Page 37 of A Modest Independence

A German gentleman complained loudly at the counter. “You have a nerve charging these prices for food of this quality. Is it any wonder Baedeker advises us to see to our own sustenance?”

“Bradshaw’s made no mention of bringing our own food,” Jenny whispered as they exited the refreshment room.

“An unfortunate oversight. We’ll have to remember it for the journey back.”

“Much good that will do me. I may not be coming back.”

Only six short words, but they were enough to knock the breath out of him. He couldn’t recover it, not even when Jenny’s hand came to rest on his arm.

“Oh look, there’s Ahmad and Mira.” Jenny waved at the two servants. “I do hope they haven’t been too uncomfortable in second class.”

Ahmad and Mira crossed the gaslit platform to meet them. They looked rumpled and tired, their faces drawn from lack of sleep.

“I’ve bought a basket of food for you both,” Jenny said.

Ahmad took one of the baskets from Tom’s arms and peered inside.

“Thank you, madam,” Mira said.

“Don’t thank me. I’d no idea we were meant to bring our own food along. Have you been very miserable? One of the porters said there was no water available on the train. And we all must sleep sitting bolt upright. Perhaps we should have—”

“They’re fine,” Tom interrupted. “They’ve done this all before, remember?”

Ahmad’s mouth pulled up at one corner, but he said nothing. He and his cousin had endured far worse conditions than those in a second-class railway car. Tom didn’t know every particular, but he knew enough to realize that their employment as servants to Jenny Holloway was something of a godsend for them. They’d never complain, least of all over some minor discomfort.

“Come,” he said. “We all of us must get back on board. These tyrannical railway fellows have no qualms about leaving passengers behind.”

The scream of the whistle gave truth to his statement, urging them all off in their separate directions up and down the platform, through the billows of steam. Tom and Jenny had no sooner entered their compartment and sunk into their seats than the train began to depart the station.

“That was cutting it rather close,” he said.

Jenny didn’t seem to hear him. She was immediately occupied with opening the basket she’d purchased. After a brief rummage about, she withdrew a hunk of bread and cheese, the quality of which could best be described as indifferent. Her nose wrinkled. “I thought French food was supposed to be superior to all others.”

“Not the sort purchased at a railway buffet.”

She took out a wrapped package of cold meat. “How very disappointing.”

“Best accustom yourself to being disappointed. It’s the better part of travel, or so I understand.”

“I don’t accept that. Nor should you. Just because you’ve had bad experiences with travel in the past doesn’t mean—”

“I have no experiences with travel. I’ve been no farther from England than Le Havre. Didn’t I say so?”

Jenny’s brows shot up. “You’re not serious.”

“Is it so hard to believe?”

“Well….yes,” she said with her characteristic frankness. “I was sure you were well traveled. At least as well traveled as Mr. Thornhill.”

“Thornhill was a captain in Her Majesty’s Army. There’s no comparison.”

“Yes, but…you said you wanted to look after me. To keep me safe. How can you when you don’t know anything more about India than I do?”

“I know what Thornhill’s told me. And what I hear from my clients and read in the papers.”

“That’s hardly enough.”

“No,” he acknowledged. “What’s enough is the mere fact that I’m a man.”