London Shadows (#1 Penderry's Bizarre)

Chapter Four

                  

What the Devil?

Westman had been reading a newspaper in the comfort of his carriage when the vehicle suddenly swerved, sending him tumbling off his seat. The lantern on the wall swung wildly then slipped off its hook - knocking his hat from his head in the process - before smashing on the carriage floor.

Another pot-hole? Damn that careless servant.

It turned out, however, that it was not a pot-hole, nor his servant, that was to blame, but a reckless fool driving a one-horse gig. The other vehicle clattered past, spraying the window with dust and grit.

"Turf an' thunder!" Blinks exclaimed, followed by a fit of coughing. Jack's bark rang through the air.

"Blinks!" shouted Westman, pulling himself back onto the seat. The carriage stopped unexpectedly, propelling him forward again. With a scowl, he thrust open the roof hatch. "What the blazes is going on?"

"Sorry, sir," Blinks wheezed. "They came out of nowhere. Belted past, they did. Hardly gave me a chance to make way."

Westman closed his eyes and took a calming breath. There was no sense in being angry with the servant. "Compose yourself and drive on."

"Aye, sir."

At that moment, the rain began to pound hard upon the carriage roof and Blinks let out a groan of misery. Westman slammed the hatch shut before the heavy droplets could enter and returned to his seat with a scowl. While he retrieved his hat and newspaper out of the broken glass, he consoled himself with the thought that the driver in the open gig would be soaked to the skin. The lunatic deserved nothing less for such careless behaviour.

He went back to reading his paper when the carriage started forward. But it was not long before they stopped again and the roof hatch popped open to reveal Blinks' dripping wet face.

"Yes?" Westman asked, peering over an advert for Kirk's Toilet Soap.

Blinks wiped the rain from his good eye. "Looks like there's been a wee mishap on the road. It's that gig, sir."

Instinctively, Westman turned to the window, but streaks of dirt and rain obscured the view.

Blinks looked over at the scene of the accident. "There's a young lass who seems to be all right. Should I lend a hand?"

Westman gave a sharp sigh and put his newspaper down before picking up his umbrella. "Let me assess the severity of the crisis."

He opened the door with a mighty push, for it often stuck, and descended the step. Blinks was already there, dutifully holding the door open for him. No sooner had he stepped out, Jack slipped inside - dripping wet - and flopped onto Westman's newspaper.

"Oh for heaven's sake. Blinks, get him off the seats, would you?"

"Aye, sir." Blinks hurried into action.

Westman opened his umbrella and turned to find the gig parked on the grass verge. The axle appeared to be damaged and the young woman was examining the broken spindle.

"Botheration!" she exclaimed.

"Do you require assistance, madam?"

She spun around and squinted at him through rain-soaked lashes. "Oh! Thank goodness you stopped, sir. I feared we were stranded."

He tipped his hat automatically, but scarcely looked at her while he wandered over to inspect the damage. "Here, come and take shelter," he said, extending his umbrella.