A Pale Horse - Charles Todd [145]
It was Sarah Parkinson, and she was badly injured. He thanked the gods wherever they were that she was still alive, and knelt beside her. He didn’t know what had happened to Singleton and he didn’t care.
His hand touched blood, wet and warm at the side of her head, and then as he ran his hands down her body, he could feel the odd angle of one arm. Broken, he thought, but the head wound was more serious.
She moaned as he touched her, and he was afraid to move her until he knew the extent of her injuries.
Another motorcar was coming from the east, and Rutledge stood up, not sure that the driver could see the lorry and his motorcar in time to realize what had happened. He moved to Sarah Parkinson’s feet, prepared to wave off the other driver, but the motorcar slowed, then stopped.
“Is anyone hurt?” It was a woman’s voice, frightened but steady. “Hello?”
“Over here,” Rutledge called. “Bring a torch, or fetch mine from my motorcar.”
The driver got out and ran toward Rutledge’s motor, rummaging for the torch. Rutledge had a fleeting thought about Hamish, from long habit.
She came racing back, nearly tripping on the rough ground, torch in hand, flicking it on and shining it inadvertently into his face.
She stopped. “Rutledge? What’s going on?” she demanded, as if he had staged the accident to throw her off stride.
He said, “It’s your sister. I don’t think the lorry struck her, but she’s here on the side of the road, one arm broken and a cut on her head. If there are internal injuries—”
Rebecca was beside him, pushing him away, shining the light on her sister’s face.
“Sarah? For God’s sake—Sarah.”
She began to work quickly, but there were tears spilling down her cheeks now and her voice began to quiver as she talked to her sister.
There was no response.
“I’ve killed her!” Rebecca Parkinson cried. “We had a quarrel, it was my fault—I shouldn’t have let her go alone in the dark—I tried to find her again—”
Her sister moaned, and Rebecca bent over her trying to cradle her head.
“Don’t move her,” Rutledge cautioned. “We don’t know the extent—you must go and find help at once. There’s a village back the way I came, no more than three miles? Four? Go there and ask if there’s a doctor.”
“I won’t leave her. It’s my fault, I tell you.”
He grasped her by the shoulders and shook her. “Hysteria wastes any time she has left. Get in the motorcar and go. There’s a murderer loose here, he was driving that lorry, and you can’t stay here alone. Go.”
She stumbled back to her motorcar and got in, pushing her foot down on the gas pedal with such force that the car leapt ahead as she turned it and he heard a wheel of the bicycle crunch under the tires. But she bumped over it and kept going, disappearing into the darkness with such abandon he wondered if she would make it herself.
He used the light to look for more injuries, and then bound Sarah’s head with his handkerchief to control the bleeding. As he moved her slightly, she cried out. Her arm or her back? He had no way of knowing.
Speaking to her quietly, he tried to reassure her, but she seemed not to know where she was or what was happening.
“A blessing,” Hamish said, at his shoulder.
Taking off his coat he rolled it and set it under the broken arm, then ran his hands down her legs. He could feel bloody bunches of stocking, blood soaking through her skirts, but there was no indication of a break on either.
She came to for a moment, and he said, “Rebecca is here. She’s gone for help. Hold on. It won’t be long.”
“I hurt. All over.”
He tried to smile. “That’s good. It means you can feel. Stay quiet, I’ll be here.”
From the lorry he could hear the sound of a door creaking open.
Singleton was still alive.
He did nothing. Said nothing. And listened.
After a time a voice from the darkness called, “I can see you, even if you can’t see me. I’ll kill both of you if you try to stop me.”
“You aren’t my case. You’re Hill’s. Go on.” He snapped off his torch.
“You aren’t armed. I am.”
“I said, go on.”
He could hear footsteps crunching in the dirt of the road and