‘What can I do?’ he asked as the officer mopped his brow and surveyed the scene. ‘Sergeant,’ he repeated louder when Lanyon didn’t respond. ‘What can I do?’
‘We need to…’
Lanyon was affected by the carnage. It was beyond comprehension and turned him into a wreck as destroyed as the twelve forty from Plymouth.
Archer took charge.
‘Sergeant,’ he barked. ‘We’re not going to be able to extinguish the fires until water arrives. Get your men to search what’s not alight, and take the wounded up the line to the station.’
Lanyon was still gawping.
‘Andrej!’ Archer bellowed, attracting Fecker’s attention and bringing Lanyon back to life. ‘Any more living in that carriage?’
‘Nyet.’
‘Move to the next. You!’ He collared an able-bodied man who was heading into the trees with a portmanteau. ‘Put that down, damn it, and get these people away from here.’ Shoving the man towards the wounded, he yelled at others. ‘You over there!’ Several faces turned to him, some he recognised from the village; they were not all passengers. ‘Well done for coming, men, but time is vital. Mr Sawyer? Have you your cart?’
‘Yes, My Lord.’
‘Start taking the injured to the cottage hospital. If you see Mr Jakes or anyone with transport, send them here. And there… You, Sir. Mr Killick?’
More people drew near, relieved that someone was doing something.
‘Put yourself at the station platform, Killick. Arrange for the most wounded to travel first, organise the transport.’
‘Aye, Sir.’
Both Sawyer and Killick hurried away. The drayman and the blacksmith were level-headed men, and Archer could trust them to stay calm and act efficiently. He wasn’t so sure about Lanyon.
‘Sergeant, is Doctor Penhale on the scene?’
‘I’m not sure, Sir.’
Archer exploded, bawled the man out and shook him until he had pulled himself together. The strategy worked, not only to spur Lanyon into action, but also those nearby who stopped worrying about themselves and sought to help others. Lanyon began ordering his few men to move everyone away from the wreck and take those who couldn’t walk to the railway station.
‘If anyone has come merely to gawp,’ Archer called after him. ‘They must be ordered to assist.’
‘Aye, Sir.’
James skidded down the hill from where he had left his horse, tripped and stumbled into Archer, his eyes wide with horror as he saw Thomas.
‘He will be fine, Jimmy,’ Archer said, catching him. ‘We have him, I need you to look for survivors.’ When James didn’t reply, he said, more firmly, ‘Mr Wright. I need your help.’
‘Yes, Sir, of course.’ James made a masterful job of pulling himself together. ‘Mr Williams and the others are up front,’ he reported. ‘It’s a bloody mess.’
‘Go to the back,’ Archer ordered. ‘Get down and see if there’s anyone alive under that last car.’
James obeyed without question, calling for others to assist, and swearing at them when they refused to move.
Archer knelt beside Thomas.
‘Can you walk, Tom?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Silas arrived with Danylo behind him.
‘Jesus, fecking Christ,’ he swore when he saw Thomas’ face. ‘Thought I got roughed up bad in gaol.’
‘No time, Silas,’ Archer said. ‘Horse or trap?’
‘We brought the trap.’
‘Right. Danylo?’
‘Sir?’
‘Take Thomas to the station, for now, make him comfortable there, then use the trap to take people to the hospital. One of the policemen will tell you the way. Silas. Help get Tom up the line, I will see to the dead.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Come on, Tom.’ Archer helped Thomas to stand.
‘Mr Smith,’ Thomas whispered, raising a wavering hand to the body beside him.
‘I think this fellow is….’ Archer stopped when he saw the man’s chest rise and fall. ‘Who is he?’
‘We were talking…’
Thomas passed out.
‘Andrej?’
Fecker looked over from where he was lying beside James, face down and groping under the upturned third-class car.
‘A child,’ he shouted.
‘Jimmy can see to it. Over here!’
Fecker joined them as Silas and Danylo supported Thomas, his head hanging. He was breathing normally, and no blood was flowing.
