Thank you for your continued support. I appreciate it.
Standard disclaimer.
"The train must have been late," Bia said crossly, playing with the dogs, on the receiving room floor. "I hate waiting."
"You could occupy yourself with a useful task," Athena said, poking away at her needlework. "That makes waiting go faster."
"People always say that, and it's not true. Waiting takes just as long, whether one is being useful or not."
"Perhaps, the gentlemen have stopped for refreshments on the way from Alton," Cassandra suggested, leaning over her embroidery hoop, as she executed a complicated stitch.
Gwen looked up from an agricultural book, that Will had recommended to her.
"If that's the case, they had better be famished when they arrive," she said with mock indignation. "After the feast Cook has prepared, nothing less than gluttony, will suffice."
She grimaced, as she saw Napoleon settling into the billowing folds of Bia's dress.
"Darling, you'll be covered with dog hair, by the time the gentlemen arrive."
"They won't notice," Bia assured her. "My dress is black, and so is the dog."
"Perhaps, but still..."
Gwen broke off, as Hamlet trotted into the receiving room, with his perpetual grin.
In all the bustle of holiday preparations for that evening, she had forgotten about the pig. She had become so accustomed to the sight of him following Napoleon and Josephine everywhere, that she had begun to think of him as a third dog.
"Oh, dear," she said, "Something must be done with Hamlet. We can't have him wandering about, while Mr. Harcourt is here."
"Hamlet is very clean," Athena said, reaching down to pet the pig, as he came up to her and grunted affectionately. "Cleaner than the dogs, actually."
It was true.
Hamlet was so well-behaved, it seemed unjust to banish him from the house.
"There's no choice," Gwen said regretfully. "I'm afraid that Mr. Harcourt can't be expected to share our enlightened view of pigs. Hamlet will have to sleep in the barn. You can make him a nice bed of straw and blankets."
The twins were aghast, both of them protesting at once.
"But that will hurt his feelings..."
"He'll think he's being punished!"
"He'll be perfectly comfortable..." Gwen began, but broke off, as she noticed that both dogs, alerted by a noise, had hurried from the room with their tails wagging.
Hamlet rushed after them with a determined squeak.
"Someone is at the front door," Cassandra said, setting aside her embroidery. She went to the window, for a glimpse of the front drive and portico.
It had to be Arthur and his guest, Gwen thought.
Jumping to her feet, she told the twins urgently,
"Take the pig to the cellars! Hurry!"
She suppressed a grin as they ran to obey.
Smoothing her skirts and tugging her sleeves into place, Gwen went to stand beside Cassandra at the window.
To her surprise, there was no carriage or team of horses on the drive, only a sturdy pony, its sides sweat-streaked and heaving.
She recognized the pony.
It belonged to the postmaster's young son, Nate, who was often sent to deliver telegraph dispatches. But Nate didn't usually ride pell-mell on his deliveries.
Uneasiness slithered down her spine.
The elderly butler came to the doorway.
"Milady."
A breath caught in Gwen's throat, as she saw, that he held a telegram in his hand.
In the time she had known him, Simon had never given her a letter or telegram directly from his own hand, but had always brought it on a small silver tray.
"The boy says it's a matter of great urgency," he said, his face tense with repressed emotion, as he gave the telegram to her. "A news dispatch was sent to the postmaster. It seems there was a train accident at Alton."
Gwen felt the color drain from her face and a sharp hum crackled in her ears.
Clumsy with haste, she snatched the telegram from him and opened it.
DERAILMENT NEAR ALTON STATION.
PENDRAGON AND HARCOURT BOTH INJURED.
HAVE DOCTOR READY FOR THEIR ARRIVAL. I WILL RETURN BY HIRED COACH.
SIMMONS.
'Arthur...injured.'
Gwen found herself clenching her fists, as if the terrifying thought, was something she could physically bat away.
Her heart had begun to hammer.
"Simon, send a footman to fetch the doctor." She had to force words through a smothering layer of panic. "He must come without delay...both Earl Pendragon and Mr. Harcourt, will require his attention."
"Yes, my lady."
The butler left the receiving room, moving with remarkable alacrity for a man his age.
"May I read it?" Cassandra asked.
And Gwen extended the telegram to her, the paper's edges fluttering like a captured butterfly.
Nate's breathless voice came from the doorway.
He was a small, wiry boy with a mop of rust-colored hair and a round face, constellated with freckles.
"My dad told me the news from the wire." Seeing that he had gained both women's attention, he continued excitedly, "It happened at the bridge, just before the station. A train of ballast wagons was crossing the line and didn't clear in time. The passenger train crashed into it, and some of the carriages went over the bridge into the River Wey."
