As Mouse and Thornwood approached the coffee cart, the vendor gave her a concerned look, and she blushed, all too aware of how haggard she looked. To combat the dark circles beneath her eyes,Mouse had selected her finest walking suit, with a burgundy jacket and matching pleated skirt. It was utilitarian, and clearly made during the war with its sensible pockets and wide lapels, but the shade was pretty and brought color to her cheeks. It was strange to wear something so rich, after weeks of worn work clothes.
She had hoped the color and flattering cut would hide how exhausted she was from Beckett’s penetrating gaze, but clearly it was not doing the trick.
She felt even more drab next to Thornwood’s unnatural handsomeness.
Mouse paid for two coffees, pressing one into Thornwood’s gloved hands while counting out her coins with the other. Another traveler tripped on an uneven dip between the platform and the station building, nearly spilling his cup on Mouse’s suit. She had to hop, holding the change out while balancing her cup. With a sigh, Thornwood took the coffee from her.
“Sorry, miss!” the man shouted over his shoulder before joining a group at the end of the platform.
She shelled out for a newspaper as well. The feel of the thin paper between her fingers grounded her in the mortal world for the first time in weeks.
A photograph of the prime minister was splattered across the front page, his hand held up to his chest. Mouse scoffed and flipped through the following pages but found nothing interesting. She supposed that the war had a way of making all other news seem dull.
“What is that?” Thornwood asked. Mouse jerked her head up. He used the rim of his empty coffee cup to point to something on the page. Mouse turned the paper around to find an advertisement for a Gilbert and Sullivan production.
“It’s an operetta.”
“An opera?”
“No, although we still have those. An operetta is a mix between a play and an opera. It looks like this theater is putting one on at the end of the month.”
“Isn’t it remarkable: so much about the world changes, yet also stays the same.”
“Have you seen any operas in your time?”
“Many. My mother had a passion for Purcell and Handel.”
“Ah, an admirer of the baroque style.”
Thornwood stared at her in surprise.
“I’ve seen my fair share of opera, even as a lowly gardener’s daughter. Bertie liked them. I wonder what you would think of Puccini,” Mouse said.
“I look forward to experiencing it.”
“Him. Puccini is a composer, not an opera.”
“Ah, yes.”
Mouse folded the paper and held it out to him. “Here. You may want to prepare yourself as best as you can before we get to London. It might be overwhelming after all this time in the countryside.”
“I was very accustomed to the city before my enchantment,” Thornwood said loftily, but he took the paper from her nonetheless. Mouse finished her coffee, returning the cups to the vendor.
The train approached, a blue engine coughing up smoke. Mouse straightened her hat. She pushed the pin in, tugging at the sides to ensure the whole thing would not come tumbling off in a gust from the oncoming train.
“Should I hold on to anything?” Thornwood asked, eyebrow raised.
“Just be careful of your hat. You won’t get it back if you lose it on the tracks.”
The train pulled in, billowing steam across the platform. When it cleared, Mouse saw that Thornwood was clutching his hat and the paper for dear life.
“Was that all?” he asked, belligerent. “I was expecting a storm.”
“Well, either way, you were more than prepared,” Mouse said. “Come on. They won’t wait for us forever.”
“It’s only just arrived,” Thornwood snapped. However, the platform was nearly empty of passengers, both embarking on and finishing their journeys. The conductor ushered them on board.
They found an empty compartment. The train was not an express, so there were quite a few stops on the way into London.