The Red Door

“I was knocked down and lost my hat. But I don’t think I hit my head. It was my shoulder that took the brunt of the fall.”

He looked just beyond her at the hat that matched her coat. He reached for it, and at the same time the seat against which Mrs. Channing lay shifted with a grinding noise. The dead man beyond her moved as well, sliding away as she cried out.

Rutledge sank back to his heels, reached again, and using just his fingers, he coaxed the hat toward him until it fell into his hand.

“Not too much the worse for wear,” he said, putting it down beside her.

“Ian. I know what the pain most likely represents. And moving is agony. I’d have sat up long ago if it weren’t for that. I can’t think how I’m going to get out of here.”

He smiled. “Someone said a doctor was on his way.”

The red-faced man was back, leaning into the carriage. He called, “Anyone there? Did you find her?”

“Yes,” Rutledge said. “A woman, broken or dislocated shoulder. We need to get her out.”

“I’ll find someone to help clear a way out of there.” He was gone again, and Meredith Channing said lightly, “A reprieve.”

“Meredith. It will take some time to clear a path for you. It might be best not to wait. This carriage could be resting on what’s out there. It could be all that keeps it from sliding down onto its side. It’s already halfway there. Do you understand?”

“I’ve been selfish. There are others who need help more than I do.” She was silent for a moment. Then she said, “Do what you must. And don’t mind if I beg you. Don’t stop.”

Someone stepped into the carriage at its far end, and it swayed again, dangerously. It was the red-faced man. “I’m afraid to move much closer in this direction.”

“Stand by,” Rutledge told him, then to Meredith Channing said, “First you must sit up. I’ll help you brace that shoulder as best I can.” He took off his belt and with her assistance drew it across her body, bringing her bad arm close to her chest. She whimpered with the pain, biting her lip and clenching her hands.

He didn’t want to think how much it must have hurt, but he managed to move her into a sitting position. Her face was pale with pain, her dark hair spilling out of its pins and falling over her shoulders. Giving her a few moments to collect herself and steady her breathing, he said, “Now you must stand.”

“Do you see my shoe? If I’m to walk out of here—the splinters—”

He looked around, and there was the shoe under the seat. He gave it to her, then took it back and put it on her bare foot himself, tying the laces.

“All right. Let me help with your weight. Hold on to me with your good arm, and I’ll make it as painless as possible.”

He tried, but she fainted before he could lift her to her feet. While she was unconscious, he carried her closer to the door of the next compartment and then through it.

But the red-faced man wasn’t there. It was someone else saying sharply, “Here, what do you think you’re doing?”

His shirt was torn and bloody, his trousers ripped to the knee, and blood dripped from a cut on his ear. “I’m a doctor,” he went on. “She may have internal injuries, broken ribs.”

“It’s her shoulder,” Rutledge said, “either broken or dislocated.”

“Let me see.” But as he stepped toward Rutledge, the car swayed again, the sound of metal rending and wood snapping. “Dear God! Is there anyone else in there?”

“I saw a man. He’s dead.”

“Can you be sure?”

“I’m from Scotland Yard. Yes, I’m sure.”

“All right, pass her to me. We can’t stand on ceremony now.”

Rutledge did as he was told, lifting Meredith’s limp body through the outer door, barely on its hinges, and clear of the carriage. The sun touched Meredith’s face, and her eyelids fluttered. The doctor, bracing himself with the help of the red-faced man, took her from Rutledge and then, between them, lowered her safely to the ground.

The doctor knelt and felt her shoulder. “You’re right. Dislocated. Let’s get her away from here. We’re collecting cases under that tree over there. Can you carry her that far?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then I’ll keep going and come back to you.”

“Have you seen a man—with a young boy? I’ve come to find them—”

“A good few men are all right. I haven’t seen a boy among them.” The doctor helped him lift Meredith Channing again, bracing her bad arm, and then disappeared into the carriage Rutledge had just left, to look at the man.

Rutledge carried her to the area where the walking wounded were being collected, and someone there spread a blanket over the bruised grass for him to lay her on. He took off his coat, rolled it, and set it under her head. Then he remembered her hat. “Stay with her,” he said to the woman beside her, and jogged back to the train.

The doctor was just coming out again. “You were right, he’s dead. Broke his neck from what I could see.”

He wanted to ask the doctor if he had searched the man’s pockets for his identification. Instead he asked, “There’s a rose hat just behind you—and a small valise. The woman—”