Authors: Marty Wingate
Lost and Found:The Missing Year (1795) of the Journal of Archibald Menzies with Captain George Vancouver on the
Discovery
and the Authentication of Said Journal Through Tracing the Provenance of
Fuchsia coccinea
and Its Introduction into Cultivation by Way of Seeds Brought to Great Britain by Menzies, with a Contemporary Account by Sir Joseph Banks
“Where did the seeds come from?” Christopher asked.
“More from Banks—apparently Mr. Menzies acquired the seeds when they stopped in Rio de Janeiro on the return journey. Not long after, someone else took seeds to France, but we’ve got them beat.”
“Is this enough for you?” he asked. “You don’t want to continue writing scholarly journal articles?”
“It is mostly certainly enough,” Pru said, her itch to carry out research now thoroughly scratched. “Mr. Menzies and I are parting ways on the best of terms.”
The next morning, Christopher had shaved and showered by the time Pru turned over to find him out of bed. “Are you going somewhere?” she asked.
“I need to go to London,” he said, slipping wallet and phone into his pocket.
She sat up. “London? You can’t go to London—we’re getting married tomorrow.”
He leaned over to kiss her. “Just for the day—I’ll be back this evening. There’s something I need to take care of.”
“What do you need to take care of?” She was wide awake now.
He eyed her narrowly. “I can’t tell you—it’s a surprise.” Her silence was deafening, and after a moment he relented. “A wedding gift.”
“From whom?” she demanded and then it dawned. She covered her open mouth. “Oh, no—was I supposed to get you a wedding present?”
“For us,” he said, laughing. “It’s a wedding gift to both of us.”
She threw back the covers and stood up. “I’m going with you.”
“What? You can’t go—we’re getting married tomorrow.”
“Please don’t leave me here alone—I’d much rather be in London with you.”
He checked the time. “The flight leaves in an hour and a quarter.”
She stepped with him into the waiting taxi ten minutes later, and rang Jo on the way to the airport.
“You wouldn’t skip out on your own wedding, would you?” Jo asked. “The two of you elope and leave us drinking all this prosecco on our own?”
“Not a chance,” Pru said.
“Why don’t we spend the night and take the train back tomorrow?” she asked as they landed at London City Airport.
Christopher raised his eyebrows.
“We could take the train first thing in the morning,” she continued. “We’d be back hours and hours before the ceremony. Wouldn’t it be lovely?” The entire question—“Wouldn’t it be lovely to avoid any last-minute decisions Jo or Rosemary might force on me?”—was left unspoken but understood.
“All right.”
It was like having the honeymoon before the wedding. They ate a late breakfast at a café near the flat in Chiswick, after which Christopher went off on his mysterious business and Pru took a nap. In the afternoon, she made her way to St. James’s Park and sat on a bench, waiting for the pelicans to be fed.
She hoped he wasn’t getting her something extravagant. Maybe he was collecting her ring. She pulled a plain, slightly worn, wide gold band out of her bag. It would be her gift to Christopher—his wedding ring. At the beginning of the week, Lydia had arrived with it from Dallas—Pru had left her last few family mementoes with her best friend in Texas. She fingered it now, slipping it on her middle finger where it didn’t slide around as much. She put it back in her bag only a moment before Christopher appeared.
“Just where I thought I’d find you,” he said, sitting and taking her hand. They looked across to Duck Island where the geese, herons, and a flotilla of ducks made their way to the afternoon feeding. “It was a fair bit colder the first time we were here.”
She smiled at him and at the memory. They had strolled around the city on their first entire day together—after which Pru had tried to send him away and return to Dallas. Fortunately, clearer heads had prevailed.
They returned to the flat, and she shook out the summer dress she’d stuffed into her bag as they hurried out the door that morning. Sheer and long with enough skirt to swish and the warm yellow of English butter. Her wardrobe would take a decided downturn when she no longer had Agnes Murchie and her charity shop to lean on. Christopher eyed her with admiration, and then his glance fell on her feet.
