The train jerked to a halt, throwing Nate somewhat out of his seat.  He looked out the carriage window and the wooden sign said Whitby.

“I hate this place.” He said aloud to no one.  He hated the water, the sea air, the bloody gulls and their screeching, his brother, the whole damn thing.
Fortunately, this would be a short visit, so he might as well get it over with.  He rose and stepped out on to the platform.

“Welcome to Whitby, sir.” said a porter who was loitering nearby.

“Thank you.” Nate replied with curtly, reaching back into the carriage to snatch up his valise.

“First visit, sir?” the railway employee inquired helpfully.

Nate snorted derisively. “No.  No it is not.  Can you direct me to a hotel?”  Because there was not a chance in hell he would stay at the house.

Somewhere in a storage room sat a poor, half-clad porter, unconscious, gagged and tied up. Steve, meanwhile, stood on the platform in his shiny new outfit, 'helping' a gentleman. He was sober enough to make a polite conversation, which was why he needed the money. This gentleman looked wealthy enough, and so Steve had picked him.

"Of course, sir," he said, talking as 'properly' as he could. Thank God the vagrant wing of the workhouse had offered him a bath last night and a shave this morning. He looked almost professional. "Shall I take your luggage for you?"

"Thank you." Nate responded without thinking. I mean if the man was asking to do his job? Nate handed him the bag.

Loser.

Steve took the bag. "This way, sir," he said, and he led the gentleman through the station. They were nearly at the exit, when Steve pointed at another exit. "Can you see the white building through there?" There was no white building, but whether the man looked carefully to find it or only glanced for a second, Steve sprinted out of the station though the nearby exit as fast as he could with the bag in his hand.

Nate was distracted for no more than a second or two, but that was enough. By the time his wits had returned the man with his bag was fast receding into the distance. He even knocked down a passing porter, - a proper porter - trying to get away.

"Hey Stop Ye!" Nate ran after him catching up to the porter who was regaining his senses. "He's got me bag!" Nate exhorted but it was too late, the thief had too much of a head start.

Nate slapped his thigh.

“I hate this place.” he added ruefully.

When Robert awoke from his unconscious state, he found himself tied, gagged, in his underwear, and bleeding from the head. He wiggled, but the ropes did not come off. He tried to shout but only managed to produce a "hmmmhmmmm".

So much for his first day at this bloody beggar's job. Blacke would pay for this!

"He was dressed like a porter, one of yours" said Nate, answering the constable's query for a description of the thief, throwing his chin in the direction of Mister Meekford, who had appeared after the commotion.

PC Wood was a bulky man with big moustache and a small bladder. His eyes were on the victim intently, but his mind was trying to remember where the nearest bathroom was and wondering whether anyone would notice if he abandoned his beat for two minutes. He turned to Mr. Meekford. "Any of your staff lost their uniform recently, sir? Anyone missing?" he asked in a rather impatient tone.

Meekford frowned at the question.

"Pass the word for all the porters to assemble for a headcount." Meekford said. In not too long a time, the uniformed staff were assembled. Tall, short, young, old, the men wore the uniform of the NER with varying degrees of pride and states of undress. The older man quickly surveyed the group to see who wasn't present. He had worked with the NER long enough to know his staff by sight.

"Where's that new fellow Carrington?" Meekford asked. The new boy had only just started, and the impression he left on Meekford was of an idle youth unused to labour who seemed to think all of this was beneath him. Yet, he had come on the recommendation of head office. What were they thinking? Any relation to the Carrington family? Meekford couldn't recall asking him. Still, Meekford recalled the lad nodding at the rules that had been laid down. Now he was nowhere to be found.

"Carrington?" Meekford repeated louder in case the lad was deaf.

"Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh!" Robert tried to shout through the gag when he heard someone call his name. It wasn't very loud. Bloody idiots! He'd have them all fired for this!