The storm had blown itself out when Frank Davies left his cottage in Port Felec the next morning. It had stopped raining and though it was still very windy, pale sunlight was lighting the sky. He’d heard the maroons go off, but neither he nor his wife had been prepared to brave the fury of the storm to watch the launch of the lifeboat. Now he trudged up the hill and took the path across the cliff to Trescadinnick, wondering what damage the bullying winds had done to his garden. As he neared Trescadinnick he saw something lying in the path. For an instant he stopped stock-still and stared, then realizing what he was looking at, he hurried forward.
‘Mr Charles!’ he cried, and kneeling down shook the lifeless figure on the ground. He got no response to his shaking and put his hand on Charles’s face. It was stone cold.
Getting stiffly to his feet again, Davies almost ran to the house, to bang on the front door and tell the news. ‘Oh, Miss Sophie,’ he croaked, when she opened the door to his frantic knocking. ‘Oh, Miss Sophie. He’s dead. On the path.’
Sophie grabbed at the old man, himself almost collapsed on the doorstep, and shook him. ‘Who’s dead. Where is he?’
‘It’s Mr Charles. He’s lying on the cliff, stone cold.’
Sophie gave a shriek that brought Hannah running. ‘He’s dead!’ she sobbed. ‘He’s dead.’
Hannah pulled Frank Davies into the house and pushed him onto a chair. ‘Tell me,’ she ordered. ‘Tell me what you’ve just told Miss Sophie.’
‘Mr Charles lying dead on the cliff,’ he wheezed.
Sophie was already out of the door and, leaving the old man sitting in the hall, Hannah rushed after her. Together they ran out onto the cliff and there they found Charles, lying at the top of the path that came up from the beach.
Sophie flung herself down beside him, putting her arms round him, her face against his cold skin. He was still wearing his bulky cork life jacket and his tarpaulin waterproofs, but his feet, hands and head were bare. Hannah kneeled down beside him and took one of his hands in hers. It was icy cold, but she pressed her fingers to his wrist in search of a pulse. At first she could find none, but moving her hand under his chin she thought she felt a flutter.
‘Get up, Sophie,’ she cried. ‘He’s still alive. We have to get him to the house. Run back – send Ned for Will. Tell them both to come here and bring blankets.’
For a moment Sophie stared at her and Hannah shouted, ‘Go, Sophie!’
Sophie was on her feet and running, while Hannah threw off her own cloak and wrapped it round the motionless Charles. Had she imagined a pulse? She felt again at his neck. No, it was definitely there, very faint, very slow, but beating.
‘Come on, come on,’ she muttered as she waited for help to arrive. She took Charles’s hands in hers and tucked them under her cloak, wishing there was more she could do to fight the cold that was taking him. It seemed an age before Sophie was back with a blanket and the promise that Will and Ned were right behind her.
‘Shouldn’t we take this cork thing off him?’ she suggested as she kneeled beside him, trying to tuck the blanket round him.
‘No,’ said Hannah. ‘I think it might be keeping him warm.’
‘But he’s freezing,’ cried Sophie in despair.
There was a shout from the path and they looked round to see Will and Ned arriving at the run.
‘We’ll get him back to the house,’ Will said. ‘You run on ahead and get his bed warm. Light the fire in his room. We need to fight the cold.’
Sophie and Hannah ran back to the house and several minutes later Ned and Will arrived, carrying the inert figure of Charles. They took him straight upstairs to his room, where the fire was just catching in the grate and Edith was running a warming pan between the sheets. Louisa, wearing a dressing gown over her nightclothes, was waiting in the hall, her face pale as she followed the two men carrying her son upstairs.
‘Now then, Miss Sophie,’ said Hannah, taking charge, ‘you go downstairs and get Mrs Paxton to make us all hot drinks. Tell Edith to bring up plenty of hot water. Will and I can do what’s needed up here.’ She gave her a little push. ‘Go on now, we’ll look after him.’ She turned to Louisa. ‘Mrs Leroy, please, will you wait downstairs?’ Louisa seemed about to say something, but changed her mind and did as she was asked.
