Hell Train Read Online Free PDF

you’ll find is a blackened pile of rubble.’
    Nicholas moved swiftly on.
    Eventually the street gave way to a leafy lane, and it seemed he was about to run out of houses when he arrived at a picturesque local inn with a well and a cobbled coaching yard.
    Nicholas glanced up at the inn sign, which showed a fiery crimson steam train with devil’s horns sprouting from its tank. It was running over the severed body of a naked woman tied on the tracks. Using the dictionary in his guidebook, it appeared the inn’s name was best translated as ‘The Tormented Virgin,’ although the wording probably meant something far worse.
    Charming, he thought. There seemed to be nowhere else open, so Nicholas headed in through the low porch. He stopped in the doorway and surveyed the busy tavern. With depressing predictability, the locals—all men—immediately ceased their prattling and turned to study him. A couple of them snickered at his outfit. Somebody farted insolently. Determined to remain undaunted, he approached the bar.
    ‘Good evening, landlord. I am in great need of a gin and Italian, please. With plenty of ice.’
    The landlord was boozy-nosed, bucolic and rotund, with wild sideburns and a face like a bulldog chewing a nettle. Without bothering to reply, he pulled a cloudy, frothy pint of ale and slopped the pewter tankard in front of Nicholas. To be polite, Nicholas took a sip. It tasted as if a rabid dog had broken wind in it. He quickly set it back down.
    ‘I need a room for the night. A clean one, if you have such a thing.’
    The landlord was clearly displeased, but his natural parsimony prevented him from turning away a customer, even one from the city. ‘Englishman, you are no friend to us. You cannot stay here long.’
    ‘I’m not asking you to hide me. I’m not ashamed of being English.’
    Without removing his eyes from Nicholas, the landlord called over his shoulder. ‘Isabella!’
    The landlord’s daughter—for there was a mercifully faint resemblance within the eyes—appeared in the doorway behind the bar. Nicholas found himself looking at the firm-legged beauty on the bicycle. Too young, too pert and far too innocent, but what a challenge! Perhaps, he thought, she might prove to be sport for a city gentleman craving a little excitement on what had otherwise been a ghastly journey.
    ‘Yes, father?’ She briefly caught his attention, but did not smile. She looked as if she had never had much of a reason to smile, and yet she had eyes as hopeful as sunrises.
    ‘Where have you been? Show this gentleman a room.’ He turned back to Nicholas. ‘If the soldiers ask for you, I will tell them you are here.’
    Pushing up the counter top with a strong, tanned arm, Isabella stepped back. ‘Follow me, please.’
    The room was sparsely furnished, but clean enough. There were blurry photographs of sturdy men posing before train sheds on the walls, but fresh gardenias stood in a vase beside a white china jug and water bowl. Nicholas dropped his bag on the bed and tested the mattress, only to realize that it was stuffed with straw and was likely to give him the worst night’s sleep of his life.
    ‘Please excuse the room,’ Isabella ventured in perfect English.
    ‘You speak our language beautifully.’
    ‘Our schoolteacher was English.’
    ‘Excellent. I hope he continues to teach you.’
    ‘No, he was shot.’
    ‘We’re not all bad, you know. I’m Nicholas.’
    ‘I am Isabella. We have very few visitors here.’
    ‘Well, you’re not exactly near anywhere important, are you? I’m amazed anyone finds this place. I’m not supposed to be here. There was a problem with my train home. I’m from London.’
    ‘London.’ She tried the sound in her mouth, savouring the word.
    ‘It’s the most exciting city in the world. I work there, you know. I have rooms in Park Lane but my family is from Herefordshire. Do you know Herefordshire?’
    Isabella shyly lowered her glorious eyes. ‘I have never left