As soon as they were comfortably settled in the train at Ostend, Mr Tilos stopped behaving like a maiden aunt. Cassandra had been wondering when it would happen and had hoped that he would not drop this comfortable attitude until they were on Hungarian soil, or even in Budapest itself, when she could more easily escape.
During the crossing from Dover to Ostend she had tried to find out, as tactfully as possible, whether anyone in Up Callow had known that Mr Tilos was travelling on this train and going to the same place as she was.
‘Oh, no,’ he said, ‘only the old woman who lives across the road, Mrs Gower. I told her that I go to Budapest and her friend Mr Gay who was with her in the garden.’
Cassandra was doubtful if Mrs Gower and Mr Gay would be able to keep this fascinating piece of news to themselves, and since Mrs Gower knew that she was going to Budapest she could hardly be blamed for putting two and two together and making quite the wrong number.
Mechanically she made pleasant conversation on general subjects, looking out of the window of the train and remarking on the flatness of the Belgian countryside, the clemency of the weather and the likelihood of its being hot in Budapest, but as she talked she was wondering how she could escape without creating a scene that might draw attention to them. She wished desperately that there was some other person in their railway carriage, especially when Mr Tilos seized her hand and cried, ‘Why do you not look at me? Do you not care for me at all? Why, then, do you go to Budapest?’
‘I certainly do not,’ said Cassandra firmly, ‘and I am going to Budapest for a holiday. I had no idea that you were going too.’
Such forthrightness was, she decided, the best way to deal with the situation. Mr Tilos became silent and, releasing her hand, sat hunched in his corner looking out of the window. Cassandra glanced at him and saw that he was likely to go on sulking for some time and thought that this was a good opportunity to escape into the corridor and find more congenial travelling companions.
All the third-class carriages seemed to be full. Many of the occupants were eating, playing cards, and even singing. There seemed to be a party of students on the train, and Cassandra came across groups of them in the corridors, smoking and talking in loud excited voices. They all looked kind and friendly, but Cassandra was making for another party she remembered seeing on the boat at Ostend, a group of middle-aged, respectable-looking people, with a tall clergyman who seemed to be their leader. She was beginning to think that they must have stayed behind in Ostend, when she heard a voice calling. It was a fluty, cultured voice, the voice of an English spinster of uncertain age, Cassandra decided, just the sort of voice she wanted to hear. The sound of it was music in her ears after Mr Tilos’s gentle but sinister foreign accents.
‘Canon Coffin! Canon Coffin!’ called the voice.
Cassandra, who had been standing looking out of the window, turned to her right and saw a grey-haired woman hurrying down the corridor. She was small and efficient-looking, and wore pince-nez. In her hand she had a pencil, and a piece of paper that looked as if it might be a list. From a carriage just beyond where Cassandra was standing there emerged the figure of a tall clergyman. This must be Canon Coffin, thought Cassandra. In spite of his depressing name he had a kindly face, beaming with smiles. Cassandra recognized him as the man she had seen on the boat.
‘Oh, Canon Coffin, here’s the list,’ said the woman. They stood talking in the corridor, so that Cassandra was able to hear all their conversation.
‘Thank you, Miss Edge,’ said the clergyman. ‘All those on the list will be taking dinner when we get to Brussels, I presume?’
‘Yes. Miss Lomax and Miss Fye are dining with friends. And Mrs Dewbury won’t be with us at the Pension Flora tonight. She has a nephew at the Embassy, and is staying the night with him and his wife.’ This information was given in a slightly scornful tone, which was at the same time a little aggrieved. It was as if Miss Edge had heard too much about the nephew at the Embassy, and had hoped for an invitation to meet him which had not been forthcoming.
Cassandra’s heart warmed towards these people. She felt that she would be at home among them. She hoped that they would like her too. She did not think they could disapprove of her, for although she was more smartly dressed than in Up Callow, in a blue suit with silver fox furs, her face was made up quite discreetly, and she had natural-coloured polish on her nails.
She walked along a little way, hoping that Miss Edge might speak to her when she had finished her business with Canon Coffin. She was not disappointed. In a few minutes she heard the fluty voice saying, ‘Excuse me, but are you with us?’
How comforting that us sounded, thought Cassandra. She turned round and smiled. ‘No, I’m not,’ she said, ‘but I’d very much like to be. I’m all by myself,’ she lied, ‘and I’m longing for someone to talk to.’
‘Oh, you must join us,’ said Miss Edge enthusiastically. ‘We’re quite a lively party.’
‘You’re very kind,’ Cassandra smiled.
