Free Through Glass Eyes by Margaret Muir

help with my clothes for the tropics. They are packed away and will require airing. Until I get news of the sailing date I can’t be sure when I will be leaving, but I would like to be prepared. Will you see to that for me?’
    Lucy squeezed his hand. ‘Of course, Edward.’
     
    Less than two weeks later, Lucy and James waved Edward goodbye from Leeds station. As the guard waved his flag, Edward lowered the compartment window and leaned out.
    ‘A safe journey,’ Lucy shouted, when the train jerked forward.
    James trotted alongside the compartment, until he reached the end of the platform. As the engine clattered across the points and the train slowly turned away, the hand waving the white handkerchief disappeared from view.
    The station was smoky and cold. Outside in the centre of the city’s square the sun glinted on the huge bronze statue of a black-clad knight mounted on a prancing steed.
    ‘The Black Prince,’ said Lucy. ‘His name was Edward also.’
    ‘Was he a king?’
    ‘No, but he was a great horseman and leader.’
    ‘One day I will be like him’ James said.
    Lucy did not reply.
     
    It had been pouring for more than three hours. At times the rain, pelting against the kitchen window, sounded like tiny stones. The lane had become a river and a tributary was pouring under the gate into the front garden. A large pool had formed outside the front door and water was beginning to seep into the hallway. 
    Lucy was worried. James often rode for several hours on Sunday mornings but he was always back well before it was time to sit down for dinner. It was over an hour since she had taken the roast out of the oven and now it was almost cold.
    The sound she heard was his boot thumping against the kitchen door. ‘Mum! Quick! I need help!’
    Alarmed, Lucy opened the door to find James standing in the rain, shivering violently. His hair was stuck to his face and neck, his shirt sopping wet and in his arms, he was cradling a child. She was wrapped in his overcoat.
    ‘Goodness, James. What happened?’
    Carrying the young girl into the living-room, he set her down on the sofa. ‘Take care of her, Mum. I must get some help.’
    ‘But what happened? Where did you find her?’
    ‘On the moors.A wagon had turned over. Lost its wheel. The driver was killed – crushed underneath it. I didn’t see the child at first. She was cowering in the heather, wet through and freezing cold. At first, I couldn’t make her understand me. I don’t think she is injured but she wouldn’t speak.’ He turned to the door. ‘I must get some help and go back. There may be someone else out there. I’ll take Edward’s horse.’
    ‘But you’re soaked to the skin! At least dry yourself.’
    ‘I’ll be all right. But I’ll take my coat.’
    Lucy slid it gently from around the child whose eyes were open but staring blankly ahead.
    ‘Be careful,’ Lucy said, helping him into his wet overcoat.
    ‘I will.’
    As soon as he left, Lucy dried the girl’s face and hair. But her clothes were soaking wet. After wrapping her in a blanket, she filled the hot-water bottle and laid it carefully between the covers. Pushing the sofa closer to the fire, she added some wood.
    With difficulty Lucy coaxed the girl to drink a little of the sweet tea she had brewed. ‘What’s your name?’ she whispered, but the girl did not answer. Her hands were clasped tightly together, the knuckles squeezed hard against her cheeks. Sitting on the edge of the sofa, Lucy stroked her wet hair and hummed the nursery rhymes she used to sing to James. It was not many minutes before the drooping eyes closed and Lucy felt confident to leave her alone, just long enough to search for something suitable to dress her in.
    Hurrying up the stairs, she remembered the calico bag in the bottom of the wardrobe. It was full of linen and old clothes, including the nightshirts James had grown out of. One of the smaller ones would fit the child. Reaching in, she found an old