“Are you allowed to wear those outdoors?”
Pru cast an eye on her heels. “It’s fine—it’s just for tonight. Don’t tell Jo,” she added.
They ate at Gasparetti’s, her old haunt. Riccardo couldn’t believe his eyes—“It has been far too long.” But their news brought a nod—“I knew it from the first time, didn’t I?” A bottle of Brunello appeared at their table, with Riccardo’s compliments and best wishes for a fine wedding and long life together.
Over bowls of pasta, Pru and Christopher fell into reliving the details of their relationship—all those tiny words and gestures that meant more than they knew at the time—and how the country fête where Christopher manned the Badger Care booth had most likely won her over. By the end of the meal, they’d settled into a silence thick with long looks and hints of smiles.
They stepped out on the pavement to a warm breeze—truly midsummer in London, although still on the cool side in Edinburgh. Christopher came up behind and put his arms around her, nestling his face into her hair. Pru’s chin trembled. A sob burst forth, followed by another, and Christopher leaned over and looked into her face. She sobbed again, but laughter overrode the tears.
She cupped his face in her hand. “I love you. I hope you’re ready for this,” she said, wiping her cheeks and sniffing through a leftover giggle.
His reply was a good long kiss, as they ignored the jostling elbows of passersby.
They sat apart in the cab and didn’t speak. Christopher’s fingertips barely touched hers, but she could feel the heat—really, she could. Pru slid her gaze over once or twice to meet his eyes. In the elevator up to his flat Pru stayed against the rail after Christopher’s nod up to the corner reminded her of the CCTV camera. She preceded him into the flat, standing in the hall by the kitchen. He closed the door, and when she turned, he backed her against the wall—gently, but with an insistence that took her breath away. They were half undressed when she pulled him into the front room; he went to close the blinds and she put her hand on his arm. “No,” she whispered, “don’t close them.”
And so they made love in full view of the building across the road. True, it was a building of offices, empty at that time of night, with the windows dark, but still, it was the principle of the thing.
When at last Pru shivered—from cold, this time—and pulled one of her shoes out from underneath her, they both laughed. “Let’s go to bed, shall we?” Christopher asked.
“Pru, look at the time,” Christopher said as he got out of bed and went out to the front room. “We said an early train.” He came back with trousers in one hand and jacket in the other.
“Yes, early. I’m ready, I’m ready,” she said, standing up and looking left and right.
“You’ll need clothes, won’t you?”
She’d brought next to nothing with her, so packing wasn’t a problem. They were on their way in short order.
“Saturday morning—at least the traffic is light,” Christopher said, leaning forward and looking at the road ahead.
“Bit of a hurry, is it?” the cabbie asked.
“We’re getting married today—in Edinburgh,” Pru said. Such a simple statement, and it made her head swim.
“Shouldn’t you be there by now?” he asked.
Pru swallowed the panic that shot up into her throat. “No, we have loads of time—and the wedding planners have everything under control. All we need to do,” she said, taking hold of Christopher’s hand, “is show up.”
She looked longingly over her shoulder at the Caffè Nero stand in King’s Cross as Christopher pulled her along to their train. Once seated, panting slightly, she leaned over him and peered down the aisle. “Do you think the trolley will be along soon? I could just do with a coffee and a roll.”
Christopher pulled her to him and gave her a squeeze as the train silently pulled out of the station. “Twelve hours from now, you’ll be my wife.”
She gasped. “We’re down to hours.” An incredible calmed flowed through her; she was at one with the universe. “At last.”
They sat in first class and were served a full English breakfast, but Pru found she’d lost her appetite in the excitement, and ended up pushing her eggs round, trimming the bacon, buttering toast, and eating very little of it.
The trays cleared, Pru pulled her phone out of her bag and set it on the table. “I’ll ring Jo in a minute. She thought we were crazy to spend the night, but it’s worked out.” Pru tucked her arm through Christopher’s and said, “Now, what were you up to yesterday? What is this surprise?”