‘Fecks,’ Archer said, unaware what name he was using. ‘Carry the wounded to the platform, start with this man.’
Thomas was taken away, followed by Fecker carrying Smith over his shoulder.
The crowd was thinning now. Injured passengers limped towards safety guided by the police officers and helped by those who could walk. The flames were dying along with the sounds of crying and horror, and the scene would have been peaceful were it not for the crackle of burning wood and the smell of death.
As Archer helped the last survivors to their feet and found them a companion to walk with or be carried by, Lanyon picked his way towards him, stepping over the obviously dead and bending to examine those he was unsure about.
‘How many?’ Archer asked when he arrived.
‘So far, fourteen. God knows how many injured.’
‘Any idea what happened?’
‘Not yet, My Lord.’ The policeman rubbed his red eyes, his face was patched with soot, and his jacket hung open revealing a shirt stained with the blood of others. ‘The driver and fireman are both dead. We’ve not found the guard yet. Seems it were going too fast at Carminnow Corner, left the rails, engine dragged the rest down the bank. That’s my guess.’
‘Is Doctor Penhale here yet?’
‘Aye, Sir. Up at the platform, and they’ve started taking the casualties into town.’
‘Well done, Sergeant.’
Lanyon shuffled his feet, embarrassed. If it hadn’t been for Archer, he would still be uselessly rooted to the spot. ‘It were a shocking sight, My Lord.’
Knowing what he was trying to say, Archer saved him from humiliation.
‘We are all shocked, Lanyon,’ he said, kindly. ‘I myself took a moment to comprehend the scale and decide on action. You have done admirably.’
‘Thank you, Sir, but I was just so…’
‘As were we all, Bill.’ Using the man’s first name made him an equal in the rescue attempt and helped restore the policeman’s confidence. ‘And we are still dazed, but there are people who need you.’
‘I’ve messaged for assistance from St Austell and Liskeard, Sir. They should be here shortly.’
‘Then I will leave this scene in your hands and see what I can do up the line. Will you be alright?’
Archer offered his hand to the scattering of bodies, and Lanyon swallowed and nodded.
‘If Doctor Penhale allows,’ Archer said, as the last line of survivors wound its way into the distance, ‘I will take my man home when we have done all we can here. Meanwhile, if you need anything from the Hall, people, resources, anything, dispatch a message. Agreed?’
‘Very kind, Sir.’
‘Not at all.’
There was nothing more Archer could do at the site, and he was about to leave the authorities to their work when James approached, the limp body of a young boy in his arms.
‘Is he alive?’ Archer asked, stepping forward to hold the lad’s swinging head.
‘Yes, Sir. But the only one.’
‘Poor bugger. No parents?’
‘No-one else breathing, Sir.’
James, like Archer’s other servants, had acted without thought, but now as the smoke thinned, realisation caug
ht up with him. As inevitable as daybreak, it came with a blanched face and eyes that stared in disbelief.
‘Right, Jimmy. He’s your responsibility. Get him to the doctor and see if anyone claims him.’
James looked back to the carnage. ‘And if no-one does? He can’t be more than ten.’
‘Then if he doesn’t need the hospital, take him to the Hall, and we’ll deal with it from there.’
‘Sir.’
‘And, Jimmy…’
‘Sir?’
‘Tom will be fine.’
He watched James pick his way through the wreckage and hoped his prediction proved correct.
Six
The first thing Thomas saw when he woke was Mrs Baker’s concerned face. She was fussing, tucking him in among a faint smell of lavender and antiseptic. For a moment, he was six years old, and his mother was saying goodnight, and the next, he was a body of aches with a dry mouth, a thumping head and a hundred questions.
‘Good, you’re awake,’ the housekeeper said. ‘The doctor said you should be by now, so that’s one less worry.’
‘What time is it?’ Thomas gingerly sat up and looked beyond her. This was not his room. ‘Why am I here?’
