Midnight Flit

by Elin Gregory

  Miles tried to ignore Briers grin and eye roll. "That's very good of you, Mr Smethwick," he said, giving him Millie's most gamine smile. "Perhaps we can make an exchange partway through the night?"

  "That won't be necessary. Now, I suggest you all get yourselves organised and lock your doors. I'll be at the back of the train if you need me." Smethwick stalked away, causing Pritchard to flatten himself against the window of the corridor.

  "Oh, John," Diana sighed. "He does love to play the martyr."

  "Well, actually, the chairs are most comfortable," Pritchard said. "I have reserved myself one in the smoking car. There is also a bar, if anyone would like something to settle their stomachs before the train gets under way?"

  "It's nearly midnight. I don't think I need anything to help me sleep," Ma said. "How about you, Diana?"

  "I'm fine too, but I would like to talk with you and Miles both before we turn in."

  Miles raised his eyebrows, because Diana had made it clear that she was excluding Briers - and Briers had noticed, too. His hand, which had been resting lightly against Miles's back, clenched a little on the silk of his coat.

  "Of course," Miles said, "but perhaps I can change first? This really isn't the frock for serious discussions."

  "Neither's mine," Diana said. "Fifteen minutes, then we'll have a brief pyjama party?"

  "You do that, Millie old girl, and I'll pop off to check on Smethwick," Briers said. "Might even have a snifter to keep the cold out."

  Once in their compartment Briers helped Miles unhook the back of his frock. "I wonder what that's about?" he said.

  "I'll fill you in as soon as I know," Miles said. The dress came free and began to slide, Briers's hands helping it on its way.

  Briers caught him around the hips, steadying him as the train lurched over some points then drawing him back. Miles turned his head to catch Briers's eye, but Briers was paying more attention to the slick movement of the fabric slipping over Miles's skin. The bias cut silk puddled at his feet, and Miles leaned a little against Briers as he stepped out of it. Briers flattened one hand against Miles's navel and slid the other down his thigh to hook under the edge of his camiknickers.

  "God, I love the look of you in your undies," Briers breathed and ducked his head to bite just behind Miles's ear. His hands moved again and Miles grabbed both his wrists to still them.

  "No," he said.

  Briers sighed. "But you feel amazing. Tell you what, let me buy you silk pyjamas and let me peel you very slowly out of them."

  "Oh good grief," Miles muttered, because he could all too easily imagine that and it was having an effect that was completely inappropriate for the time and place. "You absolutely can! When we're not on the Orient Express and I don't have an appointment to talk to Diana in a few minutes. Now is not the time to be... hot and bothered."

  "I'm always hot and bothered when I'm with you," Briers sighed. "But what you say - though deeply disappointing - makes sense. Just watch out when I get back to the compartment. I'm sure we can both fit on one bunk."

  Miles chuckled. "I'm sure we will. And don't think that I've forgotten that I owe you one."

  Briers's hands on his shoulders, turning him, were irresistible. "You don't owe me anything," Briers said. "It was my pleasure as much as yours, knowing that I could do that to you. But I'm looking forward to curling up together and getting another good night's sleep."

  "I sleep better with you," Miles said. He turned and cupped Briers's face in his hands, his well-past-five-o'clock shadow harsh against his palms, and kissed him. Briers made a pleased, surprised sound in his chest and his arms clamped around Miles. After a long moment he groaned and turned his head aside.

  "Don't want to give you stubble burn," he said. "Also, I'm not made of iron and I need to go while I've still got some shreds of self control. I'm going to have another whisky and smoke my pipe with the boys for half an hour or so, while you get into your stylish yet serviceable flannel pyjamas and go and talk to Diana and your mother. I won't wait up."

  Miles snorted. "I very much doubt that I'll be out longer than you will. But go and enjoy your whisky. Hey, bet you half-a-crown Falk's on the train!"

  "That's a bet I won't take," Briers muttered. He gave Miles's arse one last affectionate squeeze then left the sleeping berth.

