I thought of my friend Dory, who had rescued me off the streets and seen to it that I had a home, even though it was not the sort of home others might approve of. Still, she was there when no one else was, and she was only a handful of years older than me at the time, maid to the ladies who worked there.
She had protected me. When Madame informed her that she had to go to work with the rest of the ladies, Dory made certain that I became the new maid for them, still protecting me.
All these years later after I left, we had exchanged letters with the assistance of someone, another friend perhaps, who could read and write, as she could not.
Dory knew my determination to find my family and had agreed to help when I returned. Then, her last letter spoke of something she was able to learn.
“I found where Madame Antoinette has been working since we left The Church.She remembered a name that could be helpful.”
After all the past years!
That letter had arrived two weeks earlier. I had sent an immediate response, then made my plans to return.
The sound of excited chatter pulled me from my thoughts as my fellow passengers arrived.
“Oh!” the young girl exclaimed with surprise as she entered the compartment. “Good mornin’!”
“Good morning,” I replied as we were joined by a man and woman, who appeared to be her parents, the three travel companions the rail clerk had spoken of.
The girl, no more than fourteen years, introduced herself with a shy smile. Her name was Sarah Gilmartin.
The man wore a dark suit of clothes with an overcoat and bowler hat. His wife wore a grey gown with a coat over, while the girl was dressed in a high-necked dress with a coat as well, the skirt reaching just to the tops of her boots, and a brimmed felt hat with satin ribbons.
Sarah had brown hair beneath the brim of the hat, with inquisitive brown eyes in spite of her initial shyness.
Her father introduced himself and his wife, John and Amelia Gilmartin.
“Are ye going to Edinburgh by yerself?” Sarah inquired with that unmistakable Scots accent.
“Yes.” I then added that I was meeting a friend there.
Her father was a professor at the University of Edinburgh. They were returning from a visit with her grandmother.
“Are ye keeping a diary?” Sarah asked with curiosity as she saw my notebook that lay unopened on the seat beside my travel bag.
I replied that I made notes when I travelled.
She frowned. “I’ve only travelled as far as London to visit me grandmother.” The smile returned. “I would like to travel one day. I’ve read about so many fascinating places.”
As her shyness disappeared, she struck up a lively conversation as the train departed the rail station.
She had a private tutor, she revealed, making a face and leaning in as if sharing a secret.
“He’s old and smells bad.”
“He’s very highly regarded,” her father reminded her, with some effort to hide his amusement at her description.
“Next year you might be able to go to Paris, to finish,” her mother added. “And then study at the university.”
It seemed that she had aspirations of becoming a physician, a profession not usually open to a young woman.
“Have ye been to Paris?” Sarah asked.
I had not, I replied.
I had chosen to work the past two years with Miss Mikaela and Mr. Brodie when at my studies. Much to Miss Mikaela’s initial disapproval. Mr. Brodie had persuaded her otherwise.
As midday approached, a rail attendant arrived to inform us there would be an extended stop in York for those aboard the train who had not brought lunch with them, to take lunch near the rail station.
