PROLOGUE

 

  

YESTERDAY'S DREAMS

by

Iain Cambridge

 

 

The last train to London was due to leave platform three on what would prove to be a most curious evening for

Miss Distemper Hargraves, for the events, and the

interactions with her fellowpassengers would later have her recount a story that would normally 

come from the most fanciful of literary minds.

 

Except this one was true.

 

 

CHAPTER ONE - THE START OF THE JOURNEY

Miss. Hargraves stood in the cold winter evening and looked at her watch.

It was 6.15 and the train was late.

Typical.

It had been a long six weeks spent with her father, and it had to be said that the cool Scottish air had agreed with her, but that had been the only thing. Within a week of arriving at the large country house that nestled itself deep within the hills just outside Edinburgh, Distemper Hargraves, only daughter to the Earl and heiress to his vast fortune had soon come to realise why her mother had divorced him. The man was insufferable, even by her standards which, it had to be said were seen by others as the hight of annoyance.

It had all started, as it always did, with her name.

It was a ridiculous name and one that she had insisted on being shortened to ‘Dizzy’, which was a fun name, rather than this suggestion of a disease.

But her father had insisted on calling her by her ‘proper’ name, much to the amusement of his staff who barely held their mirth at bay, stifled as it was by the use of strategic coughing and well place handkerchiefs.

From there on in it had marked the start of the cold war between Dizzy and her father and the agreement from them both that it would be better if they stayed out of each other’s way, which was a pity because, seeing as tomorrow would be Dizzies Twenty-first birthday it was unlikely that she would ever see him again – not voluntarily anyway. This part of her life had now been relegated to births; deaths and marriages - these being the only times that she would ever have contact with her Scottish heritage.

 

The loud steam powered whistle that announced the arrival of the carriage that would take her back home, and to her mother, screamed Dizzy back to reality, snapping her from her sullen mood for what had been anything other than a pleasant break. She looked around to see if she was to board the train alone and saw on the platform two middle aged men and an old woman of around sixty waiting with her. Dizzy wondered if sixty also qualified as middle-aged but figured that if this lady had indeed reached the middle part of her existence, then her lifespan would surely have to take her to one hundred and twenty. By that same rational, the two other gentlemen should therefore be only in their mid-thirties if they were to reach their promised allotted time of three score years and ten.

 Whereas some people collected stamps and other occupied themselves with butterflies and the like, Dizzy enjoyed her time watching people. Being nosey her mother had called it, but Dizzy disagreed saying that it was an art, a talent almost to be able to look for recognisable traits in certain folk in order to build up a composite picture of said persons personality without actually engaging them.

“It was a science,” she would say - “probably”.

 One of her fellow travellers, a gentleman with black hair that was flecked with grey, stepped before her and opened the carriage door.

“After you miss,” he said with a smile.

Dizzy tilted her head slightly as taught to by her etiquette teacher Miss Traust.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, and with that she stepped up assisted by the supportive hand of this most polite of gentlemen.

“And may I help you Madam?” he said to the lady that may or may not have been ‘middle aged’. She was a stern looking woman who regarded Dizzy’s new friend with scorn.

“I am quite capable thank you,” she snapped as she bustled past him.

Dizzy could not help but think that this was very rude, and a woman of her senior years should know better. The gentleman bowed slightly at her words whilst retaining his broad smile.

“As you wish” he replied.

The third person seemed so preoccupied with the notes he was making that he nearly walked into his potential travelling companion.

“Oh, do excuse me” he said as he looked up just in time to avoid this collision. “Important research” he added, holding up his notebook and addressing Dizzy as if presenting evidence to his last statement. He suddenly looked around as if alarmed that someone may have heard him, and on doing so he stuffed this incriminating evidence in his inside pocket.

“No harm done my friend – please, after you”

The ‘Scientist’ as Dizzy had decided to call him, tilted his hat and climbed aboard, and with a slam of the carriage door the first-class compartment of the 6pm train to London became home to four new passengers.

The steam screamed though the whistle once more and with a grinding of iron and steel, the train set off. 

Late.

 

The journey started off slow with ‘The Witch’ providing an air of contempt for her fellow passengers that permeated the very air, making it hard to breathe though fear of not wanting to incur her wrath with the noise such an action could cause.

Dizzy has christened her as such because – well, she looked like one.

The black veil she wore faded her features from anything less than the intense scrutiny offered by Dizzy and her grey hair, pulled back into a bun did nothing except enhance her severity. The small mole on her top lip would have been regarded as a beauty spot had she been any other woman, indeed Dizzy had just such a mark, but on ‘The Witch’ it simply served no other purpose than as a wart.