His eyes shone, and he broke out in a smile. “Well, how would you like to—”
Her phone vibrated. “It’s Jo,” she said, barely able to keep the delight out of her voice. “I’ll let her know all’s well.” She answered with, “Good morning! We’re well on our way, so you don’t have to worry about anything. Four and a half hours, and we’ll arrive midday, in plenty of time. How is everything? How was the drive for Lucy and Cordelia with baby Oliver yesterday?”
“Pru…” Nothing, followed by a muffled voice that said, “Go on, tell her.”
“Jo? Are you there?”
“Pru, it’s Alan.” Jo sounded as if someone had her round the throat.
“Alan? What’s wrong? Is he ill?”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean ‘gone’?” Oh God, Alan had a heart attack, and it was all her fault for asking him to perform their wedding ceremony. Blood drained from her face as Christopher caught hold of her arm, his eyebrows raised in a question.
“
Gone!
” Jo shouted, her voice quivering with pain. “He walked out—again. Left this morning without a word. Lost his nerve and with no regard for anyone else involved, he’s just…” What began as a tirade drifted off into a wail.
“Gone,” Pru whispered to Christopher. It was the most sound she could make. “Jo, maybe he just…stepped out,” Pru said. “He’s at the shelter?”
The keening continued. Again in the background, a muffled voice followed by a ragged breath from Jo. Pru held the phone out so that Christopher could hear, too. “He was here with me last night. The concierge got him a taxi this morning—to Waverley for a London train. I’m sorry, Pru, I’m sorry that…”
“Don’t, Jo. It isn’t your fault,” Pru said as Christopher covered her hand. “Look, let me ring you right back. It’s going to be okay. We’ll take care of it, don’t worry.” Bravado, empty words—but it was all she could think to say. She rang off, and looked into Christopher’s eyes. “Waverley Station, train to London,” she repeated. “He couldn’t take it—it was too much for him. I pushed him too far.”
“No,” he said, gripping her hand. “Don’t take this on yourself—it’s Alan’s doing, not yours.”
No minister. No wedding. They sat in silence as the trolley rumbled by with another round of drinks. Pru thought of Alan, in a train rushing south toward London as they rushed north toward nothing.
“
No
.” Pru slammed her hand on the table, and all heads in the carriage turned their way. “Sorry,” she said, palms up. To Christopher, in a quiet but intense voice, she said, “I will not let this happen.” She scrambled for her phone and punched in a number. “Jo said he caught a London train. We’ll find him—and take him back to Edinburgh. He’s not getting away with this.” She saw the gleam in Christopher’s eye and that ghost of a smile. “Jo,” she said into the phone, “I need information.”
Jo was unintelligible, and so the phone was handed to Lucy. “Lucy—find out exactly when the taxi took Alan to the station. Can they trace the cabbie? Maybe Alan said something to him. We need to know which train he got on. Ring me back as soon as you can.”
The conductor, a black woman, made her way down the aisle, a massive amount of short braids sailing through the air as she turned her head from side to side, checking for tickets. Christopher stopped her and pulled out his warrant card. “Chloe,” he said, reading the name off her tag, “can you help us? We’re looking for a man who’s on a train from Edinburgh heading to London.”
Chloe examined Christopher’s warrant card carefully before handing it back to him. “Yes, sir—is he violent? An escapee?”
“No,” Pru said, “he’s the minister who’s supposed to be marrying us later today—in Edinburgh—and he’s gone…he’s taken off…he’s…”
“He’s done a bunk?” she asked, her eyes wide. “It isn’t often you hear of the vicar getting cold feet.”
Pru’s phone rang—Lucy was ready with all the facts the concierge had. Pru passed the details on to Christopher and the conductor: “He probably got to Waverley just after eight o’clock this morning.”
“Right,” Chloe said, and whipped out a device that seemed to be mobile phone, ticket machine, and system-wide train schedule all in one. “Let’s see where he might be.” They narrowed it down to two trains that left Edinburgh for London a half hour apart. But not every train stopped at every station. “I could send out an alert—they’d make an announcement on the train.”
