Chapter 17
Moving abroad
Most of the train travelling was me with my face buried into George's arm. Crying. Most of the time I just pretended I was asleep. Out of the corner of my eye, I could often see people staring, and someone every now and then asked if I was alright. They accepted it when George told them I was sleeping, though.
Everything was a pain and confusion running through my entire body. I couldn't think properly. My mind was channelling too many thoughts at once, concentrating on one in particular for a mere few seconds before moving on. I couldn't keep up with my own thoughts. It was like it was a pathway, and this pathway then split off into different directions. Only, each direction only led to a dead end, or to some other terrible fate.
"Ada, we're here." George muttered, nudging me slightly. I had to do the whole waking up act, quickly getting rid of the last evidence of my tears. He took me by the hand, and led me out, towards all the signs that pointed to the harbour. We were to go on a ferry. "Ok, this is what we're doing." he lent over so that he was murmuring in my ear. "So, before cars get onto ferry, people have time to get out and get fresh air. We have to pretend to be one of those people, ok? Then we go round, finding all the lorry drivers we can. If you get the right ones, they'll take you over, for the right price."
"And if you get the wrong sort of one?"
"You walk away, quickly."
It was busy when we got there, which meant we could blend in easily. We just looked like a normal couple roaming around. A normal couple. No royal duties, or secrets to hide, or nations of people to deal with. Just a normal couple.
So we did go around, and a few times we did have to walk away, quickly. But it wasn't long before one driver accepted, considering the amount of money we could offer. George had made sure to take out about three thousand from his account, before Alexander found some way of blocking it. He had then exchanged that for euros.
The easy bit was getting in the back discreetly. The harder part was keeping quiet.
George's injuries seemed to be catching up with him. Having full on run and fought just after he had received the blows, George had given himself no chance to recover. Which meant they were getting worse every second. He lay on the ground moaning, whilst I did everything I could to staunch blood flows and bandage bruises, using whatever spare fabric I had.
The whole time my hands were trembling, and I had to pull away quickly when I jerked too suddenly and hit his wounds. I would whisper a sorry, and then continue slowly.
Soon I had done all I could, and we had to remain still. Every now and then George would whisper a reminder that I was to keep him silent if he found his injuries caused to shout. There was no occasion for me to do so, however. George stayed as quiet as a sleeping baby.
There was a tortured hour of waiting before we finally seemed to stop, and a gap of light flooded through the back of the lorry. It was me who had to crawl over to talk to the driver.
"The passengers have emptied out of the parked area." he said quietly. "You can talk now, and maybe roam a little. But I suggest not going as far as a metre from the lorry."
"Ok. Thank you." I said, before it shut once more, and near darkness engulfed us.
Crawling back over to George, I shook his arm gently. He stirred a little, looking at me. When I saw the way his eyes widened with expectation, his head lifting a little, his whole body shifting into a position that suggested chance, hope, I could twitch a smile at how wonderful it was to have a chance to live my life with him. Not long enough to make the scene feel anything like happy, though.
"We're on the ferry. Everyone's gone up to deck. We can talk." He sat up, crossing his legs over, looking down in thought. His eyebrows furrowed slightly with the pain of the movement. "Where are we going, then?"
"Well, Calais. And then we move further down France. To ... let's say Marseille. We go nowhere near the Spain side; the Empire's grown too strongly there. And, if we have to, we go to Turin, or Milan. Out of the claws of the Empire. I trust you can speak French?" I nodded. French was one of the first things that had been beaten into us at the Institute since we were three years old. "Good, because you're going to need it."
There was a long moment of silence, and all you could hear was our breathing, and occasional groans from George. Other than that, everything was eerie and still. I hated it. It felt like any moment someone would spring on us, and within seconds I would be in the arms of Alexander, receiving another slap around the face. It was like a nightmare come alive. Though, I feared for anyone who had nightmares as terrifyingly graphic as I was imagining.
"Oh, God." George suddenly exclaimed, letting his head fall into his hands. He gave a small gasp through his teeth as he did so.
"George? Are you ok?"
What a stupid question. He took a breath out, and then faced looking at me. "Of course I'm not ok, Ada." he sighed, but more calmly than I had expected. "And it's not even the fact of my injuries, or the fact that we're escaping, and have to start from scratch." I was confused. What else could he be uneasy about? I placed my hand on his arm, staring at him with concern. It was a moment before he finally decided to out his worry. "I killed a man, Ada." he said matter-of-factly. "I shot a man dead, when I didn't even need to kill him. I could have wounded him so that he was unable to stop me. But instead I ended his life."
"Oh George -"
"No, I don't want sympathy. I just want you to know that I am fully ashamed of myself for what I did. He must have had some kind of family. A wife? Children? Who knows? Well, that's one more person gone from their lives. And it's my fault." He hung his head down low, not daring to look me in the eye again. For a few seconds, I just sat there. If he didn't want sympathy, what did he want? Eventually, I decided on resting my fingers on his scalp, running the through his hair. He didn't object, so I kept on doing it, my arm never seeming to get tired.
