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  Mrs. Carbuncle, swathed in her cloak and with her hat slouched on her head, worked her way to our side, coming at us hand over hand along the railing. She was coughing violently. Evidently I was not the only member of our party who was a novice at sea.

  Before I could convince Roger he might still swim to shore—admittedly it was quite a distance—the doctor’s wife spoke. “I can’t seem to catch my breath. My husband says it is a reaction to the sea air.”

  “Let me help you,” Roger took her hand and led her to a chair near Granny. I remained at the rail, staring down at my feet, struggling to come up with a scheme to ditch my tail.

  Always seeking the bright side of things, a thought occurred to me; the salt air would cleanse the aroma of whiskey from my boots. I make a habit of looking for the good in all situations—Moon might be a nice diversion. If Mama could see me now.

  “Here you are!” Florence called. She joined me at the rail just at the ship took on a wave that passed under the bow causing water to arch up in a splash at the rear. A spray of salt water hit me smack in the face. I gasped for breath feeling as if I were drowning, not that I had ever drowned before.

  Pant! Gasp! Sigh! I struggled to breathe.

  “That man!” Florence growled. “I have just had a little chat, perhaps it is best to call it an argument, with Dr. Carbuncle. He is quite adamant that respectable ladies do not belong in nursing. He sees it as the labor of the lower classes and women of the street.” Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the railing in anger. “The old gobbler thinks women do not possess the intelligence to learn how to heal—comfort yes—heal, no. How did he manage to secure a position on this excursion? He has misrepresented his beliefs to Queen Victoria.”

  She cast me one of her most serious looks. “Guard your journal well, for the time may come when we need to give evidence against this man. Should you see any suspicious behavior on his part, do let me know at once.” Florence turned her back to the water and braced her elbows on the rail. She squinted her wide-set eyes. “Tell me that is not your pesky friend, Roger Broadribbs that I see there with Mrs. Carbuncle.”

  “I wish I could tell you that, but it is Roger. He is here through the kindness of Lord Melbourne,” I spoke with an edge of sarcasm. “Somehow he convinced Lord M that he is my fiancé. That was the secret the Prime Minister hinted at in the carriage.”

  “We can’t have Mr. Broadribbs tagging at our side. You must get rid of the pest.”

  I sighed. “Can you help me lift him over the side?”

  Florence attempted a chuckle but it came out a snort. “Perhaps it is not so bad, we may be able to use his dog-like devotion to our advantage.” She studied the two elderly ladies sitting in the deck chairs, wrapped in their cloaks. “I am concerned for Mrs. Carbuncle and all in our carriage as well. She seems to have developed a cough. It may be the result of the sea air, but I do hope she did not bring germs into the coach.”

  Since my friend was in a talkative mood, I thought to take advantage, “I have a question. I promise not to enter your answer in my journal.”

  She did not nod her consent to ask but turned again to watch the sea kick up behind the ship. The chugging of the steam engine all but drowned out her words when she finally spoke, “I can guess your question, Poppy, but you may proceed.”

  “Why do you treat Lord Melbourne with disdain? He is our Prime Minister and a most thoughtful gentleman.”

  Florence chewed on her lower lip seeming to gather her thoughts. “It is not really disdain that I exhibit, but rather distrust, and I have no support for such feelings. He is our Queen’s most trusted ally, but that may be the reason. Queen Victoria places so much trust in him and I am skittish of any man who supports our cause so openly, for many have put on a false face and worked to my detriment behind my back.” She gave me a funny little smile. “Besides there is the germ-thing.”

  Chapter 14

  The sight of the monster black iron locomotive took my breath away. We stood at a small depot in Calais next to the rails that would guide this beast through France. I peeked around hoping to catch a glimpse of Moon but he was most likely occupied with our baggage.

  According to Lord Melbourne we would be on and off a number of such trains, finally taking a ship from the boot heel of Italy across the Ionian Sea. At Corfu we would board a caravan to take us to Athens.

