The Blood Royal(10)

His words were cut off by the screech of the approaching train’s whistle, the swoosh of steam and the protest of huge wheels grinding to a halt. Doors slammed, greetings were called out, passengers jumped down from the train. The platform ticket holders surged forward hallooing with varying degrees of eagerness, claiming their people.

Lily ticked them off in her head as they made contact. ‘Well, I got three out of five right, Stan,’ she muttered.

The two maids were suddenly three – peas in a pod, twittering with excitement.

A podgy seven-year-old squealed in delight at the sight of his bicycle and shook off the attentions of his mother and his nanny.

A heavily moustached survivor of some ancient war was helped out of a first-class compartment by two porters. He placed himself with a harrumph of greeting into the hands of the flunky with the clipboard.

But she’d been wrong about the dark-haired ‘valet’. To Lily’s surprise, an elegant young lady teetered up on high heels and flung herself into his arms, instantly elevating him from a role of subservience into a matinee idol. Lily watched their embrace for a moment, enthralled, with a mixture of wonder and envy.

The young man in spats, scanning the platform anxiously, had yet to make contact.

It was Stan who spotted them first.

He pointed and mimed a message above the din. Two children were getting hesitantly out of a third-class carriage. The older one, a girl of about eleven with badly plaited pigtails hanging down her back, turned and helped her brother to jump down on to the platform. Lily noticed, with a stab of pity, that the girl was smiling, trying to make a game of it for the little boy. The pair stood for a moment, reeling back from the assault of the noise, sniffing the warm sooty air like wild creatures. They were poorly dressed: the girl was wearing a grey cardigan with holes in the elbows over a drooping cotton frock, while the boy’s clothes were a size too big for him. Their shoes were fastened with baler twine and worn down to nothing at the heels. They were both very skinny. They were also by themselves.

Lily watched as they tried with a pathetic sense of duty to slam shut the heavy door behind them and failed to move it. They gave up, looked about them to see if their shortcoming had been noted and braced themselves to face a new and probably hostile world. Hand in hand, they stood, each clutching a small parcel done up with string.

They began to shuffle forward with the crowd and the girl suddenly pointed, seeing the sign for the exit and mouthing the word. They moved towards it.

The Sparrowhawk was watching them as closely as Lily. He let them take a dozen paces from the train, checking that no adult was following on behind.

Satisfied that they were alone, he made his move.

He strolled over and spoke to them, doffed his boater to the little girl and bent down to their level, his face wreathed in pleasant smiles. The poodle, trained in its responses, Lily was quite certain, licked the children’s hands and fussed about, wagging its stumpy tail.

Their new friend was in no hurry. He talked, he listened and he did a lot of laughing. He didn’t make the mistake of alarming them by offering to take their precious parcels from them. Finally, he handed the dog’s lead to the little girl and himself took the boy by one hand, his flowers still clutched in the other. A charming group, they set off for the exit.

Clumsy with excitement and dread, Stan grabbed his crutch and came round from behind his stall, growling a warning. ‘There they go. Never seen that one before but he’s a wrong ’un if ever I saw one. A real professional. Are you going to do something? Where’s that useless nincompoop of a police constable?’

He started to hobble forward himself but Lily grabbed his arm and held him back. ‘No! Wait! We have to let them get as far as the barrier. Otherwise, he’ll get off with some excuse about escorting them to the lavatory or the refreshment room. Rules, Stan! Stay back!’

She padded quietly after the little group, allowing them to move along four paces ahead of her. They passed the lavatory. They passed the refreshment room. In his total confidence the Hawk didn’t bother to look back. With a display of a jolly young uncle’s concern, he checked that the children had their tickets in hand to present at the barrier.

When he was a few yards from the exit and clearly committed to leaving, Lily launched her attack. She dashed forward, scattering the children and the dog, and hurled herself at the man’s knees from behind, turning her head to avoid his thrashing heels. He crashed on to his front, flowers flying everywhere, banging his chin on the paved floor.

‘What the hell!’ he roared.

‘Police! You’re under arrest!’ Lily shouted, and before he could struggle free she threw herself down firmly, bottom first, on the man’s neck. She took her police whistle from her tunic and gave three blasts. Where was PC Halliday? With no powers of arrest herself, she could do little without Halliday’s authority. His curses smothered by voluminous layers of Harrod’s tailoring, her prisoner was writhing like a spade-sliced worm. His body bucked strongly, all his senses alert now, muscles working to shift the incapacitating weight without breaking his own neck.