‘That was Canon Coffin I was speaking to just now. He’s our leader. His wife is with us too, but she doesn’t travel well, if you know what I mean, so I’m doing all the secretarial work on the journey, but of course I really enjoy it. I run the St Monica’s Guild at home.’
She chatted on until Cassandra felt that she knew a great deal about the party and its members. There were seventeen of them, three clergymen and their wives, three widows and eight spinsters, all inhabitants of a West Country cathedral town. They were making a fortnight’s tour of South Germany and the Austrian Tyrol.
Cassandra said that she had left her luggage further up the train, but that she would go and fetch it and then join Miss Edge and her companions in their carriage.
‘I’m sure Canon Coffin would go along with you and help you carry it,’ said Miss Edge.
Cassandra, remembering his kindly face, was sure that he would, but then he would see Mr Tilos and everything would be spoilt. ‘Please don’t trouble him,’ she said hastily. ‘I’ve only a dressing case – I sent the rest of my luggage on in advance.’ She marvelled at how adept she was becoming at lying.
Cassandra found Mr Tilos sitting just as she had left him, still sulking in his corner seat. He showed some interest when she came in and looked up hopefully.
‘What are you doing with your case?’ he asked anxiously.
‘It has all my make-up things in it,’ said Cassandra. ‘I am going to have a wash and tidy myself up.’
She made her escape from the carriage, hoping that he would not come searching for her. She had had to abandon her big suitcase and hoped he would look after it for her. It was labelled with the name of the hotel in Budapest, so she trusted that he would see that it arrived there safely. She would be joining it in her own time.
She almost ran down the corridor and was relieved to see Miss Edge standing by the carriage door, obviously waiting for her.
‘Oh, good,’ she said. ‘There are four of us in here, plenty of room for another,’ and she introduced Cassandra to Mrs Dewbury, Miss Lomax and Miss Fye.
Mrs Dewbury was sitting in a corner by the window, and looked rather defiantly at Cassandra, as if expecting that she might have to give up her seat and being determined not to. She was a plump woman who looked about sixty-five. She wore an assortment of gold chains round her neck, from one of which hung a pair of eyeglasses. Her fingers were loaded with old-fashioned rings, set with diamonds and turquoises.
Miss Lomax and Miss Fye were much younger. Cassandra would have said that they were in the late thirties. They looked very much alike, rather dim and faded, with wispy brown hair, and sensible brown tweed costumes. They both looked up at Cassandra with quick, friendly smiles, and made room for her on their side of the carriage.
‘I do hope I’m not disturbing you,’ said Cassandra.
‘Not at all,’ said Miss Lomax and Miss Fye together. ‘We’re glad to have you with us.’
Cassandra learned after more experience that they nearly always seemed to make their remarks in chorus. She sat down, and glanced at Mrs Dewbury, who had not as yet shown any signs of welcoming her. ‘I suppose I ought to introduce myself,’ she said shyly. ‘I’m Mrs Gibbon.’ She had decided to leave out the ‘Marsh’, in case people should ask if she were any relation to the author of that name, although she was not at all certain that Adam’s fame would have reached the inhabitants of a remote West Country cathedral town. Still, it was better to be safe, and Mrs Gibbon was a good plain name without actually being an assumed one.
‘Where are you travelling to?’ Miss Edge enquired.
‘Budapest,’ said Cassandra, trying to look like a seasoned traveller.
‘Alone?’ asked Miss Lomax and Miss Fye in sympathetic chorus.
‘Well,’ Cassandra hesitated, and then realized that she would have to say something. ‘I’m meeting my husband there.’ How she wished that it was true.
‘Are you going straight through, or are you spending the night in Brussels?’ asked Miss Edge.
‘I would like to spend the night in Brussels,’ Cassandra said, thinking of her escape from Mr Tilos. ‘But,’ she added, trying to sound pathetic, ‘I’m not sure where … ’
‘I don’t like to think of you wandering about Brussels on your own,’ said Miss Edge, with a worried frown. ‘You hear of such things … Now, I wonder … ’
Cassandra sat back and listened contentedly. Obviously Miss Edge was the sort of person who was used to arranging things and loved it. For although she could perfectly well have gone to a hotel, she would feel much safer from Mr Tilos if she spent the night at the Pension Flora.
‘Of course,’ said Miss Edge tentatively, ‘you would have to share a room with one of us. Would you mind that?’
Cassandra felt that she would rather share a room with all the eight spinsters and three widows than be in the same town alone with Mr Tilos. So she thanked Miss Edge and smiled at everyone and asked what to do about paying.
‘Oh, that will do later, dear,’ said Miss Edge. ‘We can settle that on the train going to Frankfurt.’
