Midwinter Nightingale Read Online Free

this, Simon dug down to the very bottom of the bag andfound a velvet box lined with goose down and containing a diamond clip. The diamonds were magnificent ones, as big as peas.
    “No, really,” muttered Simon crossly. “This is too much. What do they take me for, a Hatton Garden salesman?”
    He perched the little box on a traveling anvil that stood nearby, then finished his search of the second bag, but found no more alien objects. The old attendant, who had been watching him for the past few minutes, nodded gloomily.
    “Arr, thee's got a bit of sense in thy noddle, young feller, simmingly! Customs gentry do be devilish keen to turn in a-plenty smuggled goods; don't they dig out any theirselves, they baint above planting a few gewgaws in folkses bags sos to claim finder's fee—” and he scowled at the brooch on the anvil.
    “So I see,” said Simon dryly, rather regretting the guinea he had given the little man earlier, and he went once more carefully through his luggage and pockets before walking along the platform to where the customs officials were waiting, with unconcealed impatience, behind a wooden counter.
    “Took your time, didn't you?” one of them grumbled. “Come on—pass over the bags—we haven't got all day”
    Simon saw a thin elderly woman struggling onto the train 'with several heavy bags. He guessed she was Jorinda's maid. She and Simon seemed to be the only passengers, unless other people had passed through thecustoms turnstile while he had been in the horse box. And what about Jorinda? Had she some special exemption? Or had she and the cat passed through before the maid and the luggage?
    The customs officers—two redheaded lantern-jawed men with hair cut so short it looked like rusty paint over their bald heads—seemed seriously displeased about something. They searched through Simon's belongings again and again, strewing his clothes about on the trestle table, poking suspiciously inside his paint pots, prodding a skewer through a cake of soap, spilling raisins on the station platform.
    “Hey!” Simon protested. “My things are getting all wet.”
    The men ignored him. “We was told, definite, they would be there,” one of them muttered to the other.
    “Go through the chap's pockets again.”
    They went through Simon's pockets; they made him take off his riding boots and delved inside. Finally— sourly and with great reluctance—they let him repack his scattered belongings and get back onto the train.
    By the time Simon finally returned to his own carriage, he found that the elderly woman was there with Jorinda, unpacking a hamper that contained a lavish picnic—game pie, simnel cake, roast chestnuts, crystallized grapes, ham patties, cheese, hard-boiled eggs and apples.
    The elderly woman, who was very sour-faced, threw Simon a glance of dislike, suspicion and warning. Thisdid not surprise him as much as the exceedingly warm welcome he received from the girl, who jumped up, gave him a radiant smile and looked as if, had they been alone, she would have flung her arms round him.
    “My lady! Sit down at once!” snapped the maid. “Young ladies don't rise when a male person comes in.
Never!”
    Jorinda blushed deeply; her eyes met Simon's in a deep, grave, sparkling look that filled him with embarrassment and discomfort. What has got into the girl? he wondered.
    “Oh, but he's my kind friend, Nurse Mara!” she said in an urgent, throbbing tone. “He saved me from a mouse!”
    “That was nothing at all,” Simon said quickly. “All I did was throw it out the window. Did you have any problems with the customs?” he added, feeling rather uncomfortable, as they were all three standing in the small space between the seats, and he would have liked to sit down and take out the roll he had brought for his lunch.
    Nurse Mara sniffed, as if she too thought rescue from a mouse nothing out of the common. “Your ladyship is just
silly
about mice,” she remarked, and repeated, “Sit down,