She walked into town - marched, really - carrying a suitcase in each hand, her coat flowing out behind her, like the wings of an avenging angel.

What if he were badly hurt? What if they had not managed to get him into hospital in time? What if he were - ?

No.

She refused to think about that possibility. There was no way in which a world without Anthony Strallan could exist. She would not allow it.

There were no trains direct to York - she would have to change at Birmingham - but at least she was on her way, Edith thought as she settled into her seat on the train. There was a book in her bag, but Edith didn't even think of reaching for it - nothing, she thought, would be able to distract her this afternoon.

At some point, exhaustion swallowed her, pulling her into a maelstrom where Pip's tears blurred with Mrs Cox's recriminations and where odd phrases from Sybil's last letter whirled around her head like a murder of angry black crows.

She woke with a jump in the dark, as the train slowed and stopped. Her mouth was dry and coated and one of her hairpins was digging into her skull. Reaching up a hand slow with sleep, Edith readjusted it and sat up straight in her seat, checking her watch. Surely they couldn't be at Birmingham already?

Footsteps in the passage, and then the guard's head poked in and said, somewhat apologetically, "All passengers to alight, I'm afraid, miss. Bridge has collapsed up ahead."

"Where are we?" Edith asked, dismayed. "I'm trying to get to York!"

The guard lifted sympathetic eyebrows. "Just at Wolverhampton, miss. There'll be no trains further on tonight, I wouldn't have thought. P'raps as you can ask at the station to use a telephone."

Edith murmured noncommittally, gathering her things together, and then joined the throng of people crowding onto the cold station platform. Edith shivered and tugged her coat around her a little more closely. Collaring a porter, Edith asked, "Have you a telephone here?"

"Ar, miss - one at the booking office."

"Thank you."


"Telephone for you, madam," Baines announced, sidling around the library door. "Miss Crawley, calling from Wolverhampton."

Incredulously, Veronica echoed, "Wolverhampton? What the devil is she doing in Wolverhampton?"

Flora sighed patiently, and set aside her book. "Well, I'm sure poor Baines doesn't know, my dear. Thank you, Baines, we'll be through directly."

Baines directed a grateful bow towards the second of his mistresses, and retreated from the room. Veronica and Flora followed him.

"Hello? Edie?"

"Oh, thank the Lord!" came Edith's voice down the line. "The train was halted - a damned bridge has collapsed - I need to get to Yorkshire and - "

"All right, all right," Veronica soothed her. "Slow down, old girl, and tell me everything from the beginning." Flora's hand tugged the earpiece a little more between them. "Flora's listening in, too."

"G-good." Edith sounded on the verge of frustrated tears. "I had a telephone call today from Mrs Cox. Apparently - " There was a crackle as she tried to suppress a sob. "Apparently Sir Anthony has - has had a heart attack."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Flora; Veronica saw that she had gone quite white.

"Yes," Edith rushed on before they could add anything further. "Obviously I'm on my way home, but the blasted trains aren't going any further. I don't suppose you know anyone who could - could lend me a car or - oh, Veronica, he can't die before I get to him!"

Veronica looked helplessly at Flora. "Edith - "

Very firmly, Flora tugged the speaker out of Veronica's hand. "Edith, darling, I have a friend who lives about a half an hour outside of Wolverhampton. I'm going to telephone her and do everything I can to persuade her to assist, all right? I just need you to wait very calmly at the station. I'll telephone again in about twenty minutes, yes? Yes, all right, goodbye. And please try not to worry!"

"Who's your friend?" Veronica asked.

"Winifred Dalton," Flora replied briskly over her shoulder. "She's a suffragist - we shared a governess when we were little. Her husband's something industrial - he's bound to have a car he can lend."

"To a friend of a friend of his wife's?" wondered Veronica doubtfully.

Flora flapped a hand, lifting the receiver again. "He'd walk over hot coals if Winifred asked him to, don't worry… Operator? Yes…"


"Who was it, Win?" Charles Dalton asked, looking up from the book he was reading to their small daughter.

Winifred dropped a kiss onto the top of his head. "Flora Stanhope. Friend of hers is stuck at the station, trying to get to York. No trains, apparently."

"York? Goodness. That's rather a long way away, isn't it, Dora?" he asked their little one quietly.

Dora, all of three, babbled sleepily. "Yes," Winifred agreed. "Look, Charles, we can send the car over, can't we? According to Flora, Edith's a terribly safe driver, and it's urgent. Her man's had a heart attack and she needs to get to him."

"Her husband?" Charles tutted. "Poor girl."

"Not quite, I don't think - Flora wasn't terribly clear. I'm going to ask Wakefield to get the car ready."

