“It’s not! It’s what I believe, and I won’t be sorry.”
Betsy lay on the seat next to Sunflower. “I think they’re arguing again,” the terrier whispered.
“Shut up, dog,” hissed Sunflower. “You’re ruining the tender moment.”
“Sorry. Continue!”
Amy shook her head and moved to the far side of the compartment, where she focused on the tall smokestacks and telegraph poles whistling past the window. Philip grumbled to himself for a bit and then pretended to take a nap, his feet on the opposite seat and trilby hat over his face.
Sunflower sighed. “Thanks, dog. You definitely ruined it.”
“You’re welcome,” said Betsy. “Hey! This reminds me of that time we took a vacation to Alpha Centauri.”
“What vacation? The flight was cancelled. We sat in the spaceport twelve hours staring at each other and eating from the vending machine!”
“Right! It was awesome!”
Sunflower growled and turned away from the terrier. Both animals soon fell asleep on the cushioned leather.
The smoking factories and signs of busy industry were soon replaced by gentle waves of countryside. Stone walls separated harvested fields, and men strolled about in waist-length tunics and floppy hats. Cinnamon-colored brick houses with peaked slate roofs clustered around the Gothic spires of village churches like chicks at the feet of a gray-feathered hen. The train passed stone and cement bridges, muddy rivers, and wagons loaded down with tall piles of hay.
The train whipped through the countryside for at least half an hour before squealing to a stop at a long platform covered by a narrow wooden roof.
Sunflower opened his eyes. “Are we there yet?”
“Not quite,” murmured Philip, hat still over his face. “Ask me in four hours.”
“What if the inspector catches up to us?” asked Betsy.
“I share in your concern,” said Philip. “But the train halts only momentarily at these stations, and is quite punctual. This is England, after all.”
The whistle blew as a full stop to Philip’s statement and the train crept out of the station. Amy felt better once they started to move, and rested her head against the corner of the compartment, hat in her lap.
The train stopped several times each hour. A visit from the conductor at one station and a girl in white selling cheese sandwiches were the only other disturbances to their naps and quiet, uneasy thoughts.
“We’ll change trains at the next station,” said Philip, after he purchased sandwiches from the girl. “A few stops after that, we’ll exit and hire a carriage to Catcliffe.”
Amy turned and stared at the dark-haired teenager. “That can’t be a real place.”
“I’m being perfectly honest, Miss Armstrong. Why would I lie about such a thing?”
Sunflower blinked his green eyes sleepily. “Are there lots of cats in Catcliffe?”
“Only the normal amount, more or less,” said Philip. “In ancient times there was a cliff inhabited by cats. That’s where the village received the name.”
Amy snorted. “I never would have guessed.”
“It’s just as well that it’s not a real city of cats,” said Sunflower. “Old Earth animals are about as interesting as a cup of dried mud.”
“I like mud!” barked Betsy.
“You would, wouldn’t you?”
Amy smiled. “This is all fine and dandy, but has anyone come up with a plan yet? Other than dying under the claws of an insane robot from the future.”
Betsy wagged his tail. “Don’t worry, it won’t kill you. The inspector will just take you back to the Lady.”
“Who will banish us to a random dimension full of insane clawed robots or where apes evolved from men,” said Sunflower. “That’s assuming the inspector hasn’t been damaged in some way and reverted to its original programming. Humans like to shoot everything that moves, and they’ve probably hit something important by accident.”
“Let me guess,” said Amy. “It’s not just a killer robot from the future, now it’s an insane killer robot from the future.”
Sunflower blinked. “Mabily.”
“That’s not a word!”
“I promise you it is,” said the cat. “It means something we don’t want to happen but probably will, like trying to escape from a titanium-armored cato-cidal reject from the dog special forces.”
“Dog special forces?”
“The Lady bought a whole bunch of our robots after the last war,” said Betsy. “You wouldn’t believe the money she saved!”
