The Transatlantic Conspiracy by G. D. Falksen Read Free Book Online Page B

was lying; this was Cecily’s polite way of telling her she was being boring.
    Alix, still standing, removed her brochure from her handbag. “I do not mean to interrupt, but I believe we should visit the arboreal car before we adjourn to our staterooms to change for the evening.”
    â€œArboreal car? They have an arboreal car?” Cecily paused. “What’s an arboreal car?”
    â€œIt’s an indoor park,” Rosalind explained. “Trees and flowers and shrubbery, that sort of thing. And the lights make it look like it’s the correct time of day, or so I was told.”
    â€œOooh,” Cecily replied. She stood and peered at the brochure over Alix’s shoulder. “It has a rose garden.”
    â€œYes, I know,” Rosalind murmured.
    â€œWe simply must see it before it is overrun by the teeming masses.”
    â€œCecily,” Rosalind said softly, “I know that you would like to go exploring, but we really ought to ask a porter to help us find Charles. At the very least we should ask for his room number, so we can send him a message telling him we’re here. He must be worried to distraction about you.”
    â€œDon’t be absurd,” Cecily told her. “Charles doesn’t worry about anything.”
    â€œHe worries about you ,” Rosalind said, ever more certain that the siblings had had some sort of argument at the station. But then again, Rosalind hadn’t seen any such argument . . .
    â€œThey have a library!” Alix announced.
    â€œOh, Alix,” Cecily said, “you sound just like Rose.” She looked at Rosalind and teased, “You’ve only just met her and already you’re a bad influence.”
    Rosalind remained silent. Cecily insisted on being evasive? Fine. If the de Veres were having an argument, they would avoid each other for a little while, then they would make up and all would be back to normal. Rosalind had seen it happen before. Perhaps he was avoiding them as well. The best thing to do, Rosalind concluded, was to explore First Class as thoroughly as possible in the hopes of crossing paths with him.
    â€œYou know, Cecily,” she said, “you are absolutely right. We should explore. We should take advantage of this wondrous train.”
    Cecily grinned. She raised her finger into the air and exclaimed, “Marvelous. To the rose garden!”
    Rosalind exchanged a glance with Alix. They nodded to each other. Then they both looked at Cecily.
    â€œTo the library,” they replied in unison.
    â€¢â€¢â€¢
    Rosalind had seen the “libraries” on some of her father’s other trains—small, stuffy rooms packed with a tiny collection of crumbling books nobody wanted to read. This library was the size of an entire car, with a fine selection of books and several comfortable chairs to read in. It was at the rear of the First Class section of the train, rather near to the arboreal car, as luck would have it.
    Along the way, they passed back through the sleeper cars, with Rosalind keeping a wary eye out for Charles the entire time. Car after car after car . . . A First Class fraction of one hundred passengers did not seem like a great number—certainly not when compared with the number typically onboard a ship—but on a train it appeared to demand an endless amount of space.
    And beyond the sleeper cars were various amenities: parlors, an art gallery, a concert hall (where a pianist played at all times), and of course a smoking room, open only to men. (They could have it, though; Rosalind hated the smell of tobacco.) At every open door, she peeked in and made a quick search for Charles, and every time she was disappointed.
    The library car was quiet and dark and lined floor-to-ceiling with bookshelves. There were high-backed armchairs and a couple of tables for reading, although the librarian on duty had a ledger on his desk: passengers could sign out books. Again, there was