“James, do something, please,” she begged.
“She’s very cold,” he said after performing a brief examination. “Lizzy, go on ahead, get the fire going. And you,” he said, pointing at Tom. “I suspect you are suffering a little from the exposure. Go with her. The run will do you good. Now come on, gentlemen,” he said to the crowd of local fishermen who had gathered to help. “We need to get this good lady back to the warmth of her home. Who will help me carry her?”
* * *
Elizabeth burst through the door to her home, looking left and right as if she had arrived in a place she didn’t know. Her knees still felt cold and damp as she knelt at the fireplace, no idea what to do. The logs seemed too heavy, the coal insufficient as she tried to build the fire. All knowledge of a task she knew well had been lost in the confusion of the night. No matter what she tried, the fire floundered.
“Let me help,” Tom said, taking the pot from her when a third match went out. His voice broke the silence, reminded Elizabeth that she wasn’t alone. The warmth of his body next to hers evoked the memory of just how cold her mother had seemed at the beach.
“Do you really think she’ll be all right?” Elizabeth asked as the earliest sparks engulfed the wood. But before he could answer they heard the crowd arriving with her mother, the slam of the door, the shuffle of feet. By the time they got her in the chair, the first flames of a decent fire were licking the sides of the chimney.
Elizabeth stood aside to let James work, watching as he measured her mother’s blood pressure and listened to her chest. Her father sat at her side, tears welling in his eyes, his cheeks pinched pink by the fire. Elizabeth had never seen him look so helpless. A single tear broke free and streaked across his wrinkled cheeks. The room was silent, her mother too, everybody waiting on James’s verdict.
“Miss?” Elizabeth heard a whispered voice coming from behind her. Tom was standing alone, his drenched clothes dripping salt water to the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said, pushing his wet black hair from his face, “but do you have a towel I could use?”
With James taking care of medical matters, she knew that the best thing she could do would be to help the person who had saved her mother. “You’d better come with me,” she said as she beckoned Tom to follow her toward the stairs.
Under normal circumstances it would have been inappropriate to ascend the stairs as they were together. Eyebrows would have been raised at the disappearance of two youngsters like that, especially in a small place like Porthsennen. Yet on that night nobody noticed as he followed her in silence. He waited at the top of the stairs while Elizabeth rooted around in her father’s closet. Moments later she emerged carrying a well-worn sweater and a pair of dress trousers that tapered at the ankle.
“Thank you,” he said as she handed him the pile of clothes, adding a pair of brown brogues that she knew her father didn’t wear anymore.
“I should be thanking you,” she said as she stood back. “For what you did, I mean. You saved my mother’s life, no doubt.”
With the top of his forearm, he brushed his floppy wet hair from his face. “Anybody would have done the same, miss.”
Elizabeth had so many questions buzzing around her head. She wanted to ask what he had seen, and how he’d ended up being the one to help. About how her mother fell. But she didn’t know where to start, because she was sure on some level that she knew the answer to at least one of those questions. And her father was very specific; they were not to divulge any details of the illness that had claimed her mother, not a word about her memory problems, or the strange things she sometimes did around the house. Elizabeth didn’t want her inquisitiveness to fuel the fires of speculation.
“Perhaps,” she eventually said, agreeing. “But you were the one who did. I would like to say that I am very grateful.”
“My pleasure.” Silence descended again. Tom glanced down at the puddle of seawater forming under his feet. “Where should I change?”
The floorboards creaked as she moved toward the bathroom, pipes rattling as they delivered warm water to the sink. Tom held back from following her, but when she looked up and saw he wasn’t there, she moved to beckon him through. For a moment all she could do was stare at him as he stood in the doorway to the bathroom, the man who had saved her mother. Gratitude swelled inside her, and she wondered if there was anything she could ever do to repay such a thing as saving a person’s life. “There’s plenty of hot water, and soap in that dish,” she said after a while. “Take as long as you like.”
As Tom stepped into the bathroom Elizabeth looked away, suddenly aware of their proximity in such a small and private room. Edging past him, she made her way to the door. Just before he closed it, he held up the clothes and shoes and said, “Thank you again for this. I appreciate it, miss.”
The urge to rush back in, reach out, and hug him came to her, but she stifled it, and instead smiled and pointed to the sink. “Get washed and changed before you catch a chill, and come down when you’re ready.” Steam billowed toward her as he turned on the taps. “But just before I go, could you do me a favor?” It seemed wrong to her that somebody who had done something so great should have to refer to her so formally. “Please stop calling me miss. My name’s Elizabeth.”
Tom just smiled, nodded his head. “I know that,” he said, before closing the bathroom door.
* * *
Elizabeth’s fingers tingled against the hot mugs of tea that she’d made for the people who had stuck around after the accident. Once those drinks were in the hands of the helpers, she set about mopping up the patches of seawater that Tom had left behind with a rag she found under the sink, then swept up the sand that crunched underfoot as she walked. It was another fifteen minutes before folks began to leave, reassured by the fact that Catherine Davenport was in bed and out of danger. Elizabeth returned to the living room to find it almost empty.
“You’re leaving?” she asked James when she saw him buttoning his coat. Her father was finishing up what looked to be a large measure of brandy. Judging from his rosy cheeks, it was unlikely to have been his first. His eyes were still red and swollen from tears.
“I am going to leave you both in peace,” James said, reaching to stroke Elizabeth’s face.
“We need to get some rest,” said her father as he stood up from his chair, setting his glass down on a small table. Elizabeth couldn’t bear the thought of how terrible he must be feeling. He swept her up in a tight embrace. “Stop worrying now, eh? She’s going to be fine.” It was the safest place Elizabeth had ever known, yet still her father nodded to James, who was hovering next to them. “Tell her, won’t you? She’ll listen to you.”
“Your father’s right, Lizzy. She’s going to be just fine.” As James went to continue, they heard the creak of the staircase, the plod of heavy feet. They turned to see Tom arriving in the hallway. Elizabeth’s father stepped forward, reaching for Tom’s hand.
“Hello, young man, or should I say the hero of the hour. I believe you are the person who saved my wife.”
Tom nodded.
“I don’t know how to thank you enough,” her father said. “Please, tell me your name.”