  Miles busied himself with changing. He supposed, now that Briers mentioned it, Millie's night things were more practical than alluring, but surely that was part of Millie's persona? He felt quite strongly that she was a girl who liked to be prepared for every eventuality. The type of Girl Guide that would make a Boy Scout bite down on his woggle out of sheer envy of her competence at fire-lighting and wide games. But then there was Briers, who had made his admiration for Millie's underwear obvious. Perhaps Miles should be a bit more amenable to involving Millie in their love play? Perhaps, as Briers had suggested on one occasion, keeping Millie's stockings on might add another layer of affection and passion to their already very satisfying relationship? Miles turned over the possible scenarios in his mind. Pleasing Briers was very much something he enjoyed but, no matter how he looked at it, he couldn't find the idea alluring. No, he really needed to keep Millie out of the bedroom. That the decision was the right one was confirmed by the way the muscles at the back of his neck relaxed. He adored Briers, right enough, but there were some things one shouldn't have to do for love, including allowing a third party into the relationship. Silk pyjamas were a reasonable compromise, however. He buttoned his sensible flannel pyjama jacket, belted his robe and stepped into his slippers, then went to see Ma and Diana.

  #

  "All right."

  Diana fixed them both with a friendly but uncompromising stare. Miles felt as though he was ten and hadn't done his homework. From the way Ma gripped his hand she felt about the same. They were seated at one end of the lower bunk, bedding neatly turned down, while Diana remained on her feet the better to, Miles supposed, dominate the conversation. Also, she was pacing and that was never a good sign.

  "John has asked me to get to the bottom of this situation. I'm very much of the opinion that if whatever it was had affected the security of the embassy or ambassador you would have wasted no time in filling us in straight away, Lady S. This suggests to me that that the threat, whatever it is, is either long term or so vague that it needs registering but is of no immediate danger to us. Is that a fair assumption?"

  Ma tilted her head. "It is, and the problem is probably both."

  "Then why not tell us what it is? Or if not both of us, why not confide in Miles? Talk it through together, and perhaps a pooling of knowledge might make a bigger picture? Tell me, too, and - well, I don't want to be grim but - "

  "Life is uncertain and it's wise to send out more than one messenger if the message is really important," Ma finished for her. She squeezed Miles's hand. "You have a point, and perhaps it would be sensible to tell Briers as well?"

  "But not John?" Diana asked. "Because John isn't to be trusted?"

  "No, because John can be completely relied upon to roll his eyes and pooh-pooh my concerns, as we both know." Ma didn't even sound annoyed. "He doesn't mean to be so Victorian, but he's very much of my father's generation and believes that women and children should be seen but not heard."

  "That's true." Diana grinned at Miles. "You should have heard him when he realised that I wasn't just a lady's maid/secretary/companion. 'But Miss Carey, why on earth do you need to go to the shooting range? Kindly allow me to direct you to the nearest haberdashers' and so forth."

  "I imagine it has been galling," Miles said. "And I really don't want to know what he thinks about my subterfuge. But he keeps my father safe, and I can respect that - and I wish he'd go back to Bucharest to do his job."

  "So do we all," Ma said, "but we are stuck with him until we reach London. John is going to take the opportunity to visit his brother in Epping and I assume, Miles, that Briers will be lodging with you, again. Diana, you will come to stay with me in Wilto
n Crescent, won't you?"

  "I'll be delighted to, Lady S. Thank you for the invitation." Diana smiled at them both. "But don't you think we've got a little sidetracked? You were going to tell me about Von Stroebel?"

  "Von Stroebel. How do you know about him?" Miles asked. "Just how far has knowledge of my mother's involvement with him travelled?"

  "I know about Von Stroebel because I was at that dinner too, and I saw him. I imagine other people did, too, but hopefully were preoccupied with their own affairs. I wouldn't have thought much about it, but when your mother spends over an hour talking to an anxious young man and the following day his name crops up as a victim in a murder - "

  "Yes, all right," Ma interrupted. "That poor boy - Oh, I can't bear to think of it. That he might have been killed because he'd talked to me!" Her eyes filled with tears, and Miles put his arm around her.

  "He was a brave man," Miles said, "and must have felt that what he was telling you was worth the risk."

