, no.” Miss Brown stammered. “My name is Eliza Brown.”
Mistress Fernwald raised her eyebrows and then lowered them in the suspicious glower she had shown the girls earlier. “And who is this other girl? I thought you would come alone, Miss Brown. You never informed me of a…companion.”
The emphasis put on the word ‘companion’ made the heat rise to Miss Brown’s ears. This was the very sort of thing she had feared when Miss Felice-Lytton showed up at the train station that early morning in Loveton. Unfortunately she had not given it much consideration afterwards. She looked at her blonde friend. Miss Felice-Lytton blushed heavily and looked down.
“I am sorry.” Miss Brown cleared her throat nervously. “I did not mention it when I made the reservation. I mean... er... it was only later that it was decided. Last minute, one could say. My…er...my sister decided to come along the very last moment. Yes! You won’t believe what a bother it was arranging for the train tickets, not to mention her luggage." She gave a forced chuckle. "She has a lot of it. Don’t you, Agatha.”
Miss Felice-Lytton stared at her friend, horrified, and nodded slowly.
“So,” Miss Brown continued. “I brought my sister, Miss Agatha Brown. I do hope you do not mind too much, Mistress Fernwald.”
“Sisters?” Mistress Fernwald glared at the two girls. “So, separate bedrooms then?”
“Oh god, yes!” Miss Brown exhaled.
Miss Felice-Lytton’s face turned beet red.
“Hm.” The inn keeper squinted. “Yes, I can see the resemblance.” She smiled, good humour restored. “It is hard to tell sometimes with blondes and brunettes. You two have the same nose.”
Miss Brown looked at her friend’s nose. It was a long and straight nose. Miss Felice-Lytton had noble features as compared to her own unremarkable ones. Miss Felice-Lytton suddenly seemed very pale.
Mistress Fernwald continued: “I have a room free for your sister, Miss Brown. Not to worry. It is rather late, so I will show you to your rooms. Would you care for some dinner? I can have it brought up if you like. No need to trouble yourselves.”
The girls followed the matron up the stairs to their rooms. Before Miss Felice-Lytton went into her room she gave her friend a tremulous smile.
Miss Brown only hoped that the morning light would not change the matron’s mind about their noses.
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