‘His Lordship wanted you in the Bosworth suite so he could be nearby,’ she explained. ‘You’ve been asleep since the accident. It’s just gone seven.’
She tugged the bell-pull beside the bed as Thomas raised a weak arm and touched his face.
‘I remember falling,’ he said, his voice distant.
‘I dare say. You were lucky, Mr Payne. There was no need to take you to the hospital like many. Doctor Penhale was happy they brought you here, but we need to keep an eye on you for a few days.’
‘Gone seven? The dining room…’
‘Don’t you worry about that,’ she said, sitting sideways on the edge of the bed. ‘Mr Saddle and Barnaby have everything in hand.’
‘His Lordship’s dinner party…’
‘Is not for another five days. You are to stay in bed, rest, and you’re not allowed on your feet until the doctor says.’
‘But I must.’
She ignored him, and when he tried to turn back the covers, prevented him by taking his hand.
‘We will have no more of that. Now, what hurts?’
‘Everything,’ he said, giving in and laying back.
‘There’s nothing broken, though you have many bruises. The doctor didn’t find anything damaged internally, but, if you start to feel worse, you must say.’ She rustled about at the bedside table and held up a glass. ‘This will ease the aches,’ she said, passing it to him. ‘It might make you sleepy too, but that’s for the best. Drink it.’
Thomas was shocked to find he was wearing pyjamas, and Mrs Baker noticed because she said, ‘Mr Wright dressed you with help from His Lordship.’
He managed a weak smile of thanks. ‘Where is His Lordship?’
‘Drink this.’
‘Later.’ Again, he tried to get out of bed and once more, she prevented him.
‘You try that one more time, Tommy Payne and I will put you over my knee.’
It was how she used to speak to him when he was eight and first at the house, a naughty ‘runagate’ as his father used to call him.
‘That would make for an interesting spectacle, Mrs Baker,’ he said, resigned to his incarceration.
‘Good to see you have your humour intact,’ she replied. ‘Drink, or you’ll get no information or sympathy from me.’
He obeyed, and the bitter liquid burned his throat.
‘That’s foul.’
A knock at the door and James entered. Thomas’ heart immediately leapt at the sight of the valet, smartly dressed as always, his tie straight, his suit fitting perfectly and his hair immaculate. The only difference between this James and the one he had kissed goodbye that morning was his face. Where it had been full of happiness twelve hours previously, it was now a white wall of apprehension.
‘You rang, Mrs Baker?’
‘Mr Wright, yes. I must go and see to the bairn.’ To Thomas, she said, ‘His Lordship suggested someone sit with you. There’s a bed made up in the dressing room, so he will be close by. It’s in case of delayed shock, or sickness from the concussion. You don’t mind, do you, Mr Wright?’
‘Not at all.’ James addressed Thomas. ‘I am glad to see you, Mr Payne,’ he said. ‘That was a horrific…’
‘Yes! We know,’ Mrs Baker interrupted. ‘Best not dwell on that until he’s better.’ She busied herself at the table while she spoke. ‘Mr Payne is to stay in bed. His Lordship will be in to see him later, and I will have trays sent up for you both shortly. He has had something for the aches and may sleep again. Even so, it’s best if you stay with him. Now then, he’s not to…’
‘I am here, Mrs Baker,’ Thomas complained, his eyes still on James.
‘And there you shall stay until I order otherwise.’ She hurried to the door. ‘Ring if you need anything. Don’t leave him alone, Mr Wright. He’ll likely try and escape.’
‘As you wish.’
The housekeeper stopped at the door, her hand on the handle, and regarded Thomas sympathetically. She sighed and swished away.
As soon as the latch clicked into the lock, James was at the bedside, sitting and leaning into Thomas.
‘Can I kiss you?’
The answer came as a long, lingering pressing of lips before a cautious but passionate embrace.
‘Fuck, Tom,’ James said when the flood of relief had faded. ‘I was so worried when I saw you. You could have died.’
Thomas wiped a tear from his lover’s eye and tasted it. ‘I didn’t. I was lucky.’