  "That's just it - I don't know if it was." Ma took a deep breath and blew her nose on her hanky. "He was working, he said, on a brand new type of encryption machine. Or rather an innovative approach to an existing one. And it would be readily portable, once they'd ironed out some miniaturisation problems."

  "Did he describe it at all, Ma? Or - "

  "He went one better than that," Ma said. "He - what's that?"

  Miles had heard it too - the dull thump of an explosion followed by a roaring, clanging cacophony that grew louder and louder.

  "Oh, no." He grabbed his mother and was reaching for Diana when all the lights went out.

  #

  Miles couldn't breathe, he was choking, something was over his face smothering. Pain, sudden and sharp. He convulsed, ready to fight and whooped in a breath of air laden with familiar perfume.

  "Oh thank God." His mother - panicky, gasping. "Miles, Miles, can you hear me darling?"

  He could but there were a lot of other noises - the grind of metal, voices shouting, an awful animal screeching and closer to hand a breathless whimper.

  Briers, he thought, his mind flooding with awful images of broken and bloody bodies. He blocked them out and concentrated on his mother's breath, the rustle of her clothing. "Yes," he said. "The - the train must have derailed. Are you hurt?"

  "Miles, I -," Ma drew in another sobbing breath. "I can't see."

  "Neither can I," Miles said and let out a long breath in relief. "It's pitch black. What's that thing Pritchard says?"

  "Black as the belly of a cow." This time the sound she made was more like a giggle and the hand that was locked on his shoulder eased a little. Her other hand patted his chest. "Yes. The lights have gone out everywhere. Are you hurt?"

  "No - well, my face stings a bit."

  "That would be where I slapped you, darling. You grabbed us both and we landed on you, knocked all the wind out of you, I think. It can only have been a minute."

  "Right." That was a comfort. Miles put out a hand in the utter blackness and touched fabric then an arm. "Is that you? Where's Diana?"

  The whimper sounded again. "I'm here. Some cases fell on me. I - I think my arm's broken."

  "We need some light," Miles said. "There's a torch in my dressing-case. I'll go and fetch it."

  "I'm not sure you'll be able to, darling. I don't think the coach is upright."

  "Not upright?" Miles waved his free arm and realised how narrow the space was into which he and his mother had been thrown. Luckily it was well padded with bedding - a bunk, then. Maybe the one on which they had been sitting, which suggested that the train carriage was at a most peculiar angle.

  He blinked into the black. There was a lighter rectangle - window? Or door? But no the door had been locked, he was sure.

  "I have a torch in my handbag," Diana said. "It's here, but I think the battery is on its way out. Miles, I - " she gulped in a breath. "I'm sorry."

  "No, no, that's all right. I'm trying to find you. Apologies in advance if I touch anything - um - personal."

  Diana, trouper that she was, huffed out a little laugh and didn't gasp or shriek when his knuckles grazed the padded sleeve of her robe. Her arm shifted and her hand met his and clung tight.

  "Stay still," Miles said. "We'll get some light, then we can see what's happened."

  "My bag," Diana began, then gasped again. "I'm sorry. It's on my legs."

  "I'll find it," Miles promised. "Now I might get a little personal again. Ma, hold Diana's hand for me?"

  He waited until the fast grip of his mother's hand had skipped down from his shoulder to his wrist and then transferred Diana's hand to hers. He cupped both their hands between his. "All right?"

  "We've got each other," Ma said.

  "I'm going to move the cases," Miles said, hoping his voice sounded more calm and confident than he felt, "then, Diana, I think you'll be more comfortable sitting with Ma instead of on the floor."

  "I'm not sure this is the floor," Diana muttered. "The wall to my right is carpeted."

  He felt around, apologising and eliciting another laugh from Diana, until he touched the cold angular texture of crocodile-leather. His mother's dressing-case. He lifted it and put it to one side and found a smaller bag, cool and smooth with a metal buckle.

  "Can you move now, Diana?" His mother shifted beside him. "Diana?"

  "Oh Lady S. It... it hurts so much."

