“WE STOPPED,” said Miss Temple. “I've no idea where. Did it wake you?”
“It must have,” said the Contessa, a little dreamily for Miss Temple's taste. The Contessa plucked idly at her hair. “I must look a fright.”
“You do not,” said Miss Temple, “as I am sure you know. I am the one who is frightful—my hair has not been curled, my hands are scabbed, my complexion is quite ruined with sundry disfigurements and bruising and what-have-yous—not that I care a jot for any of it.”
“Why should you?”
“Exactly,” snorted Miss Temple, not exactly sure why she was suddenly so cross.
“How did you sleep?”
“Quite poorly. It was very cold.”
The woman was smiling at her again, and Miss Temple nodded peremptorily in the direction of the Contessa's bag.
“Would you have anything to eat?”
“I might.”
“I would even more enjoy a cup of tea.”
“I cannot help you there.”
“I am aware of it,” said Miss Temple, and then observed, “Some people prefer coffee.”
“I am one of those people,” said the Contessa.
“Coffee is too bitter.”
The Contessa let this stand and opened her bag, then looked back at Miss Temple before removing any article from it. “And what do I get in return for sharing my food?”
“What would you expect?”
“Not a thing. That is, I would not rely upon it.”
“Then we understand each other quite well.”
The Contessa chuckled and produced two dried apples and a gold-crusted pie wrapped in a grease-stained cloth. She handed one of the apples to Miss Temple and took the pie between her hands. Miss Temple thought to offer her knife to cut it in two and reached down to her boot. The knife was no longer there. She looked up at the Contessa, who had broken the pie between her fingers and was handing across one half.
“It is too much to hope for anything but mutton,” she said. “Is something wrong?”
“Not at all,” replied Miss Temple, taking the pie. The crust flaked onto her wrist and she brought it to her mouth, catching the flake on her tongue like a toad. “I am much obliged to you.”
“You needn't be,” said the Contessa, chewing, and rather more frank in her manners than Miss Temple had expected. “I have no further interest in any memory of Karthe, much less its food. As I have no desire to eat more than half this pie—in fact, hardly enough to eat any at all—giving that much to you costs me nothing.”
Miss Temple had no response to this, so she simply ate. Despite everything she felt well rested, and stronger than she had the day before. She bit into the apple, found it too chewy but still tart.
“You took my knife, didn't you?”
“Do you always insist on asking questions to which you know the answer?”
“It was a way of letting you know I was aware of it.”
“Only a fool would not be, Celeste.”
“I must have slept deeply, then.”
“Like a mewling kitten.” The Contessa swallowed another bite of pie. “You mentioned our stopping. But that was the third time we had stopped—you slept through the others.”
“Will you give it back?”
“I shouldn't think so.”
The Contessa saw her cross expression and leaned forward.
“Understand, Celeste, I could have slit your throat as easy as patting your head. I did not, because we had an agreement.”
“But after the agreement, after we arrive—”
“I will not give it back then either. Who knows when you will want to slit mine?”
Miss Temple frowned. It was far too easy to imagine some future meeting—in the city, in a train car, on a marble staircase—where the Contessa would without pause slash her glittering spike at Miss Temple's unprotected face. Could she do the same, after pressing herself against the Contessa's warm and splendid body in the dark? How could mere familiarity change anything between them? But how could it not?
Miss Temple cleared her throat. “If we are so agreeable, perhaps you will now tell me of Elöise. You did promise to do so.”
“It is a very boring thing to ask.”
“Did you hurt her?”
“I did not. Mrs. Dujong and a young man entered a house in Karthe, a house I myself was observing.”
“Why?”
“Because I lost something, Celeste.”
“But the boy who lived there was murdered!”
“Yes, I know. Once they went in, I saw the soldier lurking in the street—he'd followed them. I took this as my own opportunity to slip past him to the inn, but before I was finished with the innkeeper, the soldier returned and insisted on being unpleasant to everyone.”
“And Elöise?”
“Since she did not come back to the inn with the soldier—well, either he killed her, or Francis killed her… or something else.”
“What else do you mean?”
“Once again, Celeste, if you simply made a habit of thinking before speech—”
“Xonck knows her?”
“Of course Francis knows her. She is his sister's loyal confidante.”
“She never said any such thing to me!” Miss Temple sniffed doubtfully. “Francis Xonck…”
“But that is what is so delicious!” cried the Contessa. “She does not even know herself!”
“Know what?”
“That she is already his!”
Miss Temple recalled Elöise's determination not to explain why Chang and the Doctor had vanished, indeed her determination to explain as little as possible… but Francis Xonck? Miss Temple was appalled.
“But what has happened to her?”
“I've no idea,” said the Contessa. “When I got to the train yard I did what I could to create a disturbance—to make it that much harder for Francis to move about freely—and found my place to hide. Per haps there was a scream or two outside—I was securing my place with the fish oil.”
“I should not think he would scare you,” observed Miss Temple mildly.
“Francis does not scare me,” the Contessa replied pointedly. “But he is very dangerous, and in Karthe I had no way to combat him. In the city I shall. Most definitely.”
The Contessa idly patted her bag, then realized she had done so and that Miss Temple had noticed the gesture. Miss Temple smirked with great satisfaction, and nodded to the closed car door. “If we stopped three times, do you know where we are, or what time it is?” she asked.
“I do,” replied the Contessa, “and see no profit whatsoever in telling you. But you did sleep so beautifully.”
The Contessa set the rest of her pie on the floor, pulled up her dress to wipe her hands on her petticoats, then flounced the dress back into position and crawled deliberately toward Miss Temple on her hands and knees, until their faces were very near. Miss Temple swallowed, suddenly afraid, but her fear was of a different order than the night before. The Contessa had become more known…a woman who ate and slept and yawned and flexed her hips with restless hunger… somehow it made her even more monstrous. Despite everything the Contessa had said, Miss Temple did not know why she was still alive— there must be a reason, some role the woman hoped she would perform. What other explanation was there?