I turned and followed the conductor—who had waited for me—through the next two cars. The first car obviously served as the kitchen, with all the food-prep stations. The next car was guarded by two men who studied me suspiciously. They said nothing, and the conductor turned to head back through the door.
I presented the written note with the broken wax seal to one of the guards. “I"m Sabrina,” I said.
The meaner-looking one with black hair, bushy mustache, and grimace, opened the door and allowed me passage.
I stepped into what looked like someone"s living room, done up in Victorian-style furnishings and rich textures. Ruby-red velvet camel-back couches and wingback chairs were arranged upon an Oriental rug. Dark-stained sideboards against dark-stained paneling gave the Royals’ car the l
