“Madam,” Hugh barked. “Be still at once.” At the voice of authority, the woman stopped wailing. She scrambled up, clutching a basket to her breast.

Hugh ran to help the child, but the boy was there first. “She’s breathing, sir.” His high-pitched laugh bordered on hysteria.

The woman smoothed her skirts and resettled the mud-spattered bonnet that, by a miracle, remained securely in place on her head. She retied the ribbon. “I give Betsy a good mouthful o’ gin not half an hour gone, so she’ll be fast asleep for a while, bless her.” The woman brimmed with pride at her own prudence.

“All’s well with the child, sir, so far as I can tell,” said the boy.

“If that’s the child’s mother, the poor thing’s likely used to misadventure.” Hugh’s lips twitched. The boy glanced up, an answering grin cracking the mask of mud over his face.

One of Hugh’s farm workers stepped out from the gloom. “It’s a bad thing, my lord, and no mistake. At least six dead and a good couple dying as I speak. I knew no good would come of these ’ere iron horses.” He shook his head. “We’re taking all the rest to find beds for the night in the village, and there’s a couple on the last cart that need to get to the hospital. The inn’s full to bursting.”

Hugh nodded. “Take the good lady and her child as well. I don’t think there’s anything broken that won’t mend when they’re sober, but it’s as well to be sure.” He looked at the boy. “You should go with them.”

The boy shook his head and took a step backwards. “There’s no need, sir.” His voice was husky. “I mean to continue on my way. The sun will be up shortly.”

Hugh shrugged. The hospital would be busy enough. If the lad chose not to go, that was his affair.

The boy recovered his cap from a puddle. Covered in mud and soaking wet, it was a sorry sight. He turned it over once or twice, fingers shaky, and then set it back on his head. Strands of short, raven black hair curled around the peak. His blue eyes met Hugh’s dark grey ones for a second and then flickered away. His cheeks glowed pink.

Hugh looked more closely. The lad was older than he seemed at first; closer to seventeen perhaps, though his cheeks were smooth and hairless and his frame slender. Hugh frowned. “Nonsense. You can’t go further now. In any case, you’ve done good work this night, and you’ve earned some rest and a decent meal before you move on.” He gestured to the fat lady. “That this good woman and her child have escaped with their lives today is to your credit. Come, we’ll make our way to Thatcham Hall. It’s little more than fifteen minute’s walk. Can you manage that?”

He signalled to the coachman to leave. The fat woman’s eyes widened. “Thatcham Hall? Bless me, you must be Lord Thatcham.” She clasped her hands to her cheeks and curtsied. “We don’t know how to thank you, me and Betsy, my lord. If it weren’t for you and that fine horse, and this lad, of course, well, we wouldn’t be here now. It don’t bear thinking about.”