Chapter 18
eighteen
Along, warm bath was the perfect cure for Effie’s fatigue.
The water was cold and inky when she climbed out of the bathtub. Every time she closed her eyes, the view of the smoky platform tormented her. But the horror of the day wasn’t the only thing occupying her mind.
She’d caught another glimpse of Tristan’s soul, and she was rather shaken by the experience.
He’d been scared and worried sick about his brother.
Not that he seemed less dangerous while in that state, but certainly more vulnerable.
And his speech before the bomb had gone off had left a mark in her heart.
No one had ever been so honest with her and so shocking at the same time. She’d misjudged him. He cared about her. A lot. His proposal wasn’t simply a business transaction for him; it was something deeper.
“You have another bruise here, my lady.” Her maid applied comfrey poultice on Effie’s calf. “You’re covered in bruises. Shall we send for Dr. O’Neil again?”
“Don’t worry.” She tugged at the lapels of her dressing gown, staring at her reflection in the mirror of the vanity.
A couple of bruises marred her forehead, and a small cut sliced her chin. But what struck her was how pale she was. The day had drained her.
“It must have been terrifying, my lady.” The maid’s voice broke.
“I can’t complain. I’m in one piece.” She patted the maid’s hand. “I’m just tired now.”
“The bed is warm and ready.”
“Have you sent my message to Lady Vaughan?”
The maid nodded. “Lady Vaughan will see you tomorrow.”
There was a knock on the door.
“Effie?” Papa said in an urgent voice.
The maid had barely time to open the door before he rushed inside. “My lord,” she said.
“There you are.” He squeezed Effie in a tight hug that made her sob.
The maid left the room quietly.
“I’m fine, Papa.” She rested her head on his shoulder and inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne.
“I was terrified.” He quivered. “When I returned home and found your message, I went to the hospital but didn’t find you.”
“You must have missed me by a minute. I went to St. Bartholomew’s to visit Rowan. He got injured.”
He paled and sat on a chair. “Seriously?”
“A broken ankle that would probably make him limp, but he was lucky.” She shivered as the vision of Rowan lying in the hospital bed flashed across her mind. “They had to remove shrapnel from his leg, poor boy.”
“Why were you at Aldersgate Station?” He took her hand in a firm grip, and an accusatory tone slipped into his voice. “I thought you were in Greenford, visiting Colin and the girls.”
“I changed my plan at the last minute. Rowan asked me to go with him to the inauguration of Montcrest’s new locomotive. The boy was supposed to be with the machinist during the maiden voyage. It was a miracle he wasn’t onboard when the bomb went off.”
He breathed quickly. “You could have died or been injured, too. Why didn’t you listen to me and stay away from Montcrest?”
“I told you I didn’t want to disappoint Rowan. He’s a sweet boy.”
“Yes, but—” He pressed his lips hard and faced the fire. “You shouldn’t have been at the train station.”
She understood his anger to an extent. No one could have known a bomb would have exploded.
“I was so scared.” He held her, crushing her again. “I could have lost you. What a tragedy. It shouldn’t have happened.”
“I’m fine. Truly. Others weren’t so lucky.”
Including Tristan. The incident had troubled him deeply, and she wanted to be close to him. No matter what Papa said.
After a night spent on a chair next to Rowan’s bed and hours with the police, going home was a strange but welcome change for Tristan.
Harris had broken a strict code of conduct and hugged him so tightly he’d felt pain in his ribs.
His valet, James, had nearly wept when he’d seen him.
At first, Tristan had thought James’s distress was due to the state of his dirty and crumpled clothes.
But no. James had been genuinely concerned about his master, which should tell him something about how much his servants worried about him.
He’d never spared a thought about that before, but now he wondered if he should do something to show his appreciation for his servants’ care.
After a hot bath and a few hours of sleep, he went to the dining room for breakfast, almost refreshed.
Worry about Rowan turned the tea and scones into paper in his mouth.
Effie had told him the incident wasn’t his fault, but Rowan was his responsibility, and so far, he’d done a poor job at keeping him safe.
“My lord.” Harris brought a fresh pot of tea. “Mr. Fleet wishes to see you.”
He nodded. He couldn’t avoid seeing George, and on the bright side, his friend wouldn’t be here to lecture him that day.
