“Anything else, sir?” the clerk asked.

Neville shook his head. He didn’t intend to talk any more than necessary. Nods and head shakes weren’t ideal, but they were far better than losing his words. And he would lose them. The stress of the situation practically guaranteed it.

Crossing the platform, he made his way to the first-class railway carriage. It was a wood-paneled compartment with carpeted floors and upholstered seats. He sat down in one near the window.

Another gentleman boarded shortly thereafter, taking the window seat opposite. A well-to-do businessman by the look of him. He was carrying an attaché case not dissimilar to the one Tom carried.

He gave Neville a measuring look. “Afternoon, sir.”

“Afternoon.”

“Going to London?”

“To…to Cambridge.”

It seemed as though the gentleman wanted to continue the conversation, but before he could ask anything more, another gentleman boarded. He was an elderly fellow, with a middle-aged lady on his arm who might have been either his wife or his daughter.

“Beg pardon,” he said to Neville. “Mind if we change seats? The wife and I prefer sitting together.”

“Of c-course.” Neville stood, moving to an empty seat on the other side of the carriage.

It wasn’t a window seat.

Neville’s jaw tightened. There would be nothing to distract him now. Nothing to keep his attention and prevent him from drifting off in his head.

He cursed himself for not remembering to bring a book. He had done, but the two volumes Lady Helena had given him were out of reach, packed away inside of his trunk.

“Obliged to you, sir,” the lady said.

Neville inclined his head in acknowledgment. Folding his arms, he leaned back in his seat.

The gentleman beside him drew out a newspaper and opened it. He glanced at Neville. “Had a nephew who attended Cambridge.”

Neville didn’t reply. There was no need. Unprompted, the fellow launched into a lengthy monologue on university education—the expense and practical use of it. From there he progressed to the subject of his health.

Across from them, the elderly gentleman had fallen asleep with his mouth open. His wife had produced a bag of knitting and was busily winding a skein of yarn. She made soft sounds of sympathy as the fellow elaborated on his many and varied ailments.

Some sixty miles later, the fellow disembarked. Another thirty miles, and the elderly man and his wife did as well. They were replaced by a pair of aged, and rather fashionable spinsters, carrying a cat in a hamper.

The two ladies made no attempt to engage him, seeming content to talk to each other in hushed tones, punctuated by loud addresses to their cat. “Hush, Jemmy!” and “Don’t fuss so!”