  Florence had visited Italy and Greece as a young girl, and in fact she was named after the city of her birth—Florence, Italy. She might have been a bit jaded at the sights and smells, but the train had to affect her—it just had to. I wanted to see her get as excited as I. If only we had time to linger for there was so much history to see, but we were on a mission.

  The engine let out a rather enthusiastic puff of smoke accompanied by a loud bellow. I quickly stepped back squashing what felt like a foot under my shoe. The toes belonged to Roger who was either protecting me from the train or hiding behind me.

  “Are you okay, Poppy?” It was evident the imposing metal beast had disoriented Roger as he slowly shook his head.

  “I’m just dandy. Why?” I was trying my best to sound superior although inside my heart was dancing on my stomach.

  Sneaking a glimpse, I glanced at Florence to see if the train was having the same effect on her. I felt like a small hare facing the biggest wolf in the forest. I had no word to describe this frightful force that chugged in place before us. The thought of entering the belly of the beast caused me to shudder.

  Granny backed away and refused to move. “I doubt the good Lord wishes us to condone this monster. I believe I have chaperoned you enough after all you are safely in France, where I understand chaperones are not required.” She looked longingly towards the route we had just traveled. “Perhaps our ship has not yet departed for England. I believe I will see if I can return home.”

  Florence reached behind her in a calm, reassuring manner, and patted Granny’s arm. “Come now, Mrs. Throckmorten. There is nothing to fear. Think of how you will amuse your friends in Milton-on-the-Marsh with tales of your adventure. I doubt any of them have ridden in a train.”

  “And lived to talk about it,” Granny muttered.

  “Let us step aboard this belching dragon before it leaves without us,” Florence said, ignoring our hesitation. “I don’t see the rest of our party. Perhaps they are still with our carriage.”

  Lord Melbourne approached us striding rapidly across the planks of the depot. “I have just left Dr. Carbuncle; he is attending to his wife. Mrs. Carbuncle is suffering from a violent cough,” he informed us. “The doctor assures me it is a nervous affliction increased by the sight of the steam engine. He is putting her mind into a state of relaxation by using his knowledge of hypnotism.”

  Florence and I exchanged looks. Mesmerizing was something she had expressed an interest in. There was no doubt she would like to be sitting in on this session for if there was a way to relieve pain and anxiety, it would benefit her in treating the sick and injured.

  “I will see you all safely on board,” Lord Melbourne said. “When Mrs. Carbuncle is aware that the train has done us no harm, the doctor is certain she will willingly join us.” He looked at Florence, a smile playing at corners of his mouth. “She has no choice in the matter.”

  Florence accepted his smile and for the first time, she returned it, though just barely. She could be a difficult person to befriend, unless of course you were suffering from some injury or ailment. She seemed to fancy sick people. It pleased me to see that she might be warming towards our guardian.

  “Wait!” Lord Melbourne pointed in the direction of the end of the train. We drew up short. Of the ten cars, one near the end had no windows and appeared to be in the shape of a large box. The soldiers and their horses were gathered in a colorful, noisy spectacle near the car that had a large door on the side.

  “The Dragoons are even now readying to board the last cars. And see? Take notice of that windowless car. It will carry their horses. Even the caval
ry is experiencing their first train ride.”

  The soldiers struggled to control their plumed and festooned mounts. The panic-stricken animals reared up; some were even standing on their hind legs and bawling the most horrific of cries. It was quite a sight to behold and sent my heart skittering. I began to understand what our brave soldiers must feel as they set off to do battle having to manage such huge animals amid the sound of canon fire.

  The interior of our saloon car was arranged as if it were a parlor in some fine estate and not at all what I had envisioned. Having seen illustrations of train cars, I imagined the seats would be lined up in rows, but instead these were set in pairs facing each other.

  I hid a chuckle behind my hand as Roger attempted to lift a seat in order to move it closer to the set of chairs where Florence and I sat. Much to his surprise the furnishing was bolted to the floor. A look of frustration passed over his face as he realized the chairs were fixed.