I kept going for so long, that when I finally stopped, it was only because of the flood of voices echoing around the metal walls. People must be returning to their vehicles. So I made myself close to George, keeping by him as I began to feel the movement of the wheels, and just hoped it wouldn't be too long before we were finally free of our closed, dark, lorry.
I didn't know how many hours later it was, but I knew George had fallen asleep. I also knew that night would most likely have fallen. I had been left to drift off into my thoughts for a while now. And for once, they were pleasant.
I was imagining a life where George and I knew we would be safe from Alexander's wroth. A life where we had a normal house, with a normal job, paying normal bills, having normal friends. Having a normal relationship. One where it didn't matter who we told about it. One where it wasn't illegal to love each other. A relationship where we could get married. Maybe even have a family. I found I could actually smile as I thought about it. And for more than just a few seconds. If my thoughts became reality, I knew I would be smiling for a lot longer than now. Years. A lifetime.
But there would be troubles. As an Institute girl, all I had ever learned was that I would have to love and respect my husband, and always support him. Of course, they had been talking about Alexander. I thought of it as George instead. Yes, I would love and respect him, and of course I would support him, and I knew I would get the same from him. However, that was now not the only thing I would have to worry about. I would have to work, I knew that. How else would we afford to even rent a home? Another thing, I didn't properly know how to cook or clean, of anything like that. It had been expected that servants would to that for us. Even the girls who did not make it as Alexander's wife were expected to be picked off by young aristocrats and other highly classed men.
My thoughts came to an abrupt stop as I clutched my stomach. There was a sudden jolt of pain running through it, and I had to clasp it, leaning over with the sting. Had I gotten an injury there? I didn't think so. Still, it seemed to go away quickly enough. Perhaps it was just a one off stomach cramp.
Perhaps not.
"Have we stopped?"
I turned slightly to see George, balancing on his elbows. "How ... how long have you been awake?" I asked curiously.
"A little while." he answered. Getting up carefully, he extended a hand out to me, and I took it, my eyebrows furrowing, confused by his expression. "Are you alright? You seemed a little, pained." Oh, so he had been awake long enough to see that.
"Yeah, I think it was just one of those normal things you get every now and then."
He paused. "Right." Was that a 'right, I believe you', or 'right, are you sure you're not making something up'? He was always so overprotective. Someday, that would get him into trouble, and he would be the last guilty party still at the scene. Probably when he was the only innocent one there too. "Ah, my shoulder is killing me." he murmured.
"Don't say things like that." I replied, coming round to the back of him. As delicately as I could, I pulled his shirt off the top of his shoulder, looking at the bruise underneath. It was a large, swollen, purple patch, and he shuddered every time I tried to touch it. "George, you don't know how badly hurt you are."
"I'll get through it."
"But -"
He turned around, raising his eyebrows. "Don't make me add another thing to my list of why it was a terrible idea bringing you here." I was about to retort, but he cut me off before I could. "I'll get through it." That was the final word, and this time, I knew not to respond.
Soon, we were off, and George was paying off the last of the money to the driver. "Right. You're in Côte-d'Or, just of the edge of Dijon. Where is it you're heading?" We told him. "Marseille?" We both nodded. "That'll be about five and a half hours by road if you're lucky. Another one or two hours if you're not. There a plenty of coaches around that probably do the route." George and I thanked him, but as he got into his lorry again, he turned and peered round at us. "Might I ask what two young folks like yourselves are doing getting across the border using a lorry?" What he meant by that was that we didn't look like illegal immigrants, nor did we look like people from any sort of black market. Of course, we were neither, but his sudden question startled us. Me, anyway.
"We needed to get into France quickly. Family matters. It was just taking too long for the government to sort out things like passports." The driver didn't seem entirely convinced, but George's tone told him not to ask anything more. He drove off without another word.
"Come on, then." George said, beginning to turn and walk without so much as looking at me. However, I followed without question. I didn't know where we were going. I was rather sure he didn't either, but I was also rather sure that he would lead us some place better than I would end up getting us to.
We walked through blank nothingness for a while. It was surprisingly calm and quiet. Night wind blew gently across my face, and tress whistled, leaning over, as if to peer down at those below them. The moon glimmered down, basking in the black shy, which was itself scattered with the smallest pieces of shining white glitter, each stuck into place, perfectly arranged in their messy spread.
It wasn't long before were in the centre of a town. Not many people roamed the streets, but lights of all colours twinkled and welcomed us as we discovered the place. It was only when we were walking over a bridge, standing high above a flowing span of water, that George stopped, pressing his hands against the rails and looking down into the black reflection of waves.
"This is it, Ada." He did not look up when I placed my hand on his own. "Everything we did, everything we tried to do. Everything we mean. It all starts here." That was when he looked up. The blue of his eyes sparkled like ice suns of their own, thoughts and dreams and hopes and losses swimming about in their vast lakes and rivers. My heart skipped a beat. For in those eyes, were not only the uncovered pain and anguish of what had passed, but a hope, a thought of future joy that might come of this. And it gave me hope, it gave me joy, just to see it. "Are you ready?"
There was only one answer I could give. "We're ready."