It was very comforting to be called dear and to know that she was to be safe until they reached a place as remote as Frankfurt. Cassandra leaned back against the hard clean wood of the carriage and thought of Mr Tilos, sulking in his cushioned second-class luxury.
As the train drew into Brussels, Canon Coffin came down the corridor and warned people to get ready and collect their luggage. Miss Edge introduced Cassandra to him and he beamed kindly on her, which made her feel like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, which was quite a new experience for her.
While the group was bustling about on the platform fussing with their luggage, Cassandra moved up the platform to where Mr Tilos was surrounded by his own and her luggage.
‘I am staying the night in Brussels,’ she said pleasantly. ‘With some friends,’ she added, indicating the three clergymen, their wives, the three widows and the eight spinsters. ‘Do you think you could very kindly see to my luggage for me? I will only need my dressing case,’ and she gave him the name of her hotel in Budapest.
For a moment it looked as if he was going to protest, and she held her breath. But then he bowed coldly and said something in Hungarian which, fortunately, perhaps, she was not able to understand. He was upset and annoyed, but, thought Cassandra resentfully, I certainly never gave him any encouragement, so it’s all his own fault.
She felt a mixture of guilt and annoyance and was glad to be interrupted by Canon Coffin, raising his voice to command the attention of the group. ‘Now come along everybody. The luggage is going to the Pension Flora, so will you please leave it over here in a pile? Then we can all go to the restaurant where we are to have dinner.’
The party moved off the platform and Cassandra joined them quickly. As she went she turned her head and saw Mr Tilos still standing there amid the luggage, looking very forlorn.
‘Now are we all ready?’ came Canon Coffin’s voice, and they filed out of the station. Cassandra marched happily between Miss Edge and a tall thin woman called Miss Crump.
In the restaurant, when they were arranging themselves at their tables, a clergyman sat down heavily next to Cassandra.
‘I think this is the best place,’ he said rather anxiously, looking around him to see how far he was from the door. ‘Since my recent illness it is quite fatal for me to sit in a draught. Quite fatal,’ he repeated, so that she should realize the gravity of the situation. She was somehow reminded of Adam and for a moment she felt quite melancholy, until Canon Coffin addressed the clergyman cheerfully.
‘Well, Langbaine, we certainly couldn’t have that! Now then, everybody, what are we all going to drink?’
‘Water,’ said one of the spinsters firmly.
‘Oh, you can’t have ordinary water,’ said Miss Edge. ‘I believe it isn’t fit to drink, but I believe you can get some very nice mineral water, non-alcoholic, of course.’
‘Personally, I think some wine would be nice. It would revive us after our long journey,’ said Canon Coffin, making it seem quite respectable.
‘Well, perhaps it would be rather nice,’ ventured another of the spinsters. ‘It isn’t as if we often have it.’
Cassandra smiled. While the question of the drink was being settled she was able to observe her neighbour.
The Reverend William Langbaine was a tall man of about forty-five. He was dark and going a little bald. He had a thin pale face and wore horn-rimmed spectacles. Cassandra noticed that he was wearing a thick grey hand-knitted pullover under his jacket. She wondered whether it had been knitted for him by some devoted lady of the parish, but decided that he did not look like the sort of clergyman who would inspire such devotion and that it had probably been made by his wife.
‘I think I will have some mineral water,’ she said. ‘I think it would be more refreshing than wine.’
‘I believe it is delicious,’ said Miss Edge. ‘Mrs Dewbury told me that they always have it at the Embassy. Is your wife not well, Mr Langbaine?’ she asked, putting on her pince-nez and giving him a sharp glance.
‘No. Ethel is a poor traveller,’ he said carelessly, ‘so she has gone straight to the Pension. Mrs Coffin has gone with her, I believe. She will be taking a little Bovril in bed. Much the best thing for nausea,’ he said with authority.
After dinner they all trooped off to the Pension Flora. A few of the bolder spirits had gone sight-seeing in the dark, but Cassandra was feeling tired after her full, exciting day. She found that she was to share a room with Miss Edge. The proprietress of the Pension, a grim, dark-haired woman, showed them into a room papered in dull crimson damask, with heavy red velvet curtains and massive furniture. She indicated with a sweep of the hand what were its advantages and amenities, and shut the door behind her.
Cassandra was relieved to see that there were two beds, very high, with ornately carved wooden headboards and covered with strange plumped-up feather quilts.
If the shocked inhabitants of Up Callow could see her now, she thought, as Miss Edge made polite remarks about wardrobe space, how surprised they would be, perhaps even a little disappointed, that instead of being with Mr Tilos she was sharing a room with the secretary of the St Monica’s Guild.