Anne moved along the isle as the train rolled out of Whitby and picked up speed. She clutched a carpet bag containing a change of clothes and Alice's scrapbook, which she had kept safe like a sacred relic. At last she was allowed to see her sister. Alice's health had been too poor for her to receive any visitors from about a month before the child was born til now, and Anne had been both heartbroken and extremely uncomfortable with the idea of her sister being friendless in a strange place. But apparently Alice had asked for her sister now and since she had made no recovery through any other methods, a doctor had suggested that Anne's presence might offer some improvement.

It was her second time traveling on a train, and this time she was frightened for different reasons. It was busy on the train and she hadn't found a place to sit yet. Having no understanding of train etiquette, she had no idea whether she could sit opposite to where someone was sitting already. But so far she had found no empty four-seat and she was getting quite nauseous from walking through the moving vehicle. Reaching the next sitting area, she looked at its occupant - who looked vaguely familiar, but Anne had too many things occupying her mind to think about it - and she muttered in a small voice: "Erm... excuse me, ser. Do ye mind if I sit here..?" She gestured at the empty seat opposite of him.

The soft voice snapped Nate's attention away from the newspaper he had only half-heartedly been reading.

To be honest, he was preoccupied by the impending meeting with his brother. Nate had stayed in Leeds as long as he could to delay the whole thing, but his unexpected dismissal had brought his career to an abrupt halt. The insular legal community of that city had rallied and hopes of quick re-employment were repeatedly dashed in frosty professional meetings or via letter. Nate suspected the law clerk's gossip line had reached the ears of barristers. So here he sat bouncing on a train back home, cap in hand, much like the poor girl here asking for a seat.

"Oh. No, you go right ahead."

"Thank you," Anne barely more than whispered, and she sat down awkwardly. She wished she could sit by the window, so that she could look out at the passing landscape, but that would require her to sit right opposite from the man and she didn't want to invade his space more than necessary. He looked like the professional type, and she was rather intimidated in her old fishlass clothes. Her eyes glanced at the newspaper he had been reading, then stealthily they flashed over the gentleman, having nothing more interesting to look at. Anne still wondered why the man's face looked familiar.

Nate caught the girl staring at him and decided to make conversation.

"Why are you taking the train today? Off to visit family or for a holiday?" he asked. The fact that the girl was dressed like she worked for a living didn't bother Nate, for he could strike up a debate with a potted plant.

Anne nearly jumped out of her seat when the man addressed her. She clutched her bag tighter. Her father had warned her to be careful and stay away from suspicious types while traveling on the train. She didn't know if he would like it if she talked to a strange man. And yet the gentleman could hardly be described as a suspicious type, and she couldn't simply ignore him.

"I'm visiting my sister, ser," she said quietly, her eyes not quite meeting his. "And yerself?" She didn't want to seem rude.

"I'm visiting family too, my brother lives in Castleton." Nate answered her.

Anne smiled. The same stop as hers. "That's nice..." she said, because she wasn't sure what else to say. "Are ye... are ye from Whitby?" And then she quickly added: "sir?"

Why was she keeping the conversation going? Her father wouldn't like it. But Anne also wondered what could possibly happen if she talked to someone in a public place. It wasn't like she was going to get into a carriage with him once they were in Castleton.

He. He he.

"Well, I grew up in Castleton, but I've been to Whitby many times. What about you? Where are you from?" Nate asked. Some might of frowned on him taking to a person of obviously lower class, but this was just a pleasant conversation.

"Whitby, ser. I'm a fisherlass." That was unnecessary, both because her clothes (and probably the smell of them, despite washing) had already betrayed that and because the man hadn't asked about it. She blushed.

"Are you really? I've done some fishing too." Nate said as way of a connection "but, I, uh, usually see them on a plate. Thank you for putting them there though."