  With a sigh of disappointment, he was forced to sit with Granny. She grinned exposing her perfect teeth, as she touched his hand. Roger’s conversation was a welcome distraction from the loud noises as the engine prepared to leave the depot.

  Coming from a life spent in the country where the brashest sound might be a peacock’s cry or a rooster’s doodle, steamships and train engines were assaults to the very fiber of a Derbyshire lady’s hearing. Granny, Florence, and I exchanged pained glances for there is something beyond irritating in being forced to endure horrendous sounds.

  Dr. Carbuncle led his wife into the cabin. Her glazed eyes darted from one to the other; I thought perhaps she was seeking signs of injury. When all seemed right with our group, she allowed him to hand her into a chair away from the window, where despite her trance, she coughed a deep hacking cough.

  Squeezing past her Dr. Carbuncle took the window seat. The poor lady manifested symptoms of being in a trance despite her coughing. In some ways I was relieved as we would not be subject to her chattering, but in other ways I was concerned for her well-being. She seemed to be completely under her husband’s control.

  The three maids assigned to us by Queen Victoria gathered in the corner of the car, resembling three chickens in a coop. I soon forgot they were with us; but I did wonder where the two footmen were stashed.

  A very loud, very shrill whistle sounded, the car rattled, and the windows shook. I could hear the grind of the wheels as they began to roll. The first lurch produced a scream of fright from some of our party, but soon we grew comfortable. The scenery began to roll past the windows, and shortly thereafter I felt as if I were an experienced train-traveler.

  Once the car began to increase in speed, the door between our cabin and the next rolled open and in walked a man with the cockiest strut I have ever had the displeasure to observe. The fellow was in his late twenties, tall, although his slicked-back hair was light his skin was tanned as if he spent much of his time outdoors. A caterpillar-like mustache curled along his upper lip. He wore tortoiseshell-framed glasses and carried a top hat with a wide brim in one hand and a black attaché case under his other arm.

  The low hum of conversation ceased and even Mrs. Carbuncle stopped her incessant coughing. We all took measure of the stranger who dared to walk between the moving cars of the iron monster.

  Chapter 15

  Glancing about the room, our visitor caught sight of Florence and was about to approach on slightly unsteady feet, when Lord Melbourne intercepted him. Bracing himself between the backs of two seats, the Prime Minister stood in front of the young man blocking his entry; then with a slight nod of his head, he introduced himself.

  “Just the man I am looking for,” the stranger announced. “I am James Olsen a reporter from The Times. I believe you have been made aware of my assignment, your lordship? Is it possible to meet Miss Nightingale?” The visitor had an American accent.

  Lord Melbourne grimaced. From what little I knew of the tabloids, publicity was like a soap bubble, if not handled gently it could burst in your face. Queen Victoria’s prestige could be damaged if some whimsical reporter misrepresented her intentions. People believe what they see in print and act accordingly; at least that is what I have learned from observing my father.

  “Miss Nightingale, do you mind if I introduce the newspaper reporter to you? Her Royal Highness mentioned he would be joining us. I shan’t let him take up too much of your time.” Lord Melbourne stood over us, his hand gripping the back of my chair as he steadied himself against the swaying of the train.

  To my pleasure Florence agreed. His questions and her responses would aid me in compiling my journal. I wished to learn how he conducted himself and what questions readers of newspapers wanted answered. Anything I could glean might be helpful to my own career.

  From the corner of my eye I saw Roger inch closer and puff up to twice his size. If he had muscles he would have flexed them. Ah…the male of our species. The train jerked and my protector and the reporter toppled. Roger hit the floor but Olsen was able to grab hold of the back of my seat. I now had two men clinging to my chair and one at my feet. Not bad for such a short time on the job. I was beginning to like trains.

  Roger turned bright red, caught my eyes for a second and then looked away. He clambered back in his seat next to Granny but leaned as far as he could into the small cluster gathered around Florence and me.

