Red, White and Blue (Book Two of The Powder Trail)

Chapter Thirty Three: A Little Cricket

Danvers wandered back to his lodgings in St. Aldates, his face flushed from a wholesome afternoon spent playing cricket. It had been a last-ditch effort to cheer himself up. And although his team had beaten the Headington Quarrymen, and bowled them all out for fifty five, the dead weight at the pit of his stomach hadn't lessened.

He had no plan now. Instead, he had a terror that no amount of wickets or centuries could take away. He didn't know what was going to happen, but he knew that Jack was quite capable of killing, and Miss Syal was quite capable of accepting her death without a flinch.

He had no way to break the spell anymore. And he was sure Miss Syal wouldn't oblige him by putting on the bracelet. The only thing he could think to do was be there, and either try to interpose himself between her and Jack, or – even trickier – try to interpose himself between her and the despair which was driving her to destruction. 

He was walking back through Christchurch meadow, just as the twilight was beginning to thicken into night. And he was feeling so despondent that he almost didn't see the woman on her knees in the long grass until he was in danger of stumbling over her.

She was covered in something which, in this light, looked like treacle. But then, as he rushed to her assistance, he saw that there was treacle everywhere, and his eyes couldn't help following its trail back a few hundred yards, to the outline of a shattered glass case.

She was blonde, although the horrible substance which he could no longer think of as treacle had got into her hair and stained it darker. She was changed – poor thing – with distress, and her eyes looked disconcertingly hollow, but she was still recognizable. You couldn't mistake her, if you had grown up in Oxford, and had looked in at her face whenever you walked through Christchurch meadow.

To his everlasting shame, Danvers toyed with the idea of running, locking himself in his lodgings, and saying his prayers. But she was drawing such tense, terrified breaths, and looking so wretched, that there was nothing to do but help her.

She must have heard his approach, because she shrank back, but didn't appear to see him. When he got close to her, he realized why.

Her eyes were hollow sockets. The blue marbles he was used to seeing there must have fallen out – or been clawed out by the poor lady herself.

She grabbed at his shirt-front as soon as she realized someone was beside her. Nothing he could do or say would quiet her down. She kept gasping out questions – and the one which recurred most frequently was "What am I?"

In the end, Danvers was obliged to answer, in a despairing voice, "You're bleeding all over the place!"

This shocked her into silence, and Danvers tried to supply the gap in the conversation.

"Please come with me, Madam – please don't distress yourself – there's a cab-stand in Abingdon Road and a very good hospital within driving distance – it's going to be all right."

"No," she said, clutching at his shirt-front again. "No, hide me – please. I don't know where I am."

"This is Oxford, madam," he said soothingly. "Nobody here means you any harm."

But he wasn't certain of that, now that he said it. What would the inhabitants of the city do, when they found out their idol had come to life? They would surely not try to hurt her, but whether they would give the poor creature peace and solitude was another matter.

"Hide me," she said again. "Take me to where you live – for God's sake."

For God's sake... It was a strange phrase to hear from the mouth of a demon.

Danvers looked longingly in the direction of the River Club. What would happen there without him? Probably the exact same thing that would happen with him. Miss Syal would die.

But the woman was bleeding so much, and looking so desperate. Her fate, if he didn't help her, was certain – whereas Miss Syal's was only probable.

"Yes," he said, taking off his coat and slipping it round her shoulders. "Yes, if you like--"

With his arm still around her shoulders, he lifted her to her feet. But she had been on her knees for a reason, it seemed – her legs were too limp to support her. Danvers drew one of her bleeding arms across his shoulder and half-carried her by his side.

"It's going to be all right," he kept saying, more to himself than to her. "I'm John Danvers, madam – your servant, madam – please don't distress yourself."

After a few moments, he became so alarmed by her limp silence that he said, "Will you do me the honour of telling me your name?"

She looked as though she would have liked nothing better, but she didn't seem to know it, and this panicked her even more. Clinging pathetically to him, with chattering teeth, she appeared to search her memory, and eventually came out with the words: 

"Little cricket. I'm called little cricket. I think." 

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