Romance in the Orient Express
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“I suppose you are quite happy?” inquired the old gentleman, who was sitting on his right. “You seem to be enjoying yourselves.”
The two ladies were playing cards when Mr. Marchdale asked him how it felt to see his daughter married and happy.
“Do you mind if I speak of my own feelings? You must not think me impertinent,” he said. “And then we shall have time for tea, won’t we, Mrs. Marlowe? Or will you prefer coffee or cocoa?”
Mrs. Marchdale looked at her husband.
She had a strong desire to ask what he meant by “you seem to be enjoying yourself” but she didn’t venture. She smiled rather wistfully that Mr. Marchdale wasn’t with them now. It was pleasant enough here, but she would so much rather have heard the news from home.
He glanced across at me and winked knowingly. “I should not like to disappoint you.” He laughed. “We are not quite so young as that, but it is nice to see our girls so happy in their marriages. And they are not the only ones—I hear there has been another marriage at Brighton!”
“What! How can you tell?” cried Miss Marlowe in consternation.
“Oh yes,” remarked Mr. Marlowe’s friend, with a slight sigh.
“Is it possible?” I exclaimed.
Mr. Marlowe’s friend nodded.
“But how is that possible?” I demanded.
“I believe he means well,” said he.
I turned upon him sharply. The expression on his face changed: his lips quivered. Then I understood that I might speak freely. He seemed almost eager that we should all know how happy his daughter was.
He spoke of her with great warmth and affection and then asked us, with some hesitation, to tell him more about our families and friends at home. We told him briefly and added something about his son-in-law—who was away from town at present.
It was very pleasant to exchange information about my sister’s future husband but I couldn’t help feeling, while we talked, that something unusual was happening, and that, in a few minutes, the happiness we had been talking about would end. I could hardly bear to look at the happy girl beside me.
Her eyes gleamed in the light, and her whole manner radiated the same joy which was so radiant in her mother’s face. There is nothing like the happiness of parents for those who share it. We were all glad together. The old lady smiled kindly.
Then the train moved off again, and after a moment’s pause, the conversation became general. My father-in-law said that the old people in the carriages behind us looked very sad. But I knew better than to ask for an explanation; and, in truth, I was too absorbed in the happiness of this morning to care to speak of anyone else.
At last Mr. Marchdale turned to me. He looked at me in a new light. He spoke with a little laugh, and I saw he thought highly of me. Then I was sure I had misunderstood him when he said we were going to meet Mrs. Marlowe. He had really said nothing about his daughter being engaged to my sister!
***
“Well,” said Mr. Marchdale, “that is done and dusted; and I feel relieved.”
We were alone. Our conversation ended in mutual thanks. We did not even mention our parting, but the old lady gave him her hand to kiss as she left us.
The door closed behind her. I looked up at the old gentleman. His face was very grave.
“I am glad you are not angry with me,” I murmured, as I stood beside him. He put an arm around my waist and drew me gently close to him. “My dear,” he said softly, “I was very fond of Mrs. Marlowe. You understand.”
A faint blush came over me when he whispered these words. I felt ashamed and awkward. I wondered how much he guessed.
He kissed me and pressed my cheek to his shoulder.
“I hope you do not think ill of me,” he said.
“No, I don’t,” I said.
“You are kinder than I deserve,” he said. “I shall never forget your kindness.”
I looked into his eyes. They glowed with a strange brightness. He seemed to be smiling tenderly down at me, and I fancied he was smiling at my sister. Then, with a sudden movement, he put out his arms toward me. I clasped them tightly and laid my head against his neck.
Mr. Marlowe drew me to him and kissed me again. We were silent, but I could hear Miss Marlowe’s voice in the passage outside. I knew that it must soon be time for the train to start. So I tried to say farewell.
“Goodbye, my darling,” said he.
We both went to the window to watch the carriage drive away along the line. It passed quickly, but it was the last sight I ever saw of my father-in-law. He died before we reached London.
When the door opened, my sister was waiting for us on the platform. She had come to bid us goodbye. She stood looking after him till the carriage was swallowed by the distance. Then I followed him to the platform. As the train moved slowly back, Miss Marlowe looked at us.
We exchanged looks of gratitude. He bent and kissed her forehead, and she held my hand in hers. When they were gone, the journey began in earnest. Mr. Marchdale had spoken very seriously to us about our duty. I had always thought he was a man of stern temper and unbending character, but now he seemed different.
