Ongoing

By the time Belfast No. 1 rolled beneath the vaulted iron-and-glass canopy of Helmarte Central, the station clocks were chiming eight in the evening.

The locomotive entered the quiet siding with deliberate grace.

CHUFF... CHUFF... CHUFF...

Steam curled lazily around the polished driving wheels, and compressed-air brake shoes bit into steel with a soft, descending hiss.

SSSSSSSSHHHH!

The train eased to an absolute halt.

Eleanor remained soundly asleep beside him.

Ernest looked through the carriage window. Outside on the platform, the private train crew waited by the lantern posts. The head conductor glanced through the glass, caught sight of Lady Eleanor resting her head against the Chairman's shoulder, and immediately rotated on his heel with exemplary professional tact.

Ernest mentally commended the man's discretion.