Young Sherlock Holmes_ Red Leech - Andrew Lane [75]
‘We’ll have to be careful we’re not seen,’ Sherlock pointed out.
‘We’ll manage,’ she said reassuringly.
Sherlock glanced over his shoulder to check that the men hadn’t moved. One of them was coming towards him, down the aisle. Sherlock quickly turned back, hoping the man hadn’t seen him. It was Berle, the balding doctor. He passed by, and Sherlock watched his back as he moved off down the carriage. He’d have to watch out for the man coming back in the other direction. He’d be facing them then, and he would certainly recognize Sherlock if he saw him again.
It occurred to Sherlock that the most obvious way to disguise his face would be to turn around and kiss Virginia when Berle came back. That way, all Berle would see would be the back of his head. He turned to Virginia and opened his mouth, ready to propose the course of action. She glanced at him, her eyes bright and violet in the sunshine.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘I was just thinking . . .’ he said hesitantly.
‘Thinking what?’
It was a simple thing to say – ‘I might need to kiss you so we don’t get recognized, so don’t be surprised if I do’ – but for some reason he couldn’t get the words out. Her face was just a few inches away from his, close enough that he could count the freckles. Close enough that he could just lean forward and touch his lips against hers.
‘Nothing. Don’t worry.’
She frowned. ‘No, what?’
‘Really, it’s nothing.’ He turned away, keeping an eye out for Berle’s return. If he saw the man he would just look out of the window or something. He realized he was still wearing the flat cap he’d bought in the ‘notions’ shop. He could just slide it down over his eyes and pretend to be asleep. That would work. Probably.
He glanced out of the window again. Telegraph poles were flickering past, one after the other, paralleling the track. Idly, he counted seconds between the poles – one, two, three, four – and then again – one, two, three, four. The poles were spaced equally apart, as far as he could tell. If he knew how far apart they were then he could use the information about the time between them to work out how fast the train was travelling. Not that the information would be any more than just interesting, but it would pass the time.
A small town flashed past, gone as soon as it appeared. All Sherlock had was a sense of low wooden buildings and four-wheeled carts, and lots of horses.
The movement of the train was making him sleepy. He’d used up a lot of energy in running back to the hotel earlier, and the constant tension was beginning to get to him. His body craved rest.
He might have dropped off to sleep for a while, because the next thing he knew he was looking out of the window on to a long drop down to the glittering water of a river. The train was on a bridge, crossing a ravine. From what he could see, the bridge was made of wood, and barely wider than the train.
Virginia sensed his sudden tension. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘it’s perfectly safe. These bridges have been around for years.’
Shortly after that, the train began to slow down.
‘Coming into a station,’ Virginia said.
‘Or there’s a buffalo on the line,’ Sherlock responded. His mind started sorting through possibilities. Arriving at a station gave them a whole series of options, from just getting a bite to eat, through sending a telegraph message to Amyus Crowe, and all the way to making an attempt to rescue Matty. If they could get him off the train somehow then they could either wait in the town until Amyus Crowe got to them or they could just get a train back again – assuming they ran more than one a day, or one a week. It occurred to him that he had no idea of the frequency of the timetables in this country.
‘We need to get