The Pearl in the Ice

the countryside. Perhaps she could walk as far as Edward’s school. The thrilling seafaring tale her father had written for her, which told of a lonely mariner pursued by a kraken, was stuffed on top of these comfortable, practical clothes. She pulled the drawstring tight and heaved the bag on to her shoulder.
She dutifully allowed Ivy to hug her and tell her how smart she looked, and how her ‘dear mother would be so proud’. And then, moments later, still chewing on her crust of bread, she was outside on the pavement with her trunk. She and Edward were to be driven to the train station by Mr Mount’s chauffeur. They were to take the same train; Edward’s school in the forest was the stop before Marina’s sorry lady-making destination.
‘You look a total idiot,’ Edward said, good-naturedly. He tipped her boater off her head on to the paving stones. Marina wanted to jump on it. She eyed Edward’s loose cotton shirt and corduroy trousers with envy.
‘Everything I wear itches,’ she muttered, bending over to scratch that patch of skin on her foot.
Mr Mount appeared. Edward’s father was a short, stout man with thinning blond hair and a boyish face. He wore a crumpled linen suit, no waistcoat, and, instead of the more commonplace tie and starched collar worn by men of his age and class, he had knotted a flowered silk scarf around his neck. This declared he did not work in a bank or a government department but that he was an artist – a good one, apparently; certainly his paintings sold for enough to pay for his large house, cook, maid and nanny, as well as the new motor carriage and chauffeur.
Marina wiped her hand on her skirt before shaking his hand. ‘Good morning, sir,’ she mumbled.
‘Now, now, none of that “sir” nonsense!’ He beamed. ‘Why not call me Jonty?’
‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly,’ Marina’s eyes widened.
Edward laughed at her shocked expression. ‘Because of what your father would say?’
Marina nodded.
‘Don’t expect he’ll hear you,’ Mr Mount said. ‘Go on! Try it!’ He winked at her.
‘Good morning . . .’ Marina felt her cheeks get hot. ‘Er . . . Jonty.’
‘There! You’ve done it!’ He called to the chauffeur. ‘Stryde! Get these trunks loaded!’
The man touched his cap and heaved the luggage into the open boot.
Mr Mount checked his watch as they climbed into the back of the motor carriage. ‘Plenty of time, plenty of time,’ he muttered to himself.
‘Stryde likes to let the engine run before we get going,’ Edward explained. ‘He says it clears out the pipes. We can be sitting here for ten minutes if he thinks there’s too much dust.’
‘No need to panic just yet.’ Mr Mount looked anxious. ‘Edward. Have you brought your sandwiches? And the cake your mother made at midnight when she was so restless? She wouldn’t give any to me! Said you’d be hungry on the train. I was hungry last night! Oh, I remember when I was your age I was hungry all the time. Didn’t matter how much I ate. Pudding. Potatoes. Seconds of everything. Thirds if I could. Cleaned my plate. And still I wanted more! And I was thin as a pin! Can you believe it?’ He patted his stomach and smiled. ‘Ah. Youth.’
Marina thought that she would happily give up eating seconds of Ivy’s lumpy mashed potato to be a grown-up and able to do as she wanted, but felt that she probably shouldn’t say anything.
The engine noise increased and the motor car moved forward. This was the life! How modern. How new. If only she were going to Portsmouth instead of to the hated Havering Ladies’ College. She looked out of the window at the stucco houses, as large as battleships. What would she give to be on the Neptune with her father.
The moment the motor carriage drew up at Waterloo, Mr Mount’s attention was taken up by bellowing for a porter to get the luggage into the station. ‘That’s right, my good man!’ he cried. ‘We’re in a dashed hurry, so no messing about.’
The concourse was a baffling churn of people. ‘Wait here while I get the tickets,’ Mr Mount boomed. ‘Edward, see the porter doesn’t wander off. Those trunks need to stay right here for now. And you’d better look at the board and find the platform for the Winchester train. It won’t be long! It’s due to leave in seven minutes. Seven minutes!’ he tutted as he hurried away.
A group of soldiers walked past, laughing. ‘You? Brave?’ one of them jeered at the youngest, a sleepy-eyed young man. ‘You’d run away from yer own shadow!’
The young man’s cheeks flamed. ‘I’ll stand and fight,’ he muttered to himself. ‘You see if I don’t!’
‘Gawd ’elp us.’ An old man with grey whiskers took off his hat and scratched his head. ‘If that’s all that’s saving us from the Mordavians!’
‘Platform seven.’ Edward scanned the departures board. ‘Leaves in five minutes. Here’s father with the tickets.’
Mr Mount hurried them on to the platform and explained to the porter where he was to take the trunks. He gave the man a sixpence, patted Edward on the shoulder, but then, overcome with emotion, pulled him in for a hug.
Edward pushed him away. ‘Stop it!’
‘I can’t help it! I’ll miss you, Edward. I’m going back to a house full of women! Who will protect me from all that endless female chatter? I’ll need a box of wax earplugs!’
Marina thought this monstrously unfair and was about to speak up – tell Mr Mount that she had never heard him say anything remotely interesting himself – but then remembered that Ivy had told her to thank him for taking her to the station.
‘I’ve got to go!’ Edward stepped back.
‘All right, all right. You go. The train is there. The trunks are being loaded. Nothing can go wrong now!’ Mr Mount dabbed his eyes with a large handkerchief.
‘Embarrassing or what?’ Edward muttered, walking quickly away. ‘I do wish he wouldn’t do that. Did you see those soldiers