Still Mary did not move.

Hester pulled at her sharply and forced her over. Her eyes were closed, her face was white, and when Hester touched it the flesh was cold. Mary Farraline had been dead all night.

Hester’s first feeling was one of profound loss. Long ago she might have had an initial moment of rejecting the fact altogether, refusing to believe Mary was dead, but she had seen too much death not to recognize it, even when it was completely without warning. Last night Mary had seemed in excellent health and buoyant spirits, and yet she must have died quite early in the night. Her body was cold to the touch, and such stiffness took from four to six hours to achieve.

Hester pulled the blanket up over her, gently covering her face, and then stood back. The train was moving more slowly now, and there were houses in the gray, early morning beyond the rain-streaked windows.

Then the next emotion came: guilt. Mary had been her patient, entrusted to her care, and after only a few hours she was dead. Why? What had she done so badly? What had she bungled, or forgotten, that Mary had died without even a sound, no cry, no gasp, no struggle for breath? Or perhaps there had been, only Hester had been too soundly asleep to hear, and the clatter of the train had masked it.

She could not just continue to stand there, staring at the motionless form under the rug. She must tell the authorities, beginning with the conductor and the guard. Then of course when they reached the station there would be the station-master, and possibly the police. After that, infinitely worse, she would have to tell Griselda Murdoch. The thought of that made her feel a little sick.

Better begin. Standing there would not help anything, and the contemplation of it was only adding to the hurt. Feeling numb she went to the compartment entranceway, in her awkwardness banging her elbow on the wooden partition. She was cold and stiff with tension. It hurt more than it would have normally, but she had no time for pain. Which way to go? Either. It made no difference. Just do something, don’t stand undecided. She went left, towards the front of the train.

“Conductor! Conductor! Where are you?”

A military man with a mustache peered around a comer and stared at her. He drew breath to speak, but she had rushed on.

“Conductor!”

A very thin woman with gray hair looked at her sharply.

“Goodness, girl, whatever is the matter? Must you make so much noise?”

“Have you seen the conductor?” Hester demanded breathlessly.

“No I haven’t. But for heaven’s sake lower your voice.” And without further comment she withdrew into her compartment.

“Can I help you, miss?”

She spun around. It was the conductor at last, his bland face unsuspecting of the trouble she was about to impart. Perhaps he was used to hysterical female passengers. She made an effort to keep her voice calm and under some control.

“I am afraid something very serious has happened…” Why was she shaking so much? She had seen hundreds of dead bodies before.

“Yes, miss. What would that be?” He was still quite unmoved, merely politely interested.

“I am afraid Mrs. Farraline, the lady with whom I was traveling, has died in the night.”

“Probably just asleep, miss. Some folk sleep very deep-”

“I’m a nurse!” Hester snapped at him, her voice rising sharply. “I know death when I see it!”

This time he looked thoroughly disconcerted. “Oh dear. You quite sure? Elderly lady, is she? Heart, I suppose. Took bad, was she? Ye should’a’ called me then, you know.” He looked at her critically.

At another time Hester might have asked him what he could have done, but she was too distressed to argue.

“No-no, she made no sound in the night. I just found her when I went to rouse her now.” Her voice was wavering again, and her lips almost too stiff to form the words. “I don’t know-what happened. I suppose it was her heart. She was taking medicine for it.”

“She had forgot to take it, did she?” He looked at her dubiously.

“No of course she didn’t! I gave it to her myself. Hadn’t you better report it to the guard?”

“All in good time, miss. Ye’d better take me to your compartment and we’ll have a look. Maybe she’s only poorly?” But his voice held little hope and he was only staving off the moment of acknowledgment.

Obediently Hester turned and led the way back, stopping at the entrance and allowing him to go in. He pulled the blanket back from the face and looked at Mary for only an instant before replacing it and stepping out again hastily.

“Yes, miss. Afraid you’re right. Poor lady’s passed over. I’ll go and tell the guard. You stay ‘ere, and don’t touch anything, understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Maybe you’d better sit down. We don’t want you fainting or anything.”

Hester was about to tell him she didn’t faint, and then changed her mind. Her knees were weak and she would be very glad to sit down again.

The compartment was cold and, in spite of the rattle and jolt of the train, seemed oddly silent. Mary lay on the seat opposite, no longer in the comfortable position in which she had gone to sleep, but half turned over as Hester had left her, and the conductor had seen her upturned face. It was ridiculous to think of comfort, but Hester had to restrain herself from going and trying to ease her back to a more natural position. She had liked Mary, right from the moment they had met. She had a vitality and candor which were uniquely appealing, and had already awoken in Hester something close to affection.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the guard. He was a small man with a heavy mustache and lugubrious eyes. There was a smudge of snuff on the front of his uniform jacket.

“Sad business,” he said dolefully. “Very sad. Fine lady, no doubt. Still, nothing to be done now to ‘elp ‘er, poor soul. Where was you takin’ ‘er?”

‘To meet her daughter and son-in-law,” Hester replied. “They will be at the station…”

“Oh dear, oh dear. Well, nothing else for it.” He shook his head. “We’ll let all the other passengers get orff, and we’ll send for the stationmaster. No doubt ‘e’H find this daughter. What’s ‘er name? D’ye know ‘er name, miss?”

“Mrs. Griselda Murdoch. Her husband is Mr. Connal Murdoch.”

“Very good. Well, I’m afraid the train is full, so I can’t offer you another compartment to sit in, I’m sorry. But we’ll be in London in another few moments. You just try to stay calm.” He turned to the conductor. “You got something as you can give this young lady, medicinal, like?”

The conductor’s bushy eyebrows shot up.

“Are you asking me if I got strong drink on me person, sir?”

“Of course I in’t,” the guard said smoothly. “That’d be agin company policy. But I just thought as yer might ‘ave had summirtk medicinal on yer, against the cold, or shock, or summink. For passengers, and the like.”

“Well…” The conductor looked at Hester’s wan face. “Well, I suppose I might be able to find something- like…”

“Good. You go and look, Jake, an’ if you can, you give tins poor soul a nip, right?”

“Yes sir! Right!”

And he was as good as his word. Having “found” the forbidden brandy, he gave Hester a brimming capful and then left her again, muttering unintelligibly about duty. It was a further quarter of an hour, during which she was shivering cold and feeling increasingly apprehensive, before the stationmaster appeared in the compartment entranceway. He had a bland, curious face, auburn hair and, at the present moment, a severe cold in the head.

“Now then, miss,” he said, and sneezed violently. “You’d better tell us exactly what happened to the poor lady. Who is she? And for that matter, who are you?”

““Her name is Mrs. Mary Farraline, from Edinburgh,” Hester replied. “I am Hester Latterly, employed to accompany her from Edinburgh to London in order to give her her medicine and see that she was comfortable.” It sounded hollow now, even absurd.