Beside the passenger car, Lady Georgiana drew me in for a last hug, and then I turned toward Lord Malcolm, who handed me the closed bustle basket which held a meowing Pigeon. I would be able to strap the basket to myself each time I disembarked along my journey, but it had been nestled between my feet in the carriage.
“You’ll be in our prayers. Be sure to write Lady Georgina every now and then. She will certainly be anxious to hear how you fair, and she loves correspondence.”
I nodded, struggling to meet his brown eyes. Despite my weeks at Birmingham Hall and the kindness of this giant of a man, I was still awed a member of the peerage had taken me in.
“I am so grateful,” I whispered and paused to keep my tears at bay with a swallow, “for everything. For rescuing me, for finding chores for me to do until I was in a better frame of mind. For this darling creature.” I lifted the basket gently. “And for the chatelaine. I will always treasure it.”
“May it one day become a legacy to pass down to a daughter and granddaughter. You will have many opportunities in London with the Spurgeons as your benefactors. Allow yourself to open your heart to joy.”
I nodded, and then carefully climbed the steps into the railcar.
The porter whom Lord Malcolm had given my carpet bag placed it under a seat and motioned for me to be seated. “His grace purchased an extra seat for your cat so you might transport it. However, I am afraid you must keep the basket closed for the duration of the trip.”
“No matter how he howls, I won’t let him out, you can be certain. I would hate for my kitten to fall into danger if he were to escape. He’s very spoiled, however. I hope he won’t be a bother if he is vocal all the way to London.”
“He’ll hardly be heard over the sound of the track. Have a pleasant journey,” the young man called over his shoulder as he went to help another passenger.
This wasn’t my first journey via a locomotive as my former employer had often sent me to deliver and retrieve boarding students from their homes during the holidays. My insistence I could navigate the railway quite well had finally convinced Lord Malcolm and Lady Georgina not to provide an escort who would only have to find her way back to Durham on her own. But facing a journey is entirely different this time. I seem to have lost my courage, I brooded. Will I always have this feeling of impending doom? Has the Calamity forever changed me?
My fear seemed to escalate as the car became crowded with travelers. Furthermore, Pigeon’s meows and his thumping against the sides of the basket were breaking my heart. After several miles of his relentless cries, I untied the bow holding one of the double lids down and slipped my hand inside. Pigeon’s small head rubbed against my fingers, and I felt his coarse lick on my wrist. For a moment, it seemed as though he would calm down as I stroked his fur. But then the train’s whistle as we approached a junction must have reminded him there was now a possibility of escape. He stuck his head and front paws over the edge and sunk his claws into the outside of the basket.
As I was trying to unfix his claws and nudge him back inside, a woman who had carted her small son to the ladies’ closet a few minutes prior made her way back to her seat. The child was squirming in her arms much like a Pigeon had been writhing in the basket.
“Kitty!” The boy shrieked and lunged for the basket, knocking it off the seat as Pigeon made his escape. The mother grabbed onto the back of a nearby seat to keep from falling as the car rumbled and shook over the tracks, and I had duck under her arm in a most unbecoming fashion to try to chase my precious kitten.
The woman sat down where Pigeon’s basket had been and began scolding the boy, who was most likely three years of age or younger. In desperation, I was now on my hands and knees peering under seats and between legs. Twice I came close to nabbing the tiny scamp, and he darted away.
“Madam. Madam, please. Let me assist you.” I thought it was the porter who would surely scold me after his warning earlier, but I was too distressed to care. My fear there would be openings in the car through which Pigeon could squeeze, crippled me. Then, I felt a large hand on my elbow and a gentle pressure guided me back onto my feet. Tears steaming down my face, I looked up at the man who was keeping me from finding my beloved Pigeon. He was a tall man, not as tall as Lord Malcolm of course, but he seemed to tower over me. He had dark hair and eyes of that light blue that one rarely sees, like the color of a faded chicory flower.