  Mr. Olsen extended his hand, but Florence ignored it and so I followed suit. The reporter issued a mild shrug, and since there was no seat available, he crouched in front of us holding a notebook similar to mine, and a graphite stick exactly like mine.

  “Thank you for your time Miss Nightingale. Miss Throckmorten, it is good of you to join in this little chat.” Lord Melbourne remained standing behind my chair. I noticed that once one became accustomed to the clackety-clack of the train, hearing was not such a challenge.

  The hypnotic spell must need refreshing as Dr. Carbuncle muffled Mrs. C’s coughing by pressing her handkerchief against her mouth while he strained to hear the reporter’s questions; and of course, Florence’s answers. Only one thing is worse than a snoop and that’s a hypocrite. The doctor may have come to the Queen with high recommendations and professed belief in training women to become nurses, but in the short time I had come to know him I found him to be a meddlesome pretender. He warranted watching.

  Olsen’s was the first real interview I had ever witnessed. As he began I guessed the reporter was quite adept at getting the answers he wanted rather than the truth of the matter; perhaps that was the American way. Rather than asking a particular question he began by stating what he considered a fact. “At any point if you feel I have misspoken please do correct me, Miss Nightingale.”

  It might have been my imagination but my journal grew hot in my pocket as if it were calling to me. I left my seat and wobbling unsteadily I dove for Roger’s seat. “May I sit next to Granny? She doesn’t look well,” I fibbed.

  “I look just fine, Missy!” the dear lady snapped, patting first her left cheek and then her right. She smoothed her hair and adjusted her cloak.

  As all eyes and ears had remained focused on Florence and James Olsen, I bumped Roger out of his seat, quickly replacing him. Slipping my journal from my pocket I began to take notes in my own private code—easily decipherable by the most amateur of detectives but a quick way to get my words on paper. I planned on spending the holidays inventing a new system that would be un-snoopable, but for now it would do. Olsen’s questions would serve as a sample of how a real reporter gets to the bottom of a story.

  Olsen continued to crouch in front of Florence, while Lord Melbourne hovered above like a hawk about to snatch a field mouse. I looked to the back of the car; Dr. Carbuncle still held his hand over poor Mrs. Carbuncle’s mouth muffling her unremitting coughs while straining to eavesdrop.

  “Tell me about your mission to Athens, Miss Nightingale. How did this come about and what role did Queen Victoria play in encouraging Mr. Averoff’s endowment?”

  For
a moment it appeared as if Florence would laugh in his tanned American face. “That litany you just recited is a multi-part question and one I cannot answer,” she said, with a sniff.

  “Cannot or will not?”

  Oh dear! Anyone who knew Florence Nightingale knew you never challenged her. Mr. Olsen had just managed to find her wrong side.

  Chapter 16

  Florence crossed her arms in front of her chest while pinning the naive reporter with her dark eyes, which were flaring like hot coals. Olsen fell back onto his bottom just as the train entered a tunnel. The car turned pitch black, but Florence’s calm voice could be heard speaking in the darkness to the reporter as if he was a child.

  “Let me tell you, young man—” I thought that terribly funny, as the man at her feet was a few years older than Florence. “I will answer five questions, one for each finger of my right hand. When we are done you will ask me nothing more for if you are any sort of journalist you will have the common sense to just observe what happens and take notes.”

  We had come through the tunnel and into the light. James Olsen sat on his bum at Florence’s feet, looking more than a little humiliated. If he thought exploiting the indomitable Miss Nightingale would be easy he was in for an education in the decisiveness of British women.

  Setting her jaw, she held up her thumb. “First question!”

  Olsen’s eyes darted back and forth. I imagined he was sorting through his questions in order of importance, since he would only have five for now. “What do you hope to achieve in Athens?”

  Florence pressed her lips together considering whether to answer. An answer would use up one of his questions therefor she responded, although it was clear he knew the answer. “We are to accept an endowment from a noted Greek philanthropist for the design, construction, and staffing of a school for nurses to be built in England.”