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“I hope they mention Daddy’s heroism,” Grace said as she joined them.
“That would be nice,” their mother said.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, startled when the front door slammed.
Grace rose. “Must be Daddy back from…”
“Wait until you read this,” their father exclaimed as he rushed into the kitchen, brandishing the newspaper. “They’ve caught the men responsible.”
“Already?” Samantha asked, puzzled by her father’s broad grin. “Have the detectives arrived from Scotland Yard?”
“They haven’t. A local bobby caught the perpetrators.”
Samantha’s throat went dry. Parker had promised to track down the murderers, but…
“Your Sergeant Cullen is the hero of the hour,” her father announced, spreading the newspaper in front of her.
Samantha skimmed over the lead article, her mother and sister reading over her shoulder.
“What are Fenians again?” Grace asked.
As she read the details of Parker’s heroic deeds, Samantha only half-heard her father’s explanation. Her heart filled with pride. Clearly, Parker hadn’t allowed his limp to hinder his investigation.
“It takes a brave man to do what he did,” her father opined. “Especially with his…er…disability.”
“Seems to me there must have been a lot of sleuthing required too,” Samantha added. “He told me he had a hunch, and he obviously followed it.”
“Look at that,” her mother said, pointing to a paragraph further down the page. “It isn’t the first time he’s saved the day.”
Close to tears, Samantha read the details of Parker’s heroism in thwarting an assassination attempt against Queen Victoria. It mentioned the injuries he’d suffered and the medal Her Majesty had awarded him.
“Cor,” Grace said, chewing a mouthful of egg and toast. “He’s met the queen.”
“He really is a hero,” Samantha murmured.
My hero.
Parker had sacrificed a great deal for queen and country. Yet, he’d never bragged about his bravery. He came across as just an ordinary man. Nor had he allowed his disability to interfere with his pursuit of justice. Her admiration for him grew by leaps and bounds. She hoped he would keep his promise to see her again.
* * *
Once the chief constable learned Parker had apprehended the men responsible for blowing up the bridge, he quickly got over his annoyance at the flouting of a direct order. He claimed to have had a gut feeling the disaster wasn’t an accident.
Moore advised Parker to go home and get some rest, but he wanted to be present at the Weasel’s interrogation. He had to make sure the American was implicated and an arrest warrant issued.
The local doctor bound Gwilym Preece’s broken ribs and his father kept his promise to reveal the details of the plot to blow up the bridge. “Shoulda known better than to get mixed up in Fenian business,” the Welshman muttered. “Froze our balls off for nothing.”
It transpired the train wasn’t supposed to be destroyed, but that didn’t lessen the enormity of the crime. A contingent of policemen was dispatched to the local hotel, only to discover the American had fled.
“I’ve telephoned Scotland Yard,” the chief constable announced, tweaking his mustache. “Given your description, and the information of his cohorts, they’ll track him down. He won’t escape to his own country. The ports will be watched.”
It seemed Whitney’s all-important call from the police box had changed Moore’s mind about the recently invented telephone.
Parker secured the key to the tiny cell and freed his uncle. Judson lay on his bunk staring into space, though it was the middle of the night. Parker sat beside him and explained the plot and the arrests, but got the feeling his uncle wasn’t really listening. “You must be devastated by what happened,” he said, “but at least you know we got the men responsible.”
“Years wasted,” his uncle lamented as Parker helped him rise and don his coat. “I’m not a young man, you know, Nephew. This was my last bridge. It can be replaced, but lives lost cannot. Those unfortunate people on the train…”
“Let me take you home,” Parker replied. “You need to get some rest.”