The boy's eyes were huge and round with awe.
"More than a dozen people were killed, and another score are missing. My dad says there's probably some, who'll die in the coming days. Because, they might've had their arms and legs torn off, and their bones crushed..."
"Nate," Cassandra interrupted, as Gwen whirled away, "Why don't you run to the kitchen and ask the cook for a biscuit or a heel of gingerbread?"
"Thank you, Lady Cassandra."
Gwen pressed her balled fists against her eyes, digging her knuckles hard against the sockets.
Anguished fear caused her to shake from head to toe.
She couldn't bear knowing that Arthur was hurt.
At that very moment, that beautiful, arrogant, superbly healthy man was in pain...perhaps frightened...perhaps dying.
She let out a heavy breath, and another, and a few hot tears slid between her knuckles.
No, she couldn't let herself cry, there was too much to do. They had to be ready when he arrived. Everything necessary to help him, must be instantly available.
"What can I do?" she heard Cassandra asked, behind her.
She dragged her cuffs over her wet cheeks. It was so difficult to think...her brain was in a fog.
"Tell the twins what's happened, and make certain they're not present, when the men are brought inside. We don't know what their condition is, or how severe the injuries are. And...I wouldn't want the girls to see..."
"Of course."
She turned to face Cassandra, as blood throbbed in her temples.
"I'll find Mrs. Winterbourne," she said hoarsely. "We'll need to gather the household medical supplies, and clean sheets and rags..."
Her throat closed.
"Will is with them," Cassandra said, settling a gentle hand on Gwen's shoulder. She was very calm, although her face was white and tense. "He'll take good care of his brother. Don't forget, the Earl is big and very strong. He would survive hazards that other men might not."
Gwen nodded automatically, but the words gave her no comfort.
Yes, Arthur was a big, strapping man, but a railway accident was different, from any other kind of disaster.
Injuries from collisions and derailments were rarely trifling. It didn't matter how strong or brave or clever someone was, when he was hurtling along at sixty miles per hour.
It all came down to luck...which had always been in short supply for the Pendragon family.
To Gwen's relief, the footman who had been dispatched to find Dr. Gauis, returned with him promptly.
Gauis was a competent, skillful physician, who had trained in London. He had come to the estate on the morning of Liam's accident, and he had been the one to break the news, to the Pendragon girls, about their brother's death.
Whenever a member of the household was ill, Gauis always arrived promptly, treating the servants with the same consideration and respect, that he showed to the Pendragon family.
And Gwen had quickly come to like and trust him.
"I haven't yet had the pleasure of meeting Earl Pendragon," Gauis said, as he opened his medical cases in one of the bedrooms, that had been readied for the soon-to-arrive patients. "I regret that the first time, will be on such an occasion."
"So do I," Gwen said, staring fixedly at the contents of the large black cases.
There were plaster bandages, needles and thread, shining metal implements, glass tubes filled with powders, and small bottles of chemicals.
A sense of unreality kept sweeping over her, as she wondered when Arthur would arrive, and what kind of injuries he had sustained.
Dear Lord, this was hideously similar to the morning that Liam had died.
She folded her arms and gripped her elbows, trying to quell the tremors that ran through her frame.
The last time Arthur had left Hampshire Priory, she had been too cross with him, to say good-bye.
"Lady Pendragon," the doctor said gently, "I'm sure this unfortunate situation, and my presence here, must remind you of your husband's accident. Would it help, if I mixed a mild sedative?"
"No, thank you. I want to keep my wits about me. It's only...I can't believe...another Pendragon..."
She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.
Gauis frowned and clasped his hands, as he commented,
"The men of this family don't seem to be gifted with longevity, however, let's not assume the worst just yet. We'll learn about the Earl's condition soon enough."
As the doctor arranged various items on a table, Gwen could hear Simon in some distant room, telling a footman to run to the stables and fetch a bundle of training poles, for makeshift stretchers.
There were sounds of rapid feet on the stairs, and the clanks of hot water cans and pails of coal.
Mrs. Winterbourne was in the middle of scolding a housemaid, who had brought her a dull pair of scissors, but she broke off in mid-sentence.
Gwen tensed at the abrupt silence. And after a moment, the housekeeper's urgent voice came from the hallway.
"My lady, the family coach is coming along the drive!"
Leaping forward as if scalded, Gwen bolted from the room, passing Mrs. Winterbourne on the way to the grand staircase.
"Lady Pendragon!" the housekeeper exclaimed, following her, "You'll have a tumble!"
Gwen ignored the warning, racing headlong down the stairs and out to the portico, where Simon and a group of housemaids and footmen were gathering.
Every gaze was on the approaching vehicle.
