“What are you doing on the train, Eddie?”
“Something I should have done the moment I got here. And just for the record, you had no right to contact Bertie.”
He smiled. “I meant to explain what I was up to, but I couldn’t think of a way of doing it without your flying into a rage. So I didn’t.”
“You forged a telegram from me!”
“Let’s just say I might have misrepresented the sendee a little bit. It’s no worse than lying about the rabbit. In fact, I’m doing the Magentas a favor—always a good move, if you know what I mean.”
“But Bertie’s a vacuous oaf. I wouldn’t wish him married to my worst enemy!”
“You’re not wishing him married to your worst enemy. You’re wishing him married to the lovely Imogen.”
“This will make her and Dorian miserable. How can you have a part in that?”
“When I have no cash I’m miserable,” he said, “so it’s either them or me. Good-bye, Eddie.”
And he walked off toward the station yard to join Fandango and Bertie.
I sat back in my seat, my relaxed feelings replaced by annoyance and frustration. I felt partially responsible, but there was, in fact, nothing I could do. I’d be overnighting in Cobalt and back in Jade-under-Lime by lunchtime tomorrow. I looked down and opened the telegram. It wasn’t perhaps the best thing I could have read.
TO EDWARD RUSSETT RG6 7GD ++ EAST CARMINE RSW ++ FROM CONSTANCE OXBLOOD SW3 6ZH ++ JADE UNDER LIME GSW ++ MSGE BEGINS ++ DELIGHTED TO HEAR NEWS OF YOUR GOOD FORTUNE HOPE YOU AND MISS DEMAUVE VERY HAPPY TOGETHER AND THAT ONE DAY OUR PATHS MIGHT CROSS AGAIN ++ SINCE YOUR MARRIAGE HAS REDUCED MY MARRIAGE MARKET I HAVE ACCEPTED ROGERS OFFER AND WE ARE TO MARRY IN THE SPRING ++ BE WELL CONSTANCE X ++ PS ROGER SENDS REGARDS AND ASKS IF HE CAN HAVE YOUR TENNIS RACKET ++ MSGE ENDS
I suddenly felt sick, angry, relieved and cheated all at once. I closed my eyes and scrunched up the telegram.
“Bad news?” asked the Blue woman with the veil.
“Ten minutes ago it would have been,” I said, thinking of Stafford’s words, “but right now it’s probably the best news I’ve had.”
I got up and opened the door of the carriage as the stationmaster was putting his whistle to his lips. But before I could climb out and shut the door behind me, Bunty strode up with a look of thunder.
“There was a deal, Russett!”
“The deal is off.”
“We’ll tell you if the deal is off!”
And before I knew it, she had pushed me roughly back inside the carriage. I used my foot to keep her from shutting the door and wormed my way half out again, whereupon Bunty punched me painfully in the midriff, then grabbed my ear. The stationmaster and the Blue woman in the veil looked on, he with the whistle poised in his mouth, and she tutting audibly, shocked and appalled by the unseemly tussle playing out in front of her. Bunty was stronger than I, and the struggle soon descended into her pushing with all her might from outside as I tried to keep hold of the varnished door frame on the inside. I caught the eye of the stationmaster. I knew he wouldn’t risk his job by assisting me, but I also knew that punctuality was of vital importance. So I suddenly let go of the door frame, and Bunty and I both tumbled inside. The stationmaster slammed the door and blew his whistle. By the time we had disentangled ourselves, the door locks had clunked and the train had begun to move off.
“You idiot!” yelled Bunty, her hair unpinned and her pinafore askew. “Just look at me!”
I told her it appeared we were now traveling companions, and she said only for the next forty minutes until Bluetown, where she would alert their departures clerk as to my behavior and use force if necessary to keep me on the train.
“And the next stop after that will be Greenways,” she added—“out of Red Sector West and our hair forever.”
I didn’t reply to this, except to say I had cut my lip, and excused myself to go to the toilet, leaving Bunty apologizing to the woman in the Blue veil and explaining that I was “trouble of the worst kind.”
But I didn’t go to the toilet. I went to the next carriage, lowered the window and climbed out until I was standing on the step. I timed my moment and jumped. The train was going at a reasonable speed by now, but I wasn’t much bothered as I tumbled on the grass and fell into a thorn bush. I sat up, scratched and bleeding, and watched the train until it was out of sight, then walked back down the line to the railway station.
“Changed your mind?” asked the stationmaster as I struggled back onto the platform twenty minutes later.
“The Outer Fringes grow on you.”
“So does lichen if you stand still long enough.”
My Last Evening Ignorant
4.2.12.34.431: The menu at village tearooms shall not be deviated from.
I made my way to the Fallen Man, where long-established custom would find Carlos Fandango offering tea and scones to Bertie, and discussing potential dowries, feedback ratings and virtues. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I knew I needed to do something.
Dorian was pacing around on the opposite side of the street, and before I could say anything, he punched me on the nose. It wasn’t that hard, but enough to stop me in my tracks.
“That’s for betraying my confidence,” he said. “I thought you were positive toward our predicament. And now I find you’ve invited this Magenta idiot to come over and feel the goods before purchase. What is Imogen to you? Ripe fruit?”
“Not my doing,” I assured him. “I think you should be looking for someone who would sell their own toes for a couple of extra merits.”
“Oh,” he replied with a look of sudden contrition, “Tommo.”
“In one.” I peered into the tearoom, where Fandango seemed to be in heavy conversation with Bertie.
Sitting between them was Imogen, who looked very delightful indeed in her Outdoor Informal with Hat #8. She spent her time glaring sullenly at her father and potential husband in turn.
“You can’t claim you’re totally free of blame,” continued Dorian. “I mean, Tommo must have found out about Magenta from you.”
“Okay,” I said, “I’m going to have to make this right.”
“How?”
I handed Dorian the unused railway ticket, and his eyes opened wide.
He’d just had time to put the ticket in his pocket when Prefect Sally Gamboge walked up, bristling with indignation. She had Courtland with her, and they weren’t there to add me to their birthday list.
“What are you still doing here, Russett? I thought we agreed you’d take the train out?”
“Circumstances have changed.”
She glared at me. “I hope you don’t regret that decision,” she said coldly.
“Is that a threat, Madam Prefect?”
“Not at all,” she replied, “merely an observation.”
“An observation duly taken on board. I feel it is my duty to report that Miss McMustard has just taken the fifteen forty-three out of the village.”
“What? Bunty? A walkout? Impossible!” And after telling me she would “deal with me later,” Gamboge marched off to find out what had happened to Bunty.
“So,” said Courtland once his mother had gone, “it looks like you owe me a ticket. A deal is a deal.”
“The deal was I’d get on the train. And I did.”
“Sticking up for the Greys can be a costly business,” he said, glancing at Dorian. “I hope you’ve got deep pockets.”
“I’m going to make a point of discussing the whole Grey issue next week,” I murmured, “in the Council Chamber. I think we might see some changes around here.”
Courtland wasn’t that impressed with my bravado.
“Making plans for next week? How cheerfully optimistic of you.”