He drew me toward him, much like I’d seen the eldest of Lady Georgina’s adopted son engulf little Henry in brotherly comfort. “Hush now. I have enough experience with animals to know they never come to you when chased. Sit in your seat and let’s propose some bait.”
Embarrassed, I drew away. What a spectacle I’d been making. “I should have thought of that myself,” I sniffled. “I have some dried meat wrapped in paper I had planned to give him during a stop.” By this time, the mother and her son reunited with the rest of their family in the front of the car, and the mother was still sputtering at her son. I sat down in my own seat and began opening the small reticule I had carried onto the train.
Astonishingly, the gentleman took the seat beside me. “Four hands will be better than two to catch the little rascal,” he murmured with a smile.
Minutes passed by with no sign of the kitten, and all the while I was begging God to intervene with Pigeon once again, in between berating myself for my foolishness in bringing him on the journey. The gentleman sat with his legs extended into the aisle and his back to me, and the piece of meat was on the floor between us.
Some passengers were glaring, but most looked at me in pity. I’m not certain if they felt sorry I’d lost the kitten, or if they pitied me for being deranged.
The train drew to a stop at Wetherby, and I was sure that pigeon would follow passengers from the door, but the gentleman prompted me to stay in my seat. “I don’t have much experience when it comes to being a kitten,” he smiled into my eyes, “but I would think the click and clicks and roars would be quite frightening. Let’s see if he will come to you once things quiet down. If I remember correctly, there is a half an hour respite here on York Road.”
I nodded. But I stood on my tiptoes to see what I could of the exit.
“Scripture says to cast all our care upon Him; for He careth for you. I can tell you care deeply for your little friend. I’ve been praying he will make his appearance. But I have also been praying that if it be God’s will your kitten does not, you will seek our Heavenly Father for comfort.”
I felt such shame. I was not worthy of receiving comfort if Pigeon was indeed gone, when there were families who had lost so many children in Victoria Hall. I should have been praying for the fathers and mother and sisters and brothers in mourning, and not wasting this man’s prayer on a cat. “I don’t deserve comfort,” I mumbled more to myself than to him.
But he heard me. “None of us deserve any good thing, wretches that we are. But God in His love has mercy on us regardless of merit.”
“Are you a reverend?” This man was as kind as Lord Malcolm, but he brought spiritual things far more often. For some reason that shocked me. I suppose it was because I considered him quite dapper despite his clothes being plain.
“In training.” He looked embarrassed. I wondered if was because he was older than most in a seminary. At least I supposed he was.
The car was quiet after that, with mostly everyone taking advantage of the lull to stretch their legs. Still no Pigeon.
“You should take advantage of this time to get some air,” I whispered. “I will be alright. I know my behavior bordered on hysteria, but I have survived much worse than losing a kitten.”
“Be still.” He held a finger to his lips. “I see a furry little face peeking out from behind a bag.”
Sure enough, Pigeon creeped toward us and was soon nibbling on the beef. I promptly scooped him up and into his basket, along with the bait.
“All is well.” The gentleman’s smile was quite lovely, his lips forming a gentle arc that somehow complemented his light eyes. “I hope the rest of your journey is peaceful.” He nodded and then returned to his seat somewhere behind me.
The next time the train stopped, it was time for me alight and face the lengthy lull before my exchange to another train. I walked around the edge of the Peterborough station trying to distance myself from the crowd, carrying my carpet bag in one hand, with my reticule hanging from my shoulder and the bustle basket holding my kitten strapped around my waist. As the crowd dispersed, I found a quiet area at the end of the station platform, blessedly quiet and somewhat barricaded by piles of luggage. I made a further barrier with my carpet bag and then settled beside it, grateful the traveling gown Lady Georgina had given me wouldn’t show dust or grime. I unwrapped the glass bottle of water I’d protected with brown paper, and then did the same with the small clay bowl. I added some water to the bowl.