“I doubt we’ll flush him out that way,” Pru said. “We need to get on both of those trains and search for him ourselves.” She looked at Christopher.
“If each of us could intercept one of the trains,” Christopher said, “and board it, we’d need to go carriage by carriage to search.”
“But we’d be in touch with each other,” Pru said, “and he couldn’t escape.”
“Once we find him, we’ll have to get off and back on a northbound train. Can you handle him on your own?” he asked Pru.
“You bet I can.” Adrenaline shot through her, and at that moment she could’ve jumped up and run after Alan’s train.
“Cor, you two are Holmes and Watson, you are,” Chloe said with a smile.
“Can you tell us where those trains are now?” Christopher asked. “Where could we meet them and board?”
Chloe had the answers from her magic device in half a minute.
They sat in silence waiting for the next stop, until Christopher said, “Hang on,” and went for his wallet, pulling out a handful of business cards that dropped onto the table in a scattered heap. From near the bottom, one of the cards shouted out in big red letters, “GOD BLESS YOU!”
Neither moved. “Yes,” Pru said at last. “Yes, ring Dugald and Sheena. Just to be on the safe side.”
The train approached the station in York, and Christopher grabbed the cards, his phone, and Pru, planting a quick kiss. “I love you,” he said. “We will be married today.” He got off, but stood on the platform and kept his eyes on her through the window until the train pulled out. He had almost an hour to wait for the first train from Edinburgh that Alan might be on. Pru gave him a brave smile and a tiny wave, and spent the next thirty minutes on the way to Durham perched on the edge of her seat.
Neither of them would have difficulty getting on the train, but Christopher would have an easier time of going carriage to carriage on a search, because he could wave his warrant card as police identification. Good thing his official leaving date was two weeks off, or he might not have had that power. Pru, on the other hand, would need to be more low-key, although Christopher had made a phone call and Chloe had radioed ahead to explain the situation, so train personnel should at least be aware of her.
When the train pulled into the station at Durham, she shot out the door like a cork, burning off a fraction of her pent-up energy by running down the platform and up the stairs that led to the arched walkway over the tracks, her feet clanging on the wrought-iron steps. She stood panting, waiting twenty minutes more for her train and planning the hunt—she would begin in first class, at the front of the train, and work her way back.
The train eased into the station, and she boarded, walking slowly down the aisle as if looking for just the right seat. She didn’t believe Alan would travel first-class, but you never knew. All evidence must be examined, all possibilities proven true or false.
A conductor taking tickets in the second car stopped her. “All right, there?” he asked. “Do you have a seat?”
“No, I’m looking for…a friend,” she said quietly. “I was on a train to Edinburgh, but I discovered that my friend got on a train to London, by accident—sort of—and so I got off my train and I’ve just boarded this one. I need to find him.” Pru’s face reddened the further she got into the convoluted explanation.
“The runaway vicar, is it?”
Pru saw several passengers peer over their newspapers.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Is it all right if I walk through? Here,” she said, reaching into her bag, “let me pay for my ticket.”
“No, now, you’ve enough to worry about. Off you go.” He nodded on down the aisle. “And good luck to you.”
As she headed for the end of the carriage, she heard him say, “Here it is her wedding day, and the vicar’s run off. Fancy that.” A female voice replied, “Poor dear. And where’s her groom in all this?”
In the third carriage, it occurred to her that Alan could be hiding in a toilet, but then she realized that was silly. He didn’t know they were looking for him, why would he hide?
A voice came over the train system.
“If Alan Howard is on board, please make yourself known to one of the train guards or a member of staff, either the trolley attendant or a conductor. Again, if Alan Howard is on board…”
Crap. Pru checked the time. Just gone eleven. Christopher would be on board his train. She had about twenty minutes before her next stop in York. If Alan was on board and she hadn’t found him by then, he’d have an opportunity to run for it.
