At midmorning the next day, I wave to Mrs. Williamson and settle into my seat. It was nice of her to come with me to the Caledonian Railway Station on Princes Street when I’m sure she has better things to do. Since my meeting with the Ladies’ Association, Mrs. Williamson seems almost protective. It’s nice to have someone looking after me.
Crieff is further from Edinburgh than I expected. It takes five hours to reach the station. I gather my things while the train slows and stops in front of a long wooden building with two chimneys. The conductor puts my carpetbag on the platform. No one else gets off.
I pick up my bag and walk through the station. Now what? There seems to be no one here to meet me.
“Miss Pigot,” a voice calls across the station. I turn to see Mrs. Wilson walking rapidly through the station’s main entrance. “Dreadful train’s never on time. This time it’s early. My sincere apologies. You must have thought no one was coming for you.”
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