‘It must have been horrible.’
‘It was…’ Thomas searched for the words. The images, tiny fragments of a larger picture, swirled and danced before his eyes, none of them making sense and none of them settling into place. ‘It just was,’ he said.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t talk about it,’ James suggested. ‘Do as Mrs Baker says and let you sleep.’
‘I don’t feel tired, just lightheaded. Why am I in the Bosworth suite? And what bairn was she talking about?’
James rose and crossed to the window. The sun had set, but dusk was lingering. The moor rolled on until it dropped from sight at the crest of a hill, and a mile further away, the site of the accident. Looking at the desolate yet beautiful scene, the smoke had cleared and there was nothing to suggest the tragedy. He drew the curtains and returned to the bed, this time sitting to face the door so that he could hold Thomas’ hand ready to drop it should anyone enter.
‘You’ve been brought home with a mystery,’ he said. ‘Two, in fact.’
When Thomas didn’t understand, James explained what had happened.
Silas was the first to arrive back at Larkspur, sent on ahead by Archer who stayed behind with Fecker and some of the estate staff, who, on hearing of the disaster, had ridden across the moors to offer their assistance. As His Lordship’s secretary, and with the butler incapacitated, it fell to Silas to bring the news to the staff still at the Hall.
When Fecker had raised the alarm, it hadn’t taken long for news to spread that the men of the estate were needed at a railway accident, and when Silas entered the servants’ hall, he found Mrs Baker and Mrs Flintwich at the table with the maids, speculating on what had happened. They scrambled to their feet.
‘Sorry to interrupt your tea, ladies,’ he said, doing his best to adopt a calm manner. ‘I have some news.’ He nodded at the housekeeper, and the servants sat. Iona and Karan regarded their brother with a mix of concern and pride. ‘Sorry to interrupt your day, but I have instructions from His Lordship.’
‘Was Mr Payne in the crash?’
The hall boy’s words
brought gasps to those who hadn’t learnt the news, and Mrs Baker scolded him for interrupting.
‘In a minute, Mark.’ Silas tried to smile, but he was still struggling to understand what he had seen. ‘Some of you must have heard what’s happened,’ he went on. ‘A train from Plymouth to Padstow left the rails at Carminnow Corner. His Lordship, Mr Wright, Mr Andrej and others are down there at the station helping out. The thing is, Mr Payne was on the train…’
Several louder gasps, and in particular one from Mrs Baker, accompanied looks of horror as hands flew to mouths. ‘He is unhurt.’ Silas paused while that sunk in. ‘At least, he’s not badly hurt. Cuts and bruises, the doctor said. He will be fine in a day or so, nothing to worry about.’ He turned his attention to the housekeeper. ‘Mrs Baker…’
She recovered professionally from her anguish and sat erect in her chair. Equal in status to Thomas, it was her job to ensure everything ran smoothly in his absence. Behind her, Saddle also appeared ready to take on any responsibility. Standing with his head held high, his grey temples were as perpendicular as his back, his small eyes on Mr Hawkins.
‘His Lordship has asked for the Bosworth suite to be prepared for Mr Payne,’ Silas went on. ‘Given the circumstances, he would like him near his own rooms. It was His Lordship who asked Mr Payne to visit Plymouth this morning, and he feels responsible.’
‘Well, that’s just daft,’ Mrs Baker said.
‘Which is what I told him, but he insisted. His Lordship would like James and me to attend to Mr Payne when he arrives, and one of us will stay with him. Perhaps someone can make up a bed in the dressing room?’
‘Will that be necessary?’ Mrs Baker asked. ‘If Mr Payne needs someone so close, there’s an adjoining door to the next bedroom. Mr Wright could use that.’
‘It’s already taken,’ Silas said, and the statement brought questioning looks and whispers.
‘Mr Payne was travelling with an acquaintance,’ Silas explained. ‘He was very concerned for the man’s wellbeing. In fact, I was told that Mr Payne pulled him from the wreckage just as the carriage exploded.’
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