The fourth carriage held a mix of businessmen on their phones, two young women chattering a mile a minute, a thin fellow in a T-shirt drinking Tennent’s out of a can, a jacket left to hold someone’s seat…
As she reached out to open the door and move to the next carriage, Pru thought, that’s a nice leather jacket to be leaving in a seat for someone to nick. She froze and then walked back to the row and looked closely. She could see the top of his head—his brown hair blended in with the brown leather. He’d done his best to disappear, sliding so far down in the seat that his knees were smashed up against the opposite side. Pru stood without speaking for a few moments, until he poked his head out, like a tortoise coming out of its shell, and spotted her.
“Pru,” he said, struggling into an upright position. “I thought it was the police—I didn’t think you’d come to find me.” He looked up at her and away. “I am a wretched human being. You’re better off without me. Leave me—let me run and hide.”
That did it. She sat down beside him. “Get a grip, Alan.” She plopped her bag on the table and pulled out her phone. “We’re getting off at York and catching the next train back to Edinburgh.”
His eyes grew wide. “No, Pru, I can’t take it. Don’t you understand?”
She shook a finger in his face and hissed, “You will not do this to us. You will not do this to Jo.” He backed off and bumped his head on the window. His face lost all color, and he swallowed hard. “Alan,” she said, softly this time, putting her hand on his arm, “you aren’t responsible for what happens after the wedding or the christening—you can’t sprinkle us with magic dust. It’s your job to send us off with good wishes and your blessing. We can take it from there.”
He nodded without speaking and patted her hand. After a moment, he said, “I wanted everything to be perfect. For you and Christopher. For Jo. My Jo—seeing her again, being with her. I’m not good enough for her—for any of you. I’m sorry I ran off and spoiled your wedding day.”
“Nonsense,” Pru said, “you haven’t spoiled anything. We have plenty of time to get back.”
“Where is Christopher?” Alan asked, glancing at the door of the carriage.
“He’s on another train looking for you,” she said, phone to her ear. Christopher answered on the first ring.
“Have you got him?”
“Yes, Alan is here with me.” She spoke in a soothing tone, sensing Alan’s mood remained skittish. “We’ll get off in York and stay there until you can catch up.”
“Pru,” Alan said, “shall I get us a cup of tea?” Color had returned to his face, and almost a spark of life in his eyes. Pru wondered how many toilets there were on the train and how long it would take to search them.
“We’ll wait for the trolley, Alan.”
“When you arrive in York,” Christopher said, “take the next train to Edinburgh. This train doesn’t stop again until we arrive at King’s Cross.”
“London? But,” she said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice, “if you have to start all over again, you’ll be late.”
“I won’t take a train. I’ll go directly to the airport.” She didn’t reply, and he added, “I’ll make it in plenty of time.”
“Alan is very sorry for what he’s done,” Pru said, with a hard look at her traveling companion. “He knows I’m going to stay by his side until we get to Edinburgh.”
Alan sighed, stared out the window, and said, “I used to quite enjoy weddings.”
Pru shifted the phone away from her mouth, and said, “You’ll enjoy this one, or you’ll have me to answer to.”
Christopher chuckled. “Is that my bride giving orders?”
Yes, she thought, so it was. “Your bride has found her voice at last.” She turned away from Alan and spoke quietly into the phone. “It’ll be all right, won’t it? We can still do this?”
“You’re not getting out of marrying me this easily,” he said. She opened her mouth to ask him about Dugald and Sheena, but thought better of it. Why let Alan know there was a way out?
She and Alan sat without speaking, watching the world go by. Pru rummaged around in the corners of her mind, hoping to uncover the wedding-day glow she’d had that morning. She thought about the hours ahead, changing at York and heading north again. They should arrive in Edinburgh by midafternoon. She would ring Jo once they were settled in the right direction.
After a few minutes, Alan said, “Pru, I need to use the toilet.”
“Tie a knot in it, Alan.”