Free The Dark Between by Sonia Gensler

with a concerned young gentleman.” The boy gestured for Asher to sit next to him. “Now,” he said in a low, confidential tone, “the lady did come by, and she did speak to me. In fact, she asked if I’d seen the tram. She was afraid she’d missed it.”
    “What tram is that?”
    “The one that runs from Christ’s College to the railway station.” He pointed toward the cross street. “It creeps alongRegent and I has a good view of it from here. I see a great deal whiles I wait to help gentlemen like you with their bags.”
    Asher thought for a moment. “So you think she was heading to the railway station?”
    “She didn’t say, sir, but I can’t think why else she’d take that tram. There’s an eleven o’clock to London that’s very popular with our patrons.”
    “Eleven, you say?” Asher looked at his watch. “Do you think I could make it in time by foot?”
    “You’d have to take it at a gallop, sir, though I suppose ’tis possible—”
    But Asher had leapt off the steps before the boy could finish.

Chapter 9
    E lsie secured a seat to herself by spreading out her belongings and casting a sour stare at anyone who dared look her way. Alas, there was no escape from the noise and stench. Children squawked and wailed until her temples throbbed and she longed for a drop of the dose.
    Before her accident she’d traveled often with her family, and in those days she always looked forward to riding the train. She loved how the lushly upholstered walls and seats, the curtained windows and gaslight sconces, transformed the compartment into a miniature sitting room. When her brothers allowed her the window seat, she sat mesmerized as the sheep-speckled countryside rolled past.
    Until today, however, she had never traveled third class.
    To pass the time she checked and rechecked the contents of her bag, jumping in her seat when the guard banged through the carriage door and called for tickets. She retrieved hers and returned the bulging bag to the seat.
    The man stared as he reached for her ticket. His yellowish-white whiskers hung from either side of his mouth like the tusks of a walrus. “Is everything all right, miss?”
    “Yes, of course.” She averted her gaze.
    After an eternity of fumbling with the ticket, he handed it back and moved on. Her bag had tipped over, so she pulled it and the camera into her lap and clasped their comforting bulk to ease the trembling in her hands.
    An hour later she breathed a sigh of relief as the train finally rumbled into King’s Cross Station. Leaving her parasol behind— he would think it gaudy—she pushed her way through the horde that spilled out of the crowded carriage. It didn’t occur to her to be afraid of the station. She dissolved into a nervous wreck in the schoolroom or at social gatherings, always hating the inevitable moment when all eyes were upon her, but teeming train stations did not fluster her in the least. Blending into a crowd was liberating.
    Elsie fought the tide of third-class passengers to find the porters, knowing they would cluster near the first-class cars. She caught the eye of one young man in uniform and, offering her most dazzling smile, asked him to direct her to the nearest cabstand. He readily obliged, but his cheerful sincerity deflated when she failed to pass him a coin.
    She little cared whom she offended, for she was too eager for the first glimpse of him . Elsie had no doubt he would be at the museum. He had loved to recount the days before he came to Peverel Place, when he’d spent his hours sketching and painting in the galleries. Before her father had sent him away, he’d told her she would find him there, should she come to London.
    She jostled through the crowds, undaunted by stiff shoulders and aggressive elbows, until finally she made her way to the street. The sky was low and dark—the air choked with coal smoke even in August—but at least it did not rain. For a moment she considered walking the distance to the