Philip rubbed his chin. “If it can’t be defeated in direct combat, perhaps it can be trapped. After all, it’s better to catch a tiger in a pit than fight it.”
Amy stared at him. “A pit? You’ve seen it fly, right?”
“I didn’t mean a literal tiger pit. I meant a kind of trap designed for the inspector.”
“It’s going to break out of any feeble rope or cable you try to wind around it,” said Sunflower. “We’ve got a better chance running from it until the batteries run out.”
“How long will that take?” asked Amy.
Sunflower stared out at the speeding countryside.
“Depending on how much energy is used on weapons, about a thousand hours.”
Amy played with a strand of her blond hair, rolling it between her fingers as she thought over the problem.
“Six weeks? Are serious, cat?!!”
Philip nodded. “Good show. That was my calculation.”
“Hey, don’t get mad at me,” said Sunflower. “I didn’t make the silly thing. In case you forgot, I’m the one with a target painted on his fur.”
Philip sat up straight. “I’ve got it! We can go on a voyage around the world. As long as we don’t dawdle for too long in one place, the devilish machine would never catch up. After six weeks it would finally lose power.”
“Hopefully in the middle of the Pacific Ocean,” said Amy.
“It’s a good plan,” said Sunflower. “Especially since Laughing Boy here has got more money than God.”
Philip frowned. “I see that phrase has come back to haunt me. But with any luck, I’ll be able to give my parents persuasive reasons for the trip, secure the necessary bank notes, and set off almost as quickly as we arrive. Given my father’s eagerness to be rid of me, I doubt we’ll have a problem.”
Betsy wagged his brown and white tail. “If he’s Laughing Boy, can I be Laughing Dog?”
Amy realized that she’d absent-mindedly been biting a lock of her own hair while watching Philip. She pulled it out of her mouth and sat up straight.
“What happens if you can’t persuade them?”
Philip smiled. “In that case, Miss Armstrong, we’ll steal every gem in sight.”
Chapter Thirteen
The train halted at a covered railway platform and Philip gave Amy a hand in stepping out of the compartment. While their animal companions fidgeted on a bench, the teenagers purchased cups of coffee and oranges from a stand on the platform manned by a toothless old woman with a red kerchief around her white hair.
“You’ve come from London?” she asked. “People say the devil is roaming the East End, killing, burning, and cursing all the poor souls what live there. It’s the end times, I warrant.”
Philip tipped his cap. “My apologies. We haven’t heard anything of the sort.”
After a short wait on another platform they boarded a local train. Huge clouds of smoke poured from the engine and the wooden seats were hard and uncomfortable. After a handful of stops they arrived at the bare platform and simple hut of Treeton station.
“Not far now,” said Philip cheerily.
The teenager hired a two-horse brougham outside the station. This took longer than it would have in London, as Treeton was a small village and the driver had to fetch and harness the horses. The carriage had no roof and the driver sat in front, snapping the reins at a pair of black mares. The road of hard-packed dirt wove through a cluster of shop
s and small houses with pale plaster walls and exposed timber crossbeams into a pleasant country lane lined with sturdy oak and maple trees. Black-and-white Holstein cattle wandered in meadows surrounded by damp stone walls. A collie chased a herd of sheep toward a barn roofed in brown thatch.
Amy breathed in deep lungfuls of the fresh country air and felt stress leaving her body like water wrung from a dishrag.
“I should change when we get there,” she said to Philip.
“There’s really no need. You look absolutely perfect and they won’t suspect a thing.”
“That’s not what I mean. If the inspector is still after us there’s a good chance we’ll be hoofing it at some point, and I’d rather be wearing pants. That, or a shorter skirt.”
Philip squinted at her. “Hoofing it?”
“Running. You know, that thing you do with your feet.”
“I see. I’m not sure how to arrange that. As I said before, young women––especially respectable young women––don’t wear trousers. It’s simply not done.”
Sunflower raised his head. “Even if she’s being chased by an insane killer robot from the future?”
