The Map of Chaos (Trilogía Victoriana #3)(65)
But before Emma had a chance to protest, various strange events began to occur in rapid succession: the carriage in which the stout old lady with the diminutive Pekinese was traveling pulled up short before leaving the rank, and its horses began prancing and snorting as they grew increasingly jumpy; almost at once, the strange anxiety that had taken hold of Wells vanished as if by magic, and he instinctively looked about for the gentleman who had been shielded by Murray’s back. He caught sight of him scuttling round the corner of the building with the unsteady gait of an elderly man. Then the Pekinese began to bark uncontrollably, and, seemingly infected by the commotion, all the horses in the rank started to whinny and buck violently as the coachmen struggled unsuccessfully to calm them. All at once, before anyone could understand what was happening, the little dog leapt out of the carriage window and, seized by the folly that typifies that breed in moments of panic, went straight for the horses’ legs, yapping ferociously and trying to bite anything that came near it. The dog’s owner, her head poking out of the window, called it with strident little cries as she tried to open the door, but her attempts were thwarted by the sharp jolts the horses were giving the carriage. Then, seeing the distraught Pekinese venture into the deadly labyrinth of horses’ legs, Jane tried to catch it before it was trampled.
Just then several people saw an incredibly tall man, wrapped in a long dark cloak and wearing a broad-brimmed hat, emerge from the shadows at the far end of the street. The mysterious figure stood still for a moment in the pool of light cast by one of the streetlamps before hurtling toward the portico. Those who had seen the figure would later describe to their friends how terrifying the image was, for the giant had been running impossibly fast, his cloak billowing menacingly behind him, and he was carrying a peculiar cane whose handle bore an eight-pointed star that shimmered like a magic charm. His feet, shod in heavy, studded black boots, made the ground reverberate at his approach. However, our friends, busy trying to rescue the Pekinese, did not notice the stranger until he passed through them like a whirlwind. Wells received a blow that sent him reeling. When he finally managed to regain his footing, still slightly giddy from the encounter, he glimpsed the figure as it disappeared round the same corner where the old man had fled moments before. All at once, a horrified uproar made him turn back toward the crowd. There, seemingly suspended in the streetlamp’s amber glow, a ghastly tableau presented itself to his astonished eyes: Emma’s face was twisted in a grimace of horror, the stout lady was gripping the rim of the carriage window with her fat fingers as she leaned out, the horses had reared up on their hind legs like majestic statues, and below them, at the mercy of their hooves, Jane, his Jane, lay sprawled on the ground. For what seemed like an eternal moment, Wells contemplated his wife lying there about to be trampled, as if he were studying the work of some heartless painter, feeling as if he might spend the rest of his life examining its gruesome details. Then a wave of fear sucked the air from his lungs and his soul from his body, and time breathed life back into the scene. Before Wells could move, a bulky figure swept past him and scooped Jane up like a force of Nature, snatching her from beneath the animals’ hooves only seconds before they pounded the cobblestones.
When Wells finally managed to make his legs obey him, he ran over to his wife, with Emma close behind. Jane was still on the ground, protected by Murray’s huge frame. Several men had grabbed the reins and were trying to steer the horses away from them, although the animals appeared to have calmed down miraculously, as had the Pekinese, which, after its display of bravura, had returned to its mistress’s soft bosom. Wells and Emma knelt beside their respective companions, still shocked by what they had witnessed. Murray raised his head, and only when he was sure they were completely safe did he move away from Jane, freeing her from the makeshift shield of his body. The young woman’s eyes were tight shut.
“Mrs. Wells, Jane . . . ,” he whispered gently. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, slightly dazed, and then glanced about for her husband’s face.
“Oh, B-Bertie, I was so afraid,” she stammered. “The horses reared up, that man in the cloak pushed me, I lost my balance and fell right under . . . Oh, God, I thought they were going to—”
“Don’t think about it, dear. You’re safe now. It’s all over.”
They embraced tearfully while, next to them, Murray and Emma did the same, and the crowd that had gathered around them applauded excitedly. Jane’s cheeks were wet with tears, and through her disheveled locks Wells’s eyes met Murray’s. Murray smiled.
“You damned fool,” muttered Wells, “I don’t know how you always succeed in stealing the limelight.”
Murray gave a hearty laugh, beaming with happiness. And slowly the four of them, still shaking, rose to their feet, aided by the now solicitous footmen. As they brushed off their clothes, listening to the crowd congratulating Murray, Wells noticed Jane gesturing to him discreetly. No more than a slight bob of the head and a fleeting look, but he understood. He nodded with a sigh and turned toward Murray.
“Well, er . . . I don’t think even I can find the suitable words to thank you for what you did this evening, so at least allow me to offer you and your fiancée a ride in our carriage, since your coachman seems to have left you high and dry, which in my opinion shows good judgment . . .” A discreet nudge in the ribs from Jane dissuaded Wells from continuing that line of thought. “Er, yes, allow us to accompany you to your respective residences. I am sure that some words of thanks will come to me on the way . . .”