The Transatlantic Conspiracy (6 page)

“But it sounds like a very good recommendation,” Erich said.

Suddenly the awkward silence returned. What was more, she felt the rest of the eyes at the table focused on her. This time she did not let the silence linger. Instead, she turned to Jacob and said, “Lieutenant Hoffmeyer, you are in the army?”

“Yes,” Jacob said proudly. “Artillery.”

“Oooh,” Cecily interjected. “That sounds very
. . .
dangerous?”

Jacob shrugged. “I do not know about it being dangerous. I
. . .
have not seen combat yet. Nor, I suppose, do I expect to anytime soon. It has been so long since the last war, thank God.”

Before he could go on, the door to the dining car flew open. A man burst in, nearly colliding with one of the stewards. He was middle-aged, paunchy, with graying hair that almost matched the color of his drab suit. He stormed the length of the room toward the front of the train, snapping in German for the waitstaff to get out of his way. For a moment, all conversation in the dining car halted. In the silence, another man—younger and fleeter, also dressed in a drab suit—raced after him.

When both had gone, Rosalind exchanged a puzzled glance with the boys. Jacob leaned in across the table and asked in amazement, “You do know who that was, yes? The fat one?”

“No,” Rosalind answered. “Who?”

“Inspector Bauer,” he said.

“Who?” Erich asked.

“That's what I would like to know,” Cecily said. “Imagine! Interrupting our dinner like that.”

“He's the man in charge of security on the train,” Jacob explained. “There is a picture of him in the brochure, along with the captain and the head steward.” He quickly patted his uniform. “I cannot remember if I brought my copy with me
. . .
”

Erich laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “Jacob, enough about your blasted brochure! No one else wants to read it.”

Cecily giggled.

Jacob's face fell a little, but Alix smiled brightly and said, “I enjoyed the brochure as well. It is a very good one, I think.”

“It is a very good brochure,” Jacob agreed, suddenly cheerful again. “So much useful information.”

Rosalind was only half listening to them. “I do hope that nothing is amiss,” she said quietly. “He seemed very angry about something.”

That was understating what they'd all just witnessed. Inspector Bauer had seemed positively enraged. Surely that was not a good sign on the first night of their journey, and it only made her feel even more ill at ease.

“I am certain there is no trouble,” Erich offered with a warm smile. “If there were, somebody would tell us.”

Rosalind doubted that very much. In fact, she suspected that if there was trouble, she would be the last to hear of it, if only to avoid a panic. She was Mister Wallace's daughter. The crew would protect her from a terrible truth at all costs—unless it came to an emergency evacuation, in which case she'd no doubt be first aboard a submersible. But there was no reason to argue the point. Or to think about such an awful scenario.

“Of course,” she said. “You're quite right, Herr Steiner.” She ate a little more chicken before saying, “And tell me, are you also a soldier?”

This time Jacob laughed. “No, no, Erich is in the family business.”

Erich sighed. “Do not listen to him. He does not know what he is talking about.”

“What sort of family business?” Rosalind asked.

“My father owns a steel factory,” Erich said. “After I finish university, he wishes me to work for him there.” He spread his hands. “But I have no interest in manufacturing. I wish to go into politics, not into business.”

That did not surprise Rosalind. She could certainly imagine him in political office.

“Oh, ho!” Jacob laughed. “Yes, say that, my friend, but you will still take your father's tickets.”

“What?” Cecily asked.

Erich sighed and explained, “My father's company helped build the railway, so we did not have to pay for our passage.”

“Really?” Rosalind asked, careful to hide the extent of her curiosity.

“Yes, yes,” Erich said. “My father provided the chromium steel for the tunnel we are traveling in. It is, my father says, impervious to salt water corrosion. And I certainly hope that is true.” He paused. “I have no wish to go swimming in the North Atlantic in the middle of the night.”

“How very unadventurous of you,” Rosalind said.

“There's something you and Rose have in common, you know,” Cecily said.

Erich raised an eyebrow and asked, “Sea bathing?”

“Both of your fathers are responsible for the railway,” Cecily corrected. “Rosalind's father built the train.”

“By himself?” Erich joked. “It must have taken him a long while.”

Rosalind allowed herself a chuckle. “What she means is that he
owns
it.” But she was privately irritated that Cecily had pointed out that she was the daughter of the man who owned the train. Now she had no choice but to embrace the label. “My father is Alexander Wallace, the industrialist,” she explained, with a quick glare at Cecily. “He owns the Transatlantic Railway.”