Philip sighed. “I’ll do my best to find some trousers. If I do lend you boy’s clothes, Miss Armstrong, please keep them hidden, especially from the maids. My family must believe your story of a wealthy American traveler until the last moment.”
The cab bounced and rattled along the road, leaving a cloud of dust. A gentle valley curved up to a line of hills, the individual fields broken into green and brown puzzle pieces. The slowly passing scenery didn’t seem to interest Philip. With a pale face, the teenager stared blankly at the horses pulling the carriage.
“Penny for your thoughts,” said Amy.
Philip shook his head. “What will happen, must happen.”
“You’re still worried about your father?”
“In a way. I was reminded of what happened the last time I traveled this road. It was the beginning of summer hols. I was happy to be away from school, and my sister had written to tell me father was to be appointed Viceroy of India. I was positively bonkers at the news, you see, because he would be away from England for years.”
“I guess it didn’t turn out so great,” said Amy.
“A fabulous understatement. My sister had lied in her letters as a sort of prank. My father was in an even worse mood over the holidays, having just enough work as Home Secretary to make him bitterly angry, and take that anger out on his children.”
“Sounds like he should meet our new friend, the ex-army robot from the future.”
Philip laughed. “He’d probably scare it into the next dimension!”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” Betsy piped up from the floor. “He’d be shot with lasers and fall down and die. Or maybe get strangled and fall down and die.”
Philip rubbed the terrier’s furry head. “We can only hope, Betsy.”
“Do any of these farms belong to your family?” asked Amy.
“See that hill topped by a red farmhouse?”
Amy pulled down the brim of her hat to shade her eyes. “Past the lake? Yes, I think so.”
“That farm is the only plot of land in five miles that isn’t part of the Marlborough estate.”
“Good gravy!” Amy half-stood from her seat to get a better view. “Even the forests and lakes?”
“That’s certainly part of the land, isn’t it? Along with the river and a stone quarry. But I’d trade it all for a family who could eat dinner without throwing silverware at each other.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I’d certainly trade a hectare or two.”
The driver snapped the reins left and turned onto an arrow-straight gravel road lined with cedar trees. At the end of the long path stood a four-story mansion of beige limestone. Hundreds of walnut-framed windows flashed in the sun. Past a series of barns, a dozen horses trotted in a fenced pasture.
Philip squinted through the cedar trees at the horses. “I don’t see Ellie anywhere …”
“Good gravy,” whispered Amy. “That’s not a house. It’s a palace!”
“The old place puts on a good show, doesn’t it? You’d be shocked to find out how much cash mother wastes on frippery and public display. She likes having more servants than furniture.”
As the carriage approached the mansion, the double oak doors of the entrance swung open. A pair of young men emerged in black trousers, jackets with tails, and brilliant white shirts and gloves.
The carriage halted at the entrance with a froth and pop of gravel. The tallest of the footmen, a strikingly tall character with cropped ginger hair and acne scars, opened the door on Amy’s side. His mouth was pressed into a round pout and his eyes wide.
“You’ve returned early, Master Philip. I hope nothing unpleasant happened with the fishing?”
Philip paid the driver and glanced at the footman. “Uh … no, Tommy. I’m simply not feeling well.”
“Very sorry to hear that, Master Philip.”
The footman offered a hand to Amy and she stepped out of the carriage, followed by Philip and the two animals. The cab driver tipped his hat, snapped the reins, and the carriage rolled away, leaving Philip awkwardly shifting his weight back and forth in front of the two servants.
“This is Miss Amy Armstrong,” he said. “An acquaintance of mine from London. I happened by chance to meet her at the station.”
Tommy looked puzzled. “At Treeton, sir? Forgive me, but I thought you and the other masters had gone salmon fishing.”
“You’re certainly right, Tommy, but as I mentioned, I ate something awful for lunch and felt absolutely green to the gills. It just so happened that I ended up at Treeton.” Philip leaned close and held a hand to the side of his mouth. “Let’s be honest––I drank far too much claret last night and was absolutely legless. I have no idea how I ended up in Treeton.”
