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N is for — Nostalgia.  Be careful what you wish for

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I was woken by Chester, who had jumped up in the bed and was making himself comfortable.

At first, I was disoriented, and it took a few moments to reassure me I was not back in 1928 but home in bed, and a glance at the clock showed it to be 3:25 am.

I cursed Chester.

I didn’t want to be woken right then because I was about to meet James’s girl of his dreams, Matilda, and perhaps be granted a brief entry into a world very few knew existed, and as a bonusa about to experience a first-class sleeper on the Royal Scotsman, and later, dinner in the first class restaurant car.

Now…

Chester raised his head to glare at me, then let out a grumpy meow before putting his head back down and snuggling up close.  At least he hadn’t crawled under the sheets.  Yet.

I tried going back to sleep, hoping it would take me back, but I couldn’t.

After a few minutes, I got up and put on a thick dressing gown, went back to the sitting room, and picked up the manuscript.  Just in case I went back, perhaps I could study up on Matilda and James and their families.

I realised that I didn’t quite know who I was looking for or how I would recognise her, which would be quite odd if he and she were boyfriend and girlfriend.

I flicked forward through the pages to find how they met on the train and found a distinct detail: that she would be wearing a coat lined with fur and a sable fur hat.  In those days, fur wasn’t frowned upon, but of course, only the wealthy could afford it.

Matilda was also fashion-conscious and wore only the latest clothing trends, one such comment saying that she loved her white evening gown that fit perfectly.  I doubted she would be wearing it on the train, but something more appropriate for travel.

I also did a deep dive into the Royal Scotsman, the train that ran from Euston Station at 7:20 pm. and arrived in Inverness mid-morning and was not an express like the Flying Scotsman.  Surprisingly, it was two trains separating at Crewe, one half going to Inverness, the other to Aberdeen.

My ticket would put me on the right part of the train, so that wouldn’t be a problem.

I leaned back and could see the first shards of light trying to get past the curtains.  A new day dawning, another day of fact-checking.

Chester poked his head out the door to my room.  Of course, meal time.

I sighed.

“…James…James, are you alright?”

A girls voice caught my attention, then the name. I opened my eyes and felt a sudden jerk in the seat, and I realised I was moving.

The train.

My dream, or whatever was driving the sojourn, had brought me back to Matilda.

We were seated opposite each other, and the train was moving, not quite at speed, but it was getting there.

The clock on the wall said it was 8:03 pm.  Less than two hours before we reached Crewe.

Again, she asked, “Are you alright?” She had a concerned expression.

I blinked several times, then said.  “Of course.  I just got lost in the moment, on this train, with you and the anticipation.”

Of at least three events that would happen in the next 12 hours.

“It’s just a train.”

To a girl like her, it would be.  For me, well, it was momentous.

“Yes,” I smiled.  “It is just a train, something to get from one point to another, but it is quintessentially the best England can offer.  As you can now see, I am a little in awe of it, and perhaps The Flying Scotsman.”

She made a face.  “Perhaps we should take a rise on the Orient Express.  That’s a train.”

The waiter came to our table and waited for Matilda to cast a glance in his direction before asking, “A bottle of wine perhaps with dinner?”

She nodded.  “Champagne.  Mumm, I believe is available?”

“It is.”  Order in hand, he left.

“You do drink Champagne, James.  I forgot to ask?”

“Of course.”  And then gave silent thanks to my aunt, who had slipped me a decent amount of cash in case I needed it .  It would be improper to expect Matilda to pay for this dinner, and it wasn’t going to be cheap.

It was a four-course dinner starting with fish, soup, mutton, or other meat with roasted vegetables and a dessert.  It looked very elegant on the printed menu.  I’d seen something similar at the Savoy.

I took a moment to take in the vision that was Matilda.  The description in the book did not do her credit, and for James, there was an expression I heard my father use once: punching above his weight’.

She was too good for him, but that would not be a hurdle for them.  Her parents, though, of family, might be.

“Who exactly will I be meeting this weekend?  You did say it was going to be an outing for the hounds?”

“Yes, unfortunately.  It’s very beastly for the poor fox.”

“They can be pests, though.”

“Have you been on one?”

“Once.”  Dressing up and going out on horseback over hill and dale on what could be called a wild goose chase.  “We didn’t find a fox that day; it was cold, at times wet, and tiring.”

“This is in Scotland.  Cold, possible snow, and possibly no fox.  I would prefer not to go, but it’s mandatory.  I try to be elsewhere.”

Good to know.  Those riding lessons my mother made us all take would come in handy.  It was going to be fascinating seeing Matilda at home.

“Then it will be something to look forward to.”

The waitresses returned with the bottle and showed it to me, but I directed him to Matilda, who glared at him, then nodded and waited until he poured a small quantity into her glass.

She tasted it and nodded, and he filled our glasses.

As he left, the first course was served, and I waited until she picked up her cutlery, a fish knife and fork.

Haddock, perhaps, was a species hard to find these days, but back then…  whatever it was, it was exquisite.

Soon after finishing that course, the next arrived, the soup, and then the next, delivered by a now surly looking waiter, without broaching any controversial subjects and maintaining a companionable silence when required.

She had a way of making people, especially James, feel at ease in her company, and I could feel it, too.  But there was once where she gave me a curious glance, and I had to wonder if she didn’t quite know who it was sitting opposite her.

Mutton and blackberry jelly with vegetables.  It was a good thing I was hungry.  I tried to imagine what the fare would be like back in this period, and if I came back out, I would have to study up.

That, and the foxhound, and the hunt.  To be honest, for me to be in this dream, it had to be my imagination that was driving it, and I was trying to remember the pages of the book.

Yes, they had dinner, but not before a slight mix-up in their meeting before getting on the train and then going to their compartments.  In the book, he had met the travelling maid and companion, Bernice, and not for the first time.

She accompanied Matilda everywhere in London and sometimes at her lodgings in Oxford.  The notion she has a chaperone at all times was observed and respected, and ensured propriety.

Dinner was moments of small talk, firstly of the hunt, which had been ‘sprung’ on her at the last minute, followed by a banquet in honor of her return, with ‘friend’ though that term wasn’t qualified or explained.  Yet.

Somewhere in that would be a session with her father, she said, where I would get the opportunity to state my intentions and prospects.  It was not a meeting he or I in his place was looking forward to.

I’d read the first page of that chapter, and it didn’t bode well.  How did a son of a Knight address a Lord of the Realm?

“You are unusually quiet, James.”

It was that curious glance again.

“It might be because I’m going into uncharted territory.  I have to admit it scares me a little meeting your family for the first time.”

I tried to keep the trepidation out of my tone and almost failed.

“You’ll be fine.  They’re just normal people.”

She had said her father was like a cuddly teddy bear, but then she was his favourite and spoiled her, which only made life more difficult for prospective suitors.  He would not brook just anyone to take his daughter’s hand in marriage, not that this weekend was about that.

We kicked that subject around for a few more minutes as the clock ticked over to 9 pm. And then it was time to leave.

An almost platonic kiss at the door to her berth, and the evening was over.  On my way up the passage, a final wave as we disappeared into our sleepers, I was sure there was going to be no sleeping tonight.

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©  Charles Heath  2025