Erich and Jacob exchanged grins with each other.

“Very fortunate indeed that we were seated here!” Jacob exclaimed. “I cannot wait to write home about this. Such an exciting journey. So many new and interesting people to meet.”

“Well,” Cecily said, looking away, “one considers it impolite to brag
. . .
”

“One does,” Rosalind agreed under her breath. “
You
do not.”

Chapter Six

B
idding good night to Erich and Jacob proved more difficult than Rosalind would have wished. They lingered over the table, perhaps hoping one of Rosalind's companions would suggest they meet again tomorrow, or prolong an already exhausting day.

If Charles had been there, the boys wouldn't have joined them for dinner at all. She hadn't regretted their company, but Charles's absence was almost too outrageous to be believed. Perhaps it was an elaborate joke at her expense. How could he be so irresponsible as to abandon them at the very last minute, no matter what the reason? He could have tracked them down on the platform before they'd departed. What he had done was cowardly.

“Would the ladies like some ice cream?” Jacob asked as they stood.

“I must declare the evening finished,” Rosalind stated firmly. “No offense to our new friends,” she added with a smile at Cecily, “but it is growing rather late and it has already been a very busy day.”

“Oh, pooh,” Cecily said, pouting.

“Have you forgotten that I'm your chaperone?” Rosalind said, playing the one card she had.

“I am beginning to regret that now,” Cecily grumbled.

“It is late, isn't it?” said Jacob. “I think bed sounds very sensible.”

“You have no sense of fun, Jacob,” Erich said.

Jacob laughed. “I have plenty of fun. But I am
. . .
an early morning person. It is the military life, you know? Up at dawn every day.”

“Poor you,” Cecily said absently. “Well, I hope that we shall see you both again tomorrow.”

Erich flashed a dazzling smile at Rosalind. “It is a small train. I think we can safely say that our paths will cross again.”

“Good evening, ladies,” Jacob said. “Until tomorrow. Come along, Erich. Do not make a nuisance of yourself.”

Rosalind sighed as she watched them go. She shook her head. The trouble with charming men was that one could never be certain if they were sincere or not. Of course, it was rather cynical of her to think such things. But there
was
the very friendly way Erich had looked at her. And even she had to admit, whether it was sincere or not, it was not altogether unpleasant. That was rather an understatement, truth be told
. . .

“I think they're splendid,” Cecily announced in the silence.

“I am inclined to agree,” said Alix. “Especially that Lieutenant Hoffmeyer. He is very
. . .
” She paused, looking for the word.

“Mmm,” Cecily hummed. “He is, isn't he?”

“Cecily!” Rosalind demanded. When there was no reply, she waved her hand in front of Cecily's face. “Cecily?”

“Hmm? Yes?”

“Please don't go losing your head.”

“You're one to talk, Rose,” Cecily said in her old impish voice. “I saw how you looked at Herr Steiner. It was positively disgraceful. Almost as disgraceful as the way he looked at
you
.” She wagged a finger under Rosalind's nose. “You're our chaperone, remember? Whatever would my brother say if he found out?”

Rosalind's eyes smoldered. “I hardly think that Charles would have either right or reason to say anything,” she answered, speaking a little too quickly. She caught her breath and straightened her shoulders. “But as you bring him up—”

“As you say, it is time for bed,” Cecily interrupted in a singsong voice. “Alix, why don't you and I walk Rose to her room? It's the only decent thing to do given how good she's been about chaperoning us, don't you agree?”

“Yes, very good about it,” Alix agreed. “And I am very grateful for it, you know. I am meeting an aunt at the station in America, but my family assumed there would be no need for a chaperone during the journey. It is so nice of you to look out for Cecily and myself. So very nice.”

“No, no, Alix,” Cecily groaned. “Rose isn't
actually
our chaperone. We're all scandalously unattended. That's the point. It's half the fun. I thought you understood.”

Alix suddenly turned bright pink. “Oh, dear. We are not going to get into trouble with the train crew, are we?”

Rosalind held her tongue. She decided, once again, that no matter how much Cecily kept irritating her, her friend was just trying to make the best of a bad situation. So she laughed and took Alix by the arm. “No,” she said, “we're not. Especially if Cecily remembers how to behave in public.”

“And what precisely have I done that was so improper?” Cecily asked, feigning offense.

“You mean besides inviting strange men to sit at our table?” Rosalind countered.

“I didn't invite them. I obliged them at the head steward's request.”

