Captain Fitzhugh stepped off the puffing train, Sergeant Andrews following close behind carrying both their bags. A row of horse-drawn cabs was waiting out the front of Edinburgh’s train station and, once their luggage was safely stowed on the first vehicle, Fitzhugh barked at the driver, ‘The Peacock Hotel, my good man.’
With a c***k of a whip and a jolt, the horse stepped forward and the cab was away.
‘Could I now please ask why we’re in Scotland?’ Andrews asked, continuing a long-time conversation.
‘Of course, you can ask, Sergeant,’ Fitzhugh answered, watching intently as Edinburgh slipped by outside. ‘Did you know this is my first trip here?’
‘You may have mentioned it once or seventy times on the boat over.’
‘Did I? Sorry about that, my mind is a little preoccupied.’
‘With the