Charles stood, hoisting Dora into his one arm. "Yes, of course. I'll go and talk to Mrs Hartwell - if your friend is driving all the way to York, she'll need strong tea and some good food."

Winifred squeezed his hand tightly. "Angel." Briefly, she touched Dora's cheek. "Isn't your Daddy marvellous, darling?" she whispered softly.


Mrs Dalton's chauffeur was very cheerful - extraordinarily so, considering the lateness of the hour, and the fact that the weather was most definitely taking a turn for the worse. "Our cook, Mrs Hartwell's, put a flask of tea in the front seat well for you, miss, and a pack of sarnies - er, sandwiches, too."

"Thank you," Edith whispered, brought to tears again. "It's very kind of you. Would you like me to drive you back to the Daltons' before I go on to York?"

"Nah, reckon I'll be all right, miss." He winked broadly. "Besides, pubs aren't closed yet."

Edith giggled wetly. "Right."

"Safe journey, miss." He tipped his hat, tucked his hands into his pockets and wandered off, whistling.

Edith watched him go for a few moments, exhaled, and then slid into the driver's seat. "Right," she repeated quietly to herself, put the car into gear, and pulled away.


"That was Winifred," Flora sighed in relief, sinking back down onto the sofa. "Her chauffeur has just arrived home - he met Edith, and handed the car over, and she should be well on her way now."

Veronica squeezed her hand. "Good. Lucky you've such a wide social circle, darling."

Flora sniffled and Veronica suddenly realised that she was crying. "Here… darling, whatever is it?"

Flora curled up and buried her face into Veronica's shoulder. "I j-just f-feel so awful. Poor Edith - poor Anthony! What if he - "

Veronica held her close. "Now, just you listen to me. Anthony's a tough old bird if ever there was one, and there's no reason to suppose that he won't pull through. And you've been such a tremendous help to Edith, my darling."

Flora swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "V, if anything ever happened to you, I couldn't bear it."

"Nothing's going to happen to me," Veronica promised softly. "We're all all right. I promise."

"It's no use looking at me like that, Mr Stewart," Mrs Cox said firmly, setting another cup of tea down in front of him. "You know as well as I do that we're all going to be at sixes and sevens for the next few days at least, and there's no one so good in a crisis as Mrs Crawley is."

Stewart gave her a doubtful look. "But that isn't why you telephoned her. Just when we've got the master sleeping again, too. I don't want him… shaken up again. And we've Mr Everington now."

Mrs Cox snorted darkly. "Oh, yes. Mr Everington who can't make a telephone call without being told to. Mr Everington who leaves cigarette ash all over the library carpet. Mr Everington who - "

She was interrupted by an almost frantic pounding at the front door, and then a ringing as if someone were positively hanging on the bell. Despite his earlier words, there was an expression of wordless relief on Stewart's face as he and Mrs Cox rose and hurried to answer it together.

Mrs Crawley, pale faced and looking thoroughly chilled, tumbled into the hall. "Wh-where is he?" she asked, without preamble.

"He went in the ambulance to York General Infirmary - " began Mrs Cox, but got no further. Mrs Crawley whirled around again, and returned to the car, whose ignition she had not bothered to turn off. The car whizzed away down the drive again.

Thoughtfully, Stewart closed the door after her. "Mrs Cox," he began, hesitantly, "you don't think… well, you were quite clear that it was Mrs Dale who was sick, weren't you?"

"Yes, certainly!" Mrs Cox retorted, half-indignantly. She paused, a slight frown crossing her face. "Although… well, it was a little odd, the way she phrased it, wasn't it? 'Where is he?'" She shrugged. "Anyway, she's here, which is all that really matters, I suppose." A shadow crossed her face. "I just wish we'd hear something…"


"Can I help you?" The matron spoke in the tones of one about to explode.

Edith flicked a messy, loose curl out of her eyes and recalled that, after hours of travelling, she probably did not look terribly respectable. "Yes," she replied, nonetheless. "I'm looking for a patient you have here, who was brought in with a heart attack. Sir Anthony Strallan."

The matron frowned and scanned down her list of patients. "I'm afraid - "

From behind her, Edith heard a polite cough and turned.

Sir Anthony Strallan stood there, one hand in his trouser pocket, looking faintly confused.

"Here I am," he said.


AN: This chapter is named after the song 'Northbound' by Grace Petrie, particularly for the chorus:

By night and day

By motorway

I'll get there any godforsaken way

By road or rail

By sea to sail

If there's a way home I won't fail

I'll take my time

Steady 70 straight down the line

Only one thing on my mind

Hell or high water come down

Oh I'm northbound