“Did you, really?” Rosalind said, grinning at Cecily. “Only the head steward didn't say so himself, did he?” Rosalind said. “For all we know, that was just a cunning ruse to impose their rather delightful company on us.”

Cecily gave a look of mock astonishment. “No!” she gasped. “Oh, Rose! I certainly hadn't thought of that possibility!”

Alix's eyes went wide. She glanced between the two of them. “You
. . .
You don't think that they were lying to us, do you?” she asked.

Cecily laughed aloud. “Oh, Alix,” she said. “Oh, beautiful, innocent Alix.”

“What?” Alix said.

“Of course they were lying,” Cecily continued. “ ‘Sent by the head steward' my foot. No, clearly they saw the three most beautiful girls on the whole train—”

“Let's just say the entire dining car,” Rosalind corrected, laughing now. “I wouldn't want us to get ahead of ourselves.”

“—and decided that they simply had to dine with us,” Cecily finished. “So they concocted the whole story. And a good thing, too; otherwise, we might never have met them. I think it's rather in their favor that they decided to meet us tonight, rather than leave a meeting to chance.”

Agreed
,
Rosalind thought.

•••

Alone in her room,
Rosalind found herself struck by a dreadful bout of insomnia. Part of it, she knew, was the excitement of the day: meeting new boys, meeting Alix, managing Cecily—and of course, a small amount of apprehension at being confined underwater for a whole week. But mostly, it was Charles.

Perhaps Charles had a secret lover in Hamburg whom he had gone to meet, and the entire trip had been a pretense to make the visit possible. It was perfectly sensible, Rosalind thought, much more sensible than being called away for some crisis to “defend the realm,” or whatever lie Cecily had spun. Cecily was being evasive about the truth to spare her feelings, which was silly because she didn't have any feelings on the matter
. . .

Rosalind caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and shook her head.

“You don't really believe that, do you?” she asked aloud.

Best not to answer. Whenever she couldn't sleep, there was but one solution.

Read a book before bedtime.

Rosalind put her shoes on and left for the library car.

Most of the train was deserted. She passed only two people in the corridor, both of whom reeked of spirits and looked like they were headed to bed. The library was empty save for the librarian on duty. He wore a plain suit, not any sort of official train uniform, and looked barely awake, scarcely paying her any mind as he read some German magazine. But Rosalind was in no mood for conversation, either. She went to the English language shelves and selected a volume of Dickens. That would be the thing.

“May I take this to my compartment?” she asked the librarian.

He glanced up at her and didn't even try to smile. His eyes were puffy. He stifled a yawn. “You will have to sign for it,” he said, pointing to a ledger on his desk. “Only I'm out of ink. I'll have to fetch more.”

Rosalind exhaled slowly, annoyed by his attitude. She was half tempted to tell him that she was Alexander Wallace's daughter. She suspected that he wouldn't treat her so dismissively if he knew that, or if she were older, or a man. But it was hardly worth arguing with the staff over such a small slight.

“I'll read it here, thank you,” she said.

“Very good, Miss.” He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

What sort of people was Father employing? Rosalind sincerely hoped that the daytime librarian had a better command of his manners. And his wardrobe. Perhaps they had put this fellow on at night assuming that no one would come looking for a book
. . .
As she stared at his suit, she realized that its drabness was familiar. Hadn't he been the man with Inspector Bauer in the dining car? But no, that was a silly thought. Why would a librarian be chasing after the chief of security? Maybe nondescript dress was preferred, or even mandated, for those who weren't porters or conductors or waitstaff.

Shaking her head to herself, Rosalind settled into one of the armchairs to read a few chapters of
Little Dorrit
. But she couldn't concentrate, and the words swam before her on the pages. She wasn't drowsy in the least.

Presently she felt that she was being watched. At first she scarcely noticed, chalking it up to fantasy or exhaustion. But the prickling feeling wouldn't go away. Soon she became quite certain that she and the librarian weren't alone.

She glanced up from her book. The librarian was at his desk, reading his magazine and ignoring her. Otherwise the room was deserted. She pushed herself out of the chair and marched for the exit, pulled the door sideways, and stepped out into the corridor. But the corridor was empty as well.

“Hmph,” Rosalind said aloud. At long last, she was feeling tired again. She hurried back to her room, and only when she arrived did she realize she still held the book in her hands.

I ought to return it
, she thought.
Before there's trouble.

Then again, she could bring it back the following morning. She doubted the librarian would notice. And besides, if he did, she could claim that she was just making sure he was doing his job, on orders from her father.
That
would teach him not to be so rude and dismissive.