Tommy bowed his head. “Say no more, Master Philip. May we take your bags? Thank you, sir.”
A happy squeal erupted from the doorway of the mansion, and a short and stout woman in a peacock-blue dress ran out. She crushed her brunette bun of hair against Philip’s chest and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“My boy! It’s so lovely to see you!”
Philip stood stiff and straight, his arms away from the woman, but her outburst of affection caused him to bite his lower lip.
“Yes, mother. I’m glad to be home.”
She looked up at him. “You scamp. What are you doing home a day early? Don’t tell me you missed your old mother!”
“That’s exactly it,” said Philip, his voice strained. “I missed you. It feels like I haven’t seen you for years.”
Philip’s mother let go of her son. She looked Amy up and down and smiled.
“This beautiful young lady has something to do with your change of plans, I think. I hope you didn’t pull her out of the river!”
“Mother, please,” said Philip, with a strange waver in his voice. “This is Miss Amy Armstrong from America. Miss Armstrong, this is my mother, Lady Marlborough.”
“Good afternoon, your Ladyship.”
Amy intended to curtsy and stepped back with her right foot, but her boot caught on the inside hem of a petticoat and caused her to stumble backwards. She would have fallen flat on her bottom in a very unladylike fashion if Tommy hadn’t caught her.
“Dear, oh dear,” said Philip’s mother. “Are you not well?”
“I’m afraid she’s exhausted from the travel,” said Philip. “Miss Armstrong is a cousin of a friend of mine at Eton, and I invited her to take the train from London and stay with us a few days. The surprise is completely my fault. I simply forgot to tell you, mother.”
Philip’s mother gasped and held Amy’s hand. “Did you travel all the way by yourself?”
“Not exactly. I came over with my aunt and cousin.”
“Still, you poor darling! The hordes of people in London and the crowds on the platform
can be absolutely debilitating for a young lady. Come in and we’ll have some tea.”
“May my pets come inside also?”
“Certainly, dear.”
The short, ebullient woman charged through the doorway of the mansion like a cavalry officer at Waterloo, belting out cheery orders to the footmen to bring tea and the maids to prepare rooms for the new guest.
The scarlet foyer opened to a two-story entrance hall with high columns of dark walnut and a two-story split staircase. Dozens of heavily framed paintings covered the deep green wallpaper. The slowly vaporizing oil of the artwork hung in the air and mixed with the smells of wood polish and rosewater.
Soft Arabian rugs muffled their footsteps as Philip’s mother gently pulled Amy through a doorway into a long parlor. She gestured to a collection of pale yellow couches and chairs in French provincial style, with ornate wood accents.
“Please. Have a seat and rest for a moment, won’t you?”
The teenagers sat on a sofa across from Philip’s mother, and the animals took position beside the furniture.
Amy slipped off her white gloves and held them in her lap. She didn’t know if she should remove her hat or not, but Philip’s mother gave her a strange look, so she carefully pulled out the long pins and lifted it off her head.
“One of the servants will take that for you, dear,” said Philip’s mother. “Please leave it on the table.”
Philip cleared his throat. “It’s rather good to see you again, mother. How are you?”
She tutted at him. “What a strange thing to say! You act as if you haven’t seen me for two years.” She waved a hand at Amy. “Miss Armstrong, are you part of the Boston Armstrongs?”
“Not quite, Lady Marlborough. I’m from California.”
“How delightful! I did hear about an Armstrong that traveled out there to seek his fortune in gold. Instead, he became quite successful in the mercantile trade. That wouldn’t be one of your relatives, would it?”
“He … um, that would be my grandfather.”
“I thought as much. He must have had a horrible time of it, what with all of the Indians and Spaniards. If there’s one thing more dangerous and untrustworthy than a native, it’s a Spaniard.”
The Girl Who Stole A Planet (Amy Armstrong Book 1) Page 19