Day 153

Writing exercise – a dream perhaps

…

Tiredness and bad days were never a good mix, and I’d had the worst day.  I had been planning to read the latest draft of a novel I’d been handed for assessment, and maybe the job of editing it.

At worst, I’d probably end up having to fact-check the parts that needed it because so many first-time writers seemed to think writing in the past didn’t mean that they had to know about it.

And why did I end up with the manuscript?

I liked trains and was a bit of a fan of trains of the past.  I also had a thing about the British aristocracy, and this had it in spades.

However, since nothing ever worked out the way I wanted, I ended up getting home late and having promised I’d get a first impression together for the meeting the following morning, it meant reading it in bed.

If it were boring, I’d be asleep in a few minutes.

As it turned out, it wasn’t.  Oh, the writing style was non-existent and the English awful, but the story was … interesting.

Two ends of the aristocracy, the boy, the son of a gentleman, the girl, the daughter of a Lord in a castle, in the 1920s had somehow found themselves in an unlikely romance, to the point where the boy was off the meet her parents.  She was first class, he was all about being sensible with money, so it probably wasn’t going to work.

Then, just as I got to the part about getting into the car at the station to drive to her house, I fell asleep.

…

Matilda and I were going to her parents’ residence in Scotland, and I’d promised to take the train with her.

It took another moment for the feeling that everyone was dressed rather oddly, and then remembered why I was taking this weekend away.

I’d been working long hours with little respite, and it was wearing me down.  Matilda’s answer, come with her and enjoy the fresh air.

And meet her family, not for the first time, but back home in a less stressful situation.

Less stressful for whom?

Normally, I would not travel first class by choice, but since it was Matilda, I didn’t hesitate.  Marriage to her, if I could get the approval of everyone, would mean making changes.

Not for her, but me.

The first, travelling in the Night Scotsman. She had suggested leaving in the morning on the Flying Scotsman, but I couldn’t get away.

This was better, we could have a leisurely dinner and then retire to a double sleeper, separate beds, of course.

I shrugged, just as a few drops of rain started to fall, and I heard a clock chime half past nine.  I was on time, which was something else that would have to change.  I was perpetually late for everything.

I showed the railway staff my ticket several times as I was guided to the correct Carriage, and then boarded.  It was a longish walk because our carriage wasn’t far from the front of the train and not far from the restaurant car.

I found the cabin, not quite as lavish as I might have expected, but no Matilda.  If I knew her, she would be exploring.  Her case was in her bed, so I put mine on the other.  a surprise discovery, or two perhaps, she travelled light and had an insatiable curiosity, well beyond that of a normal girl of her station.

There was no sign of her personal maid, but she would not be far away; Matilda never went anywhere without her, being both her chaperone and protector.  It had been disconcerting at first, and it took a while to realise Matilda could do very much whatever she wanted to.

Within reason.

She would be in a nearby cabin.

I looked out the windows, on one side, the platform with people walking further along to their carriages.  On the other hand, another train heading somewhere else.

I had got a brief glimpse of the locomotive under the bright lights, a huge beast of a machine almost lost in shrouds of steam.  One other thing I noticed, the carriages were highly polished and gleaming in the harsh lights in the station proper.

“There you are?”  Matilda had returned and looked radiant, as always.  She had one of those dispositions that would brighten even the dullest room and the most boring of parties.

I smiled in return.  “I was doing my best not to succumb to the child  in me who wanted to see the locomotive close up.”

“It’s just a train, James.”

“It’s not just any train.”  We hugged, and I held on for a little longer than I should.

I was never quite sure if she loved me as much as I loved her, but I guessed that would sort itself out in time.

I had spoken to my mother about it, and she simply said if it was meant to be, all will be well.  She never did explain what to do if it was not meant to be, and I didn’t press it.

“You made it, that’s the important thing.  I’ve reserved a table for dinner, and I’ll table you through the dreaded relations list.  l’m afraid Mummy has invited a few more than I expected, but you know what prospective in-laws are like.”

I didn’t, because it was all new for me.  Matilda had been through the betrothal process, having been matched with a particular young man, who, had he survived the war, they would be married now.

She had taken a few years to recover from that and had not been looking for a new man until, as she described it, I popped up out of nowhere.

Nowhere was simply a matter of bumping into her when I was hurrying to get back to the office late yet again from lunch with a friend.

I was hardly pleasant about it because she was drifting aimlessly on the footpath, and I told her so very forcefully.  Of course, I failed to realise I’d dropped my work folder and then had her turn up at my office.

That’s when I learned she was a distant relative of my father’s business partner, one Lady Matilda, thank you very much and mind your manners, young man.

After that bollicking, I hated her more.

Which made our second meeting very awkward, after I reluctantly turned up at a party for a friend of a friend, and someone my father told me would be useful to make the acquaintance of.

When she saw me, she decided to be condescendingly sweet, which only made me more incensed at her trading on her station.

I simply shrugged and left.  I didn’t want to be there, and it was a good excuse to leave.

Which I would have made a silent getaway except she was waiting outside, leaning against the getaway car, the chauffeur looking menacing.

I had two choices: to be forever shunned in society, or have dinner with her.  Being shunned didn’t bother me.  Having dinner did.  It meant I had to try and get over my shyness around girls, something I’d assiduously avoided up until now.

Rather foolishly, I chose the dinner, an awkward drive to the Savoy and to dine in the restaurant.  She used her father’s permanent table, further proving her desire to trade on her name and station.

Champagne was served after we sat and were both handed menus.  It seemed odd to me that the restaurant was full.

After a few minutes, she said, “You don’t like me, do you?”

“I’m sure you have the ability to grow on people.”

“Just not you?”

“No.”

“I cannot help the family I was born into, or the fact that they have wealth, and since they do have it, why can’t I use it?”

…

That moment Chester, the wretched cat who I was sure loved tormenting me, plumped himself down at the top of my head on the pillow and woke me.

At a most interesting part…

I had to check where I was, because the dream had been so real, I felt as though I’d been there.  In 1928, that was when the Flying Scotsman started the Night Scotsman service.

Or perhaps it was the other train… There were two nightly trains from London to Edinburgh.

And Matilda, she had taken on the persona of someone in my subconscious, though I couldn’t tell, then, who.

I growled at Chester for waking me, and climbed out, fetched the manuscript, and was going to have to read it again.  I needed more information if I was going to try and go back.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025