“If you’re too tired,” Harris said, “I’ll inform Mr. Fleet to return later.”
His first instinct was to dismiss Harris’s concern, but he changed his mind.
“Thank you, Harris, but I’m fine. I would like to see Mr. Fleet. I appreciate your concern, and I’m sorry if I haven’t shown my gratitude.”
Harris’s expression reflected his surprise. “No need to apologise, my lord.” He sniffled. “I’ll be…I’ll tell Mr. Fleet to come.” He left, wiping his eyes.
George strode into the dining room, eyes wide with fear. “Tristan!”
“You’re in time for breakfast—”
“I was worried.” George hugged him, leaving him speechless. “I’ve just returned from Bristol. I sent a wire yesterday, but you didn’t answer.”
“I probably haven’t seen it yet.”
“How is Rowan?” Sheer fear cracked George’s voice.
“At the hospital. A broken ankle and some bruises. He should be sent home this afternoon. It could have been worse.”
“I want to see him.”
“You will.” He patted George’s shoulder so the hugging would end. “Take a seat.”
“Bloody anarchists. It was the Russians. They decided to bomb the station after one of them was given a seven-year prison sentence. Too short a sentence in my opinion.” George sat on the chair next to him, looking worse for wear. “The locomotive?”
“Damaged but nothing that our engineers can’t fix. The police informed me the explosion didn’t go as planned. The device didn’t employ its full energy.”
“What would have happened if it had?”
He, Effie, and Rowan would be dead.
George poured himself a cup of tea from the buffet table and drank a few sips immediately.
“I reckon we’ll be able to fix the machine in a few weeks,” Tristan said. “A waste of time and money, but I don’t care about that now. The important thing is that Rowan is alive.”
George inched closer. “I’m starting to think there’s more behind the bombing.”
“What do you mean? They wanted to blow up the entire station in revenge. Pretty simple.”
“Yes, but I can’t believe no one knew about the attack.” George took out of his pocket a piece of paper. “I always keep an eye on the stock market. Our competitors are earning a lot of money after the blast while our company is losing it. And guess who is earning more than anyone?”
Tristan read the short stock market report. “Winchester gained twenty thousand pounds in one afternoon.”
“Indeed.” George rubbed his forehead. “I mean to get to the bottom of this story. I promise.”
“I don’t understand. What does Winchester have to do with the Russians? You can’t possibly think he’s behind the bombing.”
“He has been a thorn in our side from the beginning. First, he accused your father of cheating him out of a deal, although it was his fault. Then, he refused to sell Easthollow, even when we offered to share the railway with his company.” George lowered his voice.
“Then I saw him shaking hands with the Russian anarchists, and now a bomb conveniently goes off during the inauguration of our new locomotive model. It could be a coincidence, but we’re businessmen. We don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Speculations.” He folded the piece of paper.
“Speculations that make sense.”
“Lady Effie was at the station. Winchester wouldn’t risk her life.”
George drummed his fingers on the table. “True. But as I said, I’ll investigate the matter.”
The smell of chlorine pinched Tristan’s nostrils when he entered St. Bartholomew’s Hospital with George.
Yesterday, his nose hadn’t worked properly after the blast, but now, the pungent scent reached his lungs.
“I can’t believe Rowan almost died.” George shook with either rage or worry. Maybe both.
“I hope he’ll be able to walk normally again.”
Grey sunlight added a layer of sadness to the hospital corridor. The shiny sunlight from yesterday had vanished, as if the sun hid in mourning behind the clouds.
Rowan lifted his head an inch when Tristan walked into the room. The mild disinterest in his face turned into an expression of relief the moment George appeared.
“Uncle George!” Rowan sat bolt upright.
George rushed past Tristan to hug Rowan. They held each other, crying together.
George kept repeating, “My boy.”
“I was scared,” Rowan said, resting his head on George’s shoulder.
“So was I.” George held him again. “We’ll go home soon and do everything to make you recover as quickly as possible.”
They kept chatting and comforting each other, laughing now and then.
He didn’t get closer to the bed. He stood aside, again feeling as if he were intruding in a private moment. Rowan and George were a family, and he wasn’t sure he was part of it.