It was awkward, but I reached into Pigeon’s basket and gripped the back of his neck much a mother cat would, then carefully removed the paper he had done his business on and replaced it with paper from my bag. Still holding him by the scruff, I put the bowl under his nose. Of course, he tried to squirm from my fingers, but he soon gave up and started flicking his tiny pink tongue in the water.
“Kitty!” Oh dear. At first, I thought it was the same little boy from the train who had caused such havoc. “May I hold the kitty?” No, this voice was much more mannerly. I turned to see a girl, about five or six, very thin, with dirty clothes and matted hair.
“He’s already gotten loose once on my journey, so I daren’t let him go. But once he is done drinking, you may pet him.”
As she squatted beside me, I had to hold back a gasp. Her loose dress hung down low around the neckline. I was horrified to see marks on her back, as though someone had taken a switch to her back hard enough to draw blood. Oh, how I wished I could carry her off to London with me. Immediately my mind was racing through the logistics of giving her the extra seat Lord Malcolm had arranged so I could bring Pigeon with me without issue. No, I couldn’t brave being imprisoned for seven years should someone care enough to hire investigators. Furthermore, if Peelers were to arrive at the Spurgeons’ home to arrest me, what might that do to their ministry?
It appeared the only thing I could do for the poor little mite was offer her a portion of Pigeon’s dried beef and split my own meal of cheese and bread with her — which I proceeded to do after my kitten was safely contained in his basket with the lid tied shut.
“What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Eunice Martin,” she declared proudly between chews of the tough meat. `
After we had finished eating, I pulled the watchchain of my chatelain to look at the time. I had another quarter of an hour.
“So pretty,” Eunice breathed, and reached out a grimy finger to trace the intricate gold design and then bounced her fingertip from pearl to pearl.
“Where do you live, sweet girl?” I asked. “Do your parents know where you are?”
“I wait for them here. They are coming home any day.”
A porter came then and started loading trunks onto a cart before he noticed my new little friend. “Eunice Martin!” he barked. “You better get home to your uncle before he comes looking for you again.”
“Don’t tell, Peter, okay? I’m just going to hide and wait for my parents.” Before she could scamper off, the porter grabbed her arm.
“You know your parents aren’t coming back Eunice. I don’t want to see you get another whipping from your uncle.” He wasn’t trying to harm her with his grasp by any means. In fact, he seemed very concerned.
As Eunice began to struggle out of his grip, the kind gentleman who helped me with Pigeon on the train rounded the pile luggage. “What is going on here?”
“She’s an orphan who keeps running away. Her uncle beats her bloody every time he has to come get her, but she never learns. She keeps this up, he’s bound to send her to the workhouse as he’s been threatening.”
I came to stand beside the gentleman. “She has stripes on her back from where she’s been whipped,” I whispered. “I wish there was a way to take her to London with me. I have an extra seat booked for Pigeon’s basket.” Somehow, I hoped he would say something that would give me the confidence to abscond with the child. That he’d give me permission somehow.
Instead, he announced, “I’ll see the child home.”
“No!” the child wailed, as the gentleman took her hand. “I can’t go back. Please! Please, sir.”
“Hush, child. I will speak with your uncle. All will be well.”
She quieted quickly, as though his deep, compassionate voice was as calming to her as it had been to me.
The porter gave him directions and then after a nod in my direction, he took Eunice by the hand and led her along the train tracks.
Please, Lord God, please protect that little girl. Let her be loved and nurtured, not beaten and neglected, I prayed as I watched them walk slowly down the street into Petersborough.
Then I gathered my belongings and got into the queue waiting for the transportation to London to arrive. It was hard knowing I would never discover what happened to poor Eunice. Or ever meet the handsome minister-in-training again.
The next portion of Ivy’s story is the one I’ve been waiting for! If you haven’t subscribed to my newsletter, please do so now so you can meet a man of God who brought light to so many in Victorian London. https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/k2a9n1
“Ivy Meets the Spurgeons”
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