Young Sherlock Holmes_ Red Leech - Andrew Lane [73]
‘We need to find your father and tell him.’
‘There’s no time,’ she said. ‘If they’re heading for the station then we need to get there now and intercept them, try to get Matty back. We can’t wait for Pa. I’ll leave a note.’
She moved quickly towards a table, opened a drawer and took out a roll of bank notes. ‘Pa left this here so it wouldn’t get taken from his pocket on the streets. Not that anyone would have tried, but he’s always careful. Anyway, we might need it.’
She scribbled a note to her father on one of the letter-headed sheets from the writing desk, then together they ran downstairs and exited the hotel. A cab was just depositing a passenger at the hotel; Virginia jumped in and pulled Sherlock after her. Virginia called up to the driver; Sherlock couldn’t hear what she said, but the cab set off at a fast trot.
‘I promised him double the fare if he gets us to the station in ten minutes,’ she said, grinning.
Sherlock and Virginia held on tight as the cab clattered through the streets of New York. Twice, potholes in the road caught the wheels, throwing them together, but they quickly drew apart.
By the time the cab pulled up outside the massive, pillared frontage of what had to be the train station, Sherlock was sore from the bouncing journey. While Virginia paid the driver, he raced into the station.
It was a scene of controlled chaos, with people heading in all directions across a massive marble hall. At the opposite side of the hall a series of arches led to what Sherlock assumed were the platforms. Boards hung on hooks announced the destinations of the trains, and the stops along the way. Even as he watched, some boards were being taken down and others put up.
Sherlock ran along the line of arches, checking all the signs. After a few moments he became aware that Virginia was running beside him.
Chicago, Delaware, Baltimore . . . It occurred to Sherlock with a sickening lurch that Virginia was a state, but the destinations on the boards were towns. Back in England he would have known that Southampton, for instance, was in Hampshire, but here, in America, he had no idea which state contained which towns.
‘There!’ Virginia called. ‘Richmond – it’s the state capital of Virginia. Track 29. Pennsylvania Line.’
She led the way through an arch, and Sherlock followed. A guard in an impressive blue uniform and peaked cap scowled at Sherlock’s ripped jacket and cap and tried to stop them, but Virginia ran past him. He tried to grab Sherlock’s arm, but Sherlock pushed him out of the way.
They were running along the platform now, beside the carriages of a seemingly endless train. The engine at the front was invisible around a curve. Unlike in British stations, where the platforms were raised to the same level as the doors at either ends of the carriages, here the platform was lower and steps led up to each door.
Sherlock was scanning the windows as they ran, looking for Matty’s face, but it was the burned, scarred face of John Wilkes Booth that he saw first. He pulled Virginia to a halt, then back along the carriage to the end.
‘We don’t have much time,’ he gasped.
Virginia looked in both directions along the train. Apart from a small group of people boarding further up, there was nobody who might help. Even the ticket collector who had tried to grab them just now had vanished – possibly to fetch the police.
‘We need to find a guard on the train,’ she said, and started climbing up the steps. ‘He can stop the train from going.’
Sherlock could only follow her up the steps. He wasn’t sure she’d thought this through, but then again he wasn’t sure that he had any better ideas.
They found themselves inside the carriage. An aisle ran down the centre, between wooden seats covered with upholstered cloth.
Halfway down, in facing seats, were Ives, Berle, John Wilkes Booth and, what was, judging by the shape of the back of his head, Matty. The men were talking intensely and Sherlock ducked down between two