And even before the wheels had stopped moving, the footman riding on the back had leaped to the ground, and the carriage door had flung open from the inside.
Exclamations rippled through the air as Will emerged.
He was in appalling condition, his clothing filthy and wet.
Everyone tried to gather around him at once, but he raised a hand to hold them off, bracing himself against the side of the carriage.
Continuous tremors ran through him, his teeth chattering audibly.
"No...s-see to the Earl first. Wh-where's the damned doctor?"
Dr. Gauis was already beside him.
"Here, Mr. Pendragon. Are you injured?"
Will shook his head.
"Only c-cold. H-had to pull my brother fr-fr-from the river."
Having pushed her way through the group, Gwen took Will's arm to steady him. He was shuddering and swaying, his complexion gray.
A fetid river smell clung to him, his clothes reeking of mud and polluted water.
"How is Arthur?" she asked urgently.
Will leaned hard against her.
"Barely c-conscious. Not m-making much sense. In the w-water too long."
"Mrs. Winterbourne," Dr. Gauis said to the housekeeper, "Mr. Pendragon must be carried straight to bed. Stoke the hearth and cover him with blankets. No one is to administer spirits of any kind. That is very important, do you understand? You may give him warm sweet tea, not hot."
"I don't need to be c-carried," Will protested. "Look, I'm st-standing right here before you!" But even as he spoke, he had begun to sink to the ground.
Gwen braced her legs against his weight, trying to keep him from falling.
Hastily, a pair of footmen grabbed him and lowered him onto a stretcher.
As Will struggled, the doctor spoke sternly.
"Be still, Mr. Pendragon. Until you've been warmed through and through, any exertion could be the death of you. If the chilled blood in your extremities reaches your heart too fast..." He broke off impatiently and said to the footmen, "Take him inside."
Meanwhile, Gwen had begun to climb the folding step of the carriage. The dark interior was ominously silent.
"My lord? Arthur...can you...?"
"Allow me to see them first," the doctor said from behind her, pulling her firmly away from the vehicle.
"Tell me how the Earl is," she demanded.
"As soon as I can."
Gauis climbed into the carriage, whilst Gwen clenched every muscle, in the effort to be patient.
She bit her lower lip until it throbbed.
A half minute later, the doctor's voice emerged with a new note of urgency.
"We will remove Mr. Harcourt first. I need a strong fellow to help, immediately!"
"Patrick!" Simon directed, and the footman hastened to comply.
'What about Arthur?' Gwen thought. She was maddened with worry.
She tried to look into the carriage, again, but she couldn't see anything with the doctor and footman blocking the way.
"Dr. Gauis..."
"In a moment, my lady."
"Yes, but..." She fell back a step, as a large, dark, shape clambered from the carriage.
It was Arthur, ragged and nearly unrecognizable. Apparently, he had heard her voice.
"My Lord," came the doctor's terse command, "Do not exert yourself. I will see to you, as soon as I assist your friend."
Arthur ignored him, staggering, as his feet reached the ground.
He clutched the edge of the door opening to keep from falling.
He was filthy and battered from head to toe, his shirt wet and bloodstained. But as Gwen looked over him frantically, she saw with relief, there were no missing limbs, and no gaping wounds.
He was in one piece.
His disoriented gaze found hers, in a blaze of unholy blue, and his lips shaped her name.
Gwen reached him in two strides, and he seized her roughly.
One hand clutched the mass of coiled braids at the back of her head, in a grip that hurt.
A quiet groan vibrated in his throat, and he ground his mouth over hers in a punishing kiss, heedless of anyone who saw them.
His body shuddered, his balance ramshackle, and she stiffened her legs to support him.
"You shouldn't be standing," she said unsteadily. "Let me help you...we'll sit on the ground...Arthur, please..."
But he wasn't listening at all.
With a primitive, impassioned grunt, he turned and pushed her against the side of the carriage and kissed her again.
Even hurt and exhausted, he was unbelievably strong.
His mouth took hers with bruising force, stopping only, when he had to gasp for air.
Over Arthur's shoulder, Gwen saw Mrs. Winterbourne and a pair of footmen, coming to them with a stretcher.
"Arthur," she begged, "You must lie down...there's a stretcher right here. They have to bring you into the house. I'll stay with you, I promise."
He was motionless, except for the violent shivers that ran through his frame.
"Darling," Gwen whispered near his ear, with anguished worry, "Please let go of me."
He responded with an indecipherable sound, his arms cinching harder around her. Then, he began to fall, as he lost all consciousness.
Thankfully, the footmen were right there to grab him, before he crushed her under his solid weight.
As they pulled him away from her and lowered him to the stretcher, her dazed brain comprehended the word he'd said.
Never.
Stay safe!