  Miles grimaced at the thought of pain and pitch blackness and Briers. He scrabbled through the contents of Diana's handbag until he found the small hard cylinder and slid the switch. The yellow beam danced across tumbled fabric and polished wood, a scatter of belongings and the open doors of the washstand, then settled on the door. It was horizontal.

  "Good grief," Ma said. "Does that mean the carriage is vertical?"

  "Looks like it, Ma," Miles said. "But let's just see how we all are first."

  Ma helped Miles to turn Diana so her back was to the carpeted surface and Ma shifted to sit beside her. Ma had the makings of a black eye gained, she said, when she and Miles had clashed heads.

  "You're getting one too," Diana said to Miles. "You'll match."

  Her face was white and sweaty and she was supporting her right arm with her good hand. She turned her head aside when he pushed up her sleeve but there was no blood, just huge blooming bruises.

  Ma took over the first aid, instructing Miles to rip the seams on a pillow case to make a sling. "We'll just support it for now, dear," Ma said to Diana. "Set it later when we've found a doctor. Miles, hold the torch steady. All right, Diana. Lean forward, yes, like so... there, and I'll tie the knot... Done. Now Miles, we'll sit here for a moment, while you see what needs to be done to get us out of here."

  Miles had been giving that some thought while holding the torch and putting his finger on the knot. If their carriage was on end it was possible that the ones following were still on the rails. Briers had expressed the intention of going for a drink, and Miles was sure that the car with the bar had been at the back of the train just in front of the guards van. If that was the case - and Miles refused to entertain any other possibility - it was possible his coach was unaffected and Briers would be on his way. The most sensible thing to do would be to sit tight and wait for help, but that could be a long while coming. Surely rescuers would go first to those in the most dangerous position? Their compartment had been about half way up the train, and the door was the only way out. That meant climbing, and he was pretty sure that he would be able to manage it. Smashing the rest of the glass in the window was a possibility. They could use a sheet rope to reach the ground. Between them, he and Ma should be able to lower Diana, The window blinds had fallen askew but were admitting no light other than a disturbing flickery glow; something was on fire. Miles glanced around at the sumptuous upholstery and the glossy varnished wood and swallowed hard. "First things first," he said. "Grab the essentials and put on your shoes. There will probably be broken glass. And coats. It's going to be cold outside."

  H
e tightened the belt on his own robe and got to his feet. Even he had to stoop to avoid cracking his head on what was now the ceiling. He moved carefully, picking his way over the debris. The window was starred with cracks and a large piece of the glass had fallen out. Miles used the blind to push out the rest, then shone the torch out. The little circle of light wavered over a steep slope dotted with shining glass shards and other debris. Even if they could reach it they wouldn't be able to find their footing, and a fall would mean tumbling down into the narrowing space between the slope and the carriage. That would not be a healthy thing to do. In the other direction, the washstand door had burst open and hot water was dribbling from a ruptured pipe. Miles rammed a towel against the break and closed the washstand doors, hoping the latch would hold. The berth's door was locked, the chain across for good measure. He undid both then heaved, praying that the runners weren't damaged. The door slid in little grating jerks just a few inches, then jammed. The compartment flooded with leaping orange light.

  Miles stared through the gap, across the almost vertical corridor and through the crazed window opposite. Beyond, the ground fell away to a chaos of smashed carriages and roaring flames.

  "Oh dear Lord."

  There are people in that, he thought. Oh God, there are children. Oh God, Briers.

  He sucked in a breath, blinking his eyes as they prickled. Now was not the time for tears. He had more immediate responsibilities. Then he coughed. Smoke was beginning to drift up the vertical shaft of the carriage. If there was a fire, if the many-layered varnish caught, this chimney would be a column of flame.

  "Ma," he said. "I think it best if we get out as soon as we can."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Briers

  Although curiosity was one of the defining characteristics of a spy, Briers didn't resent being cut out of the conversation Miles would soon be enjoying with Diana and his mother. He had his own affairs to pursue and would get a report from Miles later, preferably in bed once they had taken care of their other business. Also, a whisky and soda sounded just the thing.