“She wasn’t hurt?”
Both boys shook their heads, and Devlin finally drew a decent breath.
“None of us were hurt,” Spencer informed him rather proudly. “Mama asked us to be brave and stay here with Nanny and the others, and we did.”
Devlin released them, rose, and ruffled both boys’ hair. “Good men. Now”—he ushered them back to where Nanny, the nursemaids, and Morton waited—“I need you to continue to be brave and wait here, with Horry and the staff, while Mitchell goes and fetches some carriages and I go and find your mama.”
Plainly reassured by his presence and his plan, the boys willingly settled to wait with Nanny.
In a low voice, Morton confirmed what Spencer had told Devlin. “The first and second carriages are a mess, my lord. Luckily, our party was in a compartment in the middle of the third carriage so escaped serious harm. Her ladyship sent us to wait here and turned back to help.” Proud approval tinged his tone. “She was unhurt but shaken, like the rest of us. She took Parker and Dennis with her, my lord.”
Devlin nodded. He wasn’t surprised that Therese had chosen to assist the rescue effort; it was the sort of response the public expected of the aristocracy and, indeed, that they expected of themselves. In times of crisis, leading others was second nature to Therese, as it was for him. She’d seen to the safety of their children and their people, then turned to help others as she could. Much as a part of him didn’t like it, he couldn’t fault her for that.
He swung to Mitchell, who was waiting by the horses’ heads. “Drive back to Potters Bar and make sure the alarm has been raised. Tell them there are”—he glanced around—“about a hundred stranded passengers as well as an unknown number of injured and dead. They need to send wagons as soon as possible—the night’s already chilly, and the temperature’s dropping. Use my title freely. Then hire the largest carriage you can find, with an experienced driver and a good team, and lead the coach back here.”
“Yes, my lord.” Mitchell saluted, climbed into the curricle, swiftly turned it, and drove back the way they’d come.
Devlin spoke briefly with his sons, dropped a kiss on his sleeping daughter’s curls, then leaving them in the safe care of Nanny and Morton, strode quickly along the path that followed the top of the embankment.
Below, he could just make out the dark bulk of the derailed locomotive. It had come off the rails a little before the bridge. The sight of the wrecked carriages, sides buckled and frames twisted, made his stomach clench; his family had survived more or less unscathed, but how many others hadn’t?
Only a few dimmed lanterns had been left to light the damaged portion of the train. In the ghostly light, Devlin saw that the front of the third passenger carriage was somewhat crushed, but the carriages in front had borne the brunt of the impact. From the fourth carriage on, the train appeared largely undamaged. Thank God.
Farther along, toward the rear of the train, unshuttered lanterns blazed, illuminating a scene that had more in common with war than with people journeying in their own country in peacetime.
Devlin went quickly down the embankment and strode into the circle of light. A conductor was struggling to ease a man with a badly broken leg, roughly splinted and bound, down to the ground to sit. Devlin couldn’t walk by; he detoured and, being much stronger than the slight conductor, assisted the wounded man to the ground.
His face pinched with pain, the man lay back with a shaky sigh. “Thank ye, sir.”
Devlin patted the man’s shoulder, straightened, and turned to the conductor, who was regarding him in puzzled fashion. “I’m Alverton. I’ve sent to Potters Bar and asked for wagons to be dispatched as quickly as possible.”
The conductor’s relief was palpable.
Devlin briskly continued, “I’m looking for Lady Alverton. Have you seen her?”
The conductor blinked. “The lady who’s been helping us?”
“One of them, at least.”
“If she’s the lady who took charge”—the conductor pointed down the train—“she’s along there, with the doctors.”
Devlin nodded his thanks and was turning away when, in a tone tinged with awe as much as with gratitude, the conductor added, “Don’t rightly know as we’d have managed without her.”
Devlin stored that morsel up to relay to Therese later. He strode on, skirting the wounded laid out on the flat between the tracks and the rise of the embankment. Several times, he stopped to help those who plainly needed it. He’d never been in a war, but this appeared much as he imagined a field hospital behind the front lines would look, and no more than Therese could he turn away from those in need who were weaker and less able than he.
As he continued toward the center of activity, he acknowledged that attitude as yet another trait he and she shared.
He came upon a man who was clearly one of the doctors, leaning down and speaking with a wounded woman.
As, plainly exhausted, the man patted the woman’s hand and straightened, he weaved.
Devlin caught the man’s elbow and steadied him.
The man turned to thank him, but paused, blinking at Devlin, presumably recognizing him as someone with authority who hadn’t been around earlier.
Devlin said, “I’m looking for Lady Alverton.”
The man blinked again, then glanced farther down the train. “The only lady still down here is helping my colleague with the last of the wounded. All the other ladies are either among the wounded themselves or too weak to be of much use. However, if your lady is she, Lady Alverton has been a Trojan. You might think otherwise, but I thank God that she was on the train. She organized the conductors and able-bodied men to ferry out the wounded and the dead.” He glanced around. “What we have here is bad enough, but without her leadership, it would have been much worse.”
Devlin faintly grinned. “She’s very good at organizing people.” That was such an understatement, if they heard it, her brothers would fall about laughing. Everything Devlin was hearing suggested that Therese was well and busily rising to every challenge.
The doctor nodded down the train. “See that spot where the light is brightest? Last time I saw her, she was there.”
Devlin nodded. “Thank you. I sent my man back to Potters Bar to ensure help was coming as fast as possible.”
“Thank you for that.” The man looked around and sighed. “Regardless, it’s going to be a long night.”
Devlin dipped his head in farewell and walked on.
He was still some yards from the brightly lit area when Therese, who had been crouched by the side of a wounded youth, rose and straightened. Devlin’s gaze locked on her, racing over her, confirming that she appeared entirely unhurt.
The relief that hit him was even more intense than what he’d felt on seeing the children. So intense, it forced him to slow and pause and breathe.
Breathe past the constriction that had locked about his chest and absorb the reality that she was hale and whole and well.
Feeling suddenly freed of a crushing weight and significantly more lighthearted than he had been, with his features easing, he walked toward her.
Therese glanced along the row of injured lying along the rise of the embankment. She had, she thought, done everything she could. Her heart was starting to thud strangely—not racing but rather the opposite. Each beat seemed abnormally deep and slow.