‘The Scientist’ continued to be lost in his own world of numbers and the calculations of, whilst ‘The Gentleman’ stared out of the window, also lost, but in a seemingly darker place than his fellow traveller.

Every now and again he would look at his watch.

It was a gold, ornate affair that had more than one point at which to wind it up, but instead of checking the time, he would lay it flat in his palm as if it were a compass, and had it not been for the fact that she had seen the hands and numbers, Dizzy would have assumed as much.

Each time he did this the light would reflect off its surface causing him to frown slightly. He would then move his position in the carriage slightly, a few inches at most before staring out of the window once more. This would happen every ten minutes or so which was something Dizzy found quite strange.

On closer inspection ‘The Scientist’ would then make a note each time this happened but doing so in such a way as to seemingly hide his actions from ‘The Witch’ Occasionally, his eyes would flick up and, on meeting Dizzy’s stare would then return to his notes just as quickly, seemingly unaware of her scrutiny.

‘The Gentleman’ looked away from the scene outside, which seemed to Dizzy to be no more that the blurred images of trees and farmland that were gradually being lost to the dark as the winter night closed in and focused his attention on her instead.

Dizzy looked away suddenly at being caught staring at him.

Her cheeks burned red at this outing of her inappropriate observations.

“Please excuse me Miss,” he said, “My intention was not to embarrass you – is there something that you wish to ask me?”

Dizzy looked back at him.

“Not at all sir” she replied, “I have adopted a habit over the years of applying my observations in an attempt to evaluate personality traits – it is a sort of hobby” she said, almost apologetically.

“Fascinating” said ‘The Scientist’, causing both Dizzy and ‘The Gentleman’ to snap their heads around in surprise.

“I’m sorry sir – what did you say?” she asked.

‘The Scientist’ looked over the top of his spectacles, as all good men of science are supposed to do.

“Your ‘hobby’, I find it very interesting. Tell me, what have you deduced about your fellow travellers?”

Dizzy, having been placed in the spotlight somewhat shifted uncomfortably on her seat.

“Well,” she began, “yourself for example, you are a man of science”

“He told you as much when he first entered the carriage” Scoffed ‘The Witch’. Dizzy jumped a little at her self-inclusion to the conversation at hand.

“I was referring more to his appearance and actions rather than what information he has departed to me – to us”

‘The Witch’ raised her eyebrows behind her veil and shook her head as if she had been addressed by nothing more than an imbecile.

“It didn’t hurt though – did it” which came as a statement rather than a question.

“The lady is correct” said ‘The Scientist’, “It is a rather obvious assumption to make”

“Why don’t you start with my good self?” suggested ‘The Gentleman’ as if to offer some sort of rescue from this critical barrage as supplied by their other, ‘less forgiving’ companions.

“It is not an exact science,” said Dizzy.

‘The Witch’ snorted her contempt.

“Parlour tricks – must we indulge this girl’s whimsy?”

‘The Scientist’ closed his notebook and put it into the top pocket of his jacket.

“No, no – I am genuinely interested. Please carry-on young lady”

Dizzy took a deep breath.

“Your manners suggest breeding and a good education”, she said addressing ‘The Gentleman’ “This points to old money as it is commonplace that newly acquired positioning holds a price, that of uncouth and misplace appropriation towards the fairer sex. Your accent however points to a more, let’s say ‘common’ heritage, as if one parent was considerably better placed than the other”

“Go on” Said ‘The Scientist’.

Dizzy swallowed, as the next thing she was about to say could be considered by some as slanderous – rude even.

“I am thinking that your father was the better placed of your parents – your mother being one of his staff maybe. This would suggest illegitimacy, and as this unaccepted liaison would be hidden away as an embarrassment, your mother would have raised you without help, which would explain the odd slip in your voice that betrays your roots”

‘The Gentleman’ continued to smile, but from behind his eyes the sorrow of truth seemed to stare back at Dizzy.

“Your actions during our journey are a little more confusing though” She continued, as if trying to overshadow her stinging appraisal “For example,

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Texte: Iain Cambridge
Bildmaterialien: Cover picture came as part of a batch of vintage pictures. No infringement of copyright is intentional, and no profit will be made from the use of it.
Lektorat: Iain Cambridge
Korrektorat: Iain Cambridge
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 14.05.2016
ISBN: 978-3-7396-5498-0

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Widmung:
To Deb - For my life, my son and my sanity. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.