The Radiant War

Chapter 7b

     “Is this seat taken?” asked the woman.

     The Brigadier groaned internally. There was no way to avoid replying without breaking the rules of civilised conduct, and then he would be in a conversation with her. Oh well. If it had to be, might as well make the best of it. “No, Madam,” he said therefore. “Please be seated.”

     “Thank you.” She sat opposite him and Barnaby sat beside her. “The last carriage was full of the most awful People. Working men, all talking about how much better things will be when the rebels overthrow the government, and they kept looking at us in the most awful way, as if they were going to attack us! We didn't feel safe. We had to get out of there. Find a carriage filled with more civilised People.”

     “I don’t think they would have done anything,” said Barnaby. “It was just talk...”

     “Oh Barnaby! You heard them! You saw how they were! They were like animals! They were working themselves up to violence!”

     “They were doing no such thing, dear. They were just talking, that’s all.” He turned to the Brigadier. “She tends to overreact. They were probably perfectly decent people....”

     “Please don’t talk like that about me to other people. What will he think?” She turned back to the Brigadier. “I do hate train journeys. It wouldn’t be so bad if they still had separate carriages for the upper classes...”

     “The upper classes don't use trains any more,” replied Barnaby. “It was just a fad. The moment they started carrying cargo they became quite unfashionable. Trains are for coal, cattle and the masses. No real nobleman would be caught dead on a train these days. We wouldn’t be here ourselves if it weren’t so urgent that we reach Whitemay before the end of the week.”

     “And what would you call this gentleman?” asked the woman. “A proper aristocrat if ever I saw one, and probably just as grateful to have quality people to talk to. You are an aristocrat, I assume, Sir?”

     “I suppose,” replied the Brigadier. “I don't actually have a title, but I come from a wealthy family and I suppose I’ve earned a certain reputation during my army days, the result being that people treat me with a certain... Deference is probably the best word.”

     “An army man!” said the woman, beaming with delight. “May I ask what rank you hold?”

     “Brigadier. Brigadier Weyland James at your service, Madam.”

     “And my name is Isobelle. Isabelle Frankes, and this is my husband, Barnaby Frankes. We own a respectable textiles industry, employing dozens of people.”

     “Charmed.” The Brigadier stood and bowed, then sat again, while thinking that anyone who felt it necessary to say that their business was respectable was probably anything but.

     “Such a comfort to have an army man with us, with those ruffians in the next carriage.”

     “I don't think they're going to come chasing after you, Dear. They were probably just as glad to see us go as you were to leave them.”

     “Why Barnaby! What a thing to say!”

     The Brigadier mentally tuned out their bickering and looked out the window again. The small stately home was moving in front of the dark clouds, as he'd thought it would, and as the background became less bright he found he could make out details of its structure. It was hard to be sure from this distance, but he thought there were dark smudges above the windows, as if the building had been gutted by fire. Then he saw tiny figures moving around in front of it, which confused him if the building had been abandoned for some time. Perhaps the owners were thinking of having the fire damage repaired.