He was still grave, yet his eyes shone with a softer light, and there was a look in his eyes which was very dear to me.
The train was crowded. There were no seats, and I could scarcely find room to breathe. We sat near the doors, and the crowd grew thicker as it filled up from behind. We waited until the train slowed down, then we entered.
Miss Marchdale walked beside me and placed herself close to my side. I could feel her warm breath on my cheek as she leaned across and spoke softly to me. I could not make out what she said; but when she had finished, I smiled, and nodded. Her lips moved again and again.
At last, I understood her: it was the old woman’s prayer, her farewell. I pressed her hand. “Thank you,” I said, as she left me. I felt very happy. We were almost alone in the carriages, so I was not afraid; indeed, I felt strangely calm. In another moment we would see her. My sister was going home, and all was well. All was well!
***
I remember thinking, “Oh, how lovely it is! How pleasant everything seems!”
We were alone together in our carriage, and the windows were all wide open and the curtains flapping in the wind. It was dusk, and the moonlight shone on the snow. We were alone in a world of white, and I could feel myself blushing under the glare of the moonlight.
I was conscious of the old man’s arm around me, and of his hands caressing my hair, but it made me feel only more secure in his arms. I could see that my sister stood behind me and looked on with such love and affection that her smile warmed my heart.
She held my hand in hers. I looked at Mr. Marchdale and smiled. I had never been happier in my life. And then suddenly I heard footsteps.
It was my brother. I turned and saw him approaching us, his hat cocked over one eye. He smiled, and we both waved to him. His expression changed, and I knew that something was wrong. He glanced quickly from one to the other of us and then turned away.
He went quickly down the platform and vanished between two buildings. My heart sank within me. It seemed that all the happiness was gone.
My heart beat violently. I looked at the young man beside me. I tried to speak to him, but he put up his hand. He did not look at me as he said, “It’s all right, my love,” and bent down to kiss me. The train slowed down, and he led me into the coach. We sat down and closed the door.
“Are we safe?” I asked him. “Do you believe we are safe?”
He shook his head and looked at me in astonishment.
“No, I don’t understand. Is something wrong? What is it? Tell me.”
“Nothing is wrong. Everything is just as it should be.”
He took my hand in his own and stroked the fingers of my hand with his thumbs. It seemed to me that we were moving toward the end of a long tunnel. He drew closer to me and kissed me.
“There will soon be a change. We shall be quite safe,” he whispered as he kissed me.
I pressed his hand to my face and held his hand to my breast as I replied, “Yes, dear, I’m sure of it; everything will be all right.”
I felt his lips on my neck, his tongue playing upon my skin. A faint sound came from beyond the partition; he drew nearer to me, and I felt his hand slipping inside my coat pocket.
Then we passed from darkness to sunlight. The train slowed down, and I found that I was holding Mr. Marchdale’s hand in mine. We were standing on the platform; the doors of the carriages opened before us, and we stepped out onto the platform.
As we went through them, a sudden gust of wind blew our clothes around, but it was not cold, and in another instant, we were out on the grassy hillside beneath an archway that led to the entrance of the station. Mr. Marchdale’s arm was round my waist; I was in his arms, and we were running, laughing, as we ran across the fields, through the woods, down the slope, and into the road.
The carriage and horses disappeared behind us; and we were hurrying along at the top of our speed, while I thought, “It is so delightful, so beautiful, so wonderful! And now, dear brother, tell me, what have they done to him? Do you think he is happy?”
The night was bright, but it seemed as if there was something in the air which stole the light from the moonlight. There was something in his voice when he answered: “Yes. I’ve no doubt that Mr. Marchdale would have been glad to stay with us until this evening—to give us all the help that he could—if the doctor hadn’t come. But I’ll make certain that he doesn’t get in the way.”
As we stood together in the dimly lit bedroom, I asked my sister about Mr. Marchdale’s condition. She looked at me and said, “Mr. Marchdale seems to have taken a great fancy to my brother; he has always been kind to us; and I think he is very fond of him.
He is a good man, but he has been so good to us that we are all quite taken with him. But don’t let us talk about Mr. Marchdale. Now that he has come back, there is nothing more to say.”
The End