Seeing someone else who could look after her, the countess picked up her skirts and bolted for the stage, helped by the fact most of the audience had already cleared the area. She could move when she had to.
Jacob looked up. The trees had brought down the wooden canopy and parts of it were on fire. Still the wretched fireworks exploded, casting bursts of light on the confusion below. Dora had exited out the back with Percy, but he couldn’t go in search of her until he had dealt with the emergency at hand. It was too much like the many battlefields he had attended, no good choices and only medical protocol to guide one’s actions. He could feel cold sweat trickle down his spine. Now was not the time to indulge in unpleasant memories; now was the time for action.
He moved to the injured man. At least this was familiar.
‘Stay still. I’m going to lift the branch off you.’ He felt the count’s neck. Heartbeat was strong.
A groan greeted his touch. Vorontsov was coming round.
‘There was an accident and you’ve been struck by a tree branch, Count Vorontsov. I must check you for injuries before I move you, but I’m getting you out of here, understood?’
The man groaned again. Good enough.
‘Brace yourself.’ Jacob did not like the speed at which the canopy fire was spreading. The wooden roof had saved them from most of the splinters from the explosion but now it was threatening to undo that good work by burning them to death. He had to dodge the smouldering slats as they fell. ‘One. Two. Three.’ Heaving on the branch he could only lift it, not enough to clear the body. He swore. He needed help. ‘Hi! You there! Give me a hand!’ He called to a shocked-looking apprentice who was staggering across the ruins of the audience area. The boy touched his chest. ‘Yes, you, soldier. Get over here.’
Hearing the call to action, the young recruit jogged over and jumped the rail. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Pull that man out when I take the weight.’
‘Fuck me, it’s burning down!’ said the apprentice, noticing the fiery heavens overhead.
‘I know that, private, but we’ve got to do this now. Stop lollygagging and pull!’
On the count of three, he lifted and his recruit pulled. They got the count clear and Jacob let the branch fall with a thump. They needed a stretcher, or they risked exacerbating any injury the count might have.
‘Pull the cloth off the table. We’ll use the tabletop to carry him.’
‘Oh, heck, sir, it’s all on fire now.’ The young man looked close to panicking like a raw recruit facing the guns for the first time.
‘Remember your orders, private. Move your arse! Table. Now!’
The apprentice glared at him while he shoved the plates and glasses off the top and flipped the trestle table over to yank off the legs. ‘This isn’t a bloody battlefield and I’m not in your army! I’m a cobbler.’
A bit of spirit was better than fear. ‘I’ve been on battlefields, and I don’t see the difference. Don’t worry, cobbler, I’ll see you are rewarded for bravery.’
The young man scoffed at that but stuck with him, some of his normal wits returning with his attitude. ‘Who’s the cove?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Might be the bloody Frenchman who blew us all up, spoiling our fun. Someone said he was in this box.’
That didn’t bode well for Percy wherever he was. ‘Not a Frenchman. The count is an ally of England– a Russian. We are friends with them.’ For now. ‘Take his shoulders and slide him on the table when I tell you.’
Vorontsov successfully transferred to the table, Jacob kicked out what remained of the railing. Seeing some gardeners arriving to extinguish the flames, he commandeered two to help lift the makeshift stretcher.
‘Where are we going with this?’ asked the apprentice. ‘I gotta find my girl.’
So have I, thought Jacob. ‘We’ll carry it as far as the stage. On my mark– lift!’
Far from being able to go in search of Dora, Jacob found his skills required to attend the injured. The count was the worst hit by the explosion. Jacob feared that there might be a spinal injury, but he didn’t want to alarm anyone. Instead, he made it very clear no one was to move his patient until the count’s own surgeons arrived and made their assessment. He did not want to spark a diplomatic incident if his negligence meant the envoy emerged from the evening paralysed. As the countess was useless in a crisis, it was to Miss Petrovna that he entrusted the instructions and advised that utmost care should be taken before moving him to their embassy.
‘This is a scandal,’ Miss Petrovna said, gazing at the ruins of her debut in London. ‘Who did this? The French? Are we safe here?’
Jacob had only time to shake his head when he was called away to new patients. Julien moved to assist Miss Petrovna by relieving her of the task of comforting the countess. The other injured included several burns victims and one casualty– a child caught in the stampede. There was nothing Jacob could do. The boy was already dead when he was carried to the stage, his distraught father weeping, the mother with her dress half dragged off her. Their cries of anguish would stay with Jacob long after he delivered the news.
‘Who did this?’ asked the father, echoing Miss Petrovna’s question. ‘Who wanted to destroy our happiness? It’s that devil Bonaparte and his men, isn’t it, doctor?’
That rumour seemed to be spreading very quickly. ‘I don’t know, sir. It appeared an accident to me. I am so sorry for yourterrible loss– please, take your wife home.’ Jacob slipped the man some money for a carriage. ‘You don’t need to stay here.’