Will and Hannah closed the door and set about getting Charles out of his cold wet clothes. They removed the cork jacket.
‘That’s what saved him,’ Will murmured. ‘Not just in the sea, but from the cold as well.’ They stripped the sodden clothes away and patted his freezing body dry with warm towels, trying to get the blood flowing again. They bathed him all over with warm water and then rubbed him dry again, before putting him into a warm, dry nightgown and nightcap and tucking him into the warmed bed, the blankets up to his chin. All the time they watched for any flicker of life, but there was none. Hannah felt for the pulse yet again, and still it was there, but the figure in the bed could have been carved out of marble.
‘We’ve done all we can here,’ Will said. ‘He needs a doctor. We should send Ned to Treslyn to fetch Miss Matty and her doctor. In the meantime he must be kept warm. I’ve seen a man come back from this, so we mustn’t give up hope.’
‘How did he come to be out on the cliff top, d’you think?’ Hannah wondered.
Will shrugged. ‘Could have collapsed coming home last night,’ he said. ‘But he was so wet, I think he came out of the sea. Must’ve gone overboard in the wave that took the doctor. Currents would carry him this way. Maybe he got ashore, managed to climb up the path before he was too exhausted to go further. Whatever happened, he’d be a dead man now if Frank Davies hadn’t found him and raised the alarm.’
‘I’ll tell Miss Sophie and his mother that they can come in now,’ Hannah said, ‘and I’ll send Ned to fetch Mrs Treslyn.’
Sophie and Louisa came into the bedroom and looked at the still figure in the bed. ‘We must keep him warm,’ Louisa said. ‘And someone must sit with him.’
Sophie was already at the bedside. ‘I’ll stay with him,’ she said, ‘until he wakes up.’
Louisa seemed about to protest, but seeing the look on Sophie’s face said, ‘We’ll take it in turns.’
When Matty and Dr Crown arrived from Treslyn, the doctor went straight upstairs to visit his patient and Sophie, sent out of the room during his examination, came downstairs to greet her aunt.
‘He’s still alive,’ she said. ‘I won’t let him die!’
‘That decision is not yours to make,’ said Louisa. ‘We can only pray for him now.’
‘If he has something to live for perhaps he will pull through,’ Matty said soothingly. ‘He’s young and he’s strong and is safely in his own bed.’
Dr Crown echoed her words when he came back downstairs. ‘You have done exactly the right thing,’ he said. ‘Now that his body is gradually warming up, he should regain consciousness. I advise constant attendance, so that if he wakes up someone is on hand to give him sustenance. A little water, a sip of brandy, perhaps a spoonful of broth. Warm drinks, not too hot, but regular.’
Matty stayed the rest of the day, but she left Louisa and Sophie to sit at his bedside. Dr Crown had been carried off by Will to attend the rescued men who were still recovering at The Clipper.
Sophie sat by Charles’s bed and held his hand. He seemed to be a little warmer now, and his breathing became a little steadier.
‘Come back to us, Charles,’ Sophie murmured softly as she stroked his hand. ‘Come back to us. We all need you. What will AliceAnne do if you die? Your mother is praying for you to recover. And I? I can’t imagine my life without you at the centre of it. You said you loved me before you left. Was that true, my dearest? Come back to all of us. Come back to me. It’s me, Sophie, calling you because I love you and need you and want you.’
It was later that evening, as she continued to sit by his bed, that Sophie noticed a difference. The sound of his breathing changed and the faint shallow breaths sounded stronger. The light of the lamp, shielded from his face, showed a slight movement beneath the covers. Sophie leaned forward and suddenly his eyes flicked open for a second.
‘Charles?’ she breathed, ‘Charles, can you hear me? It’s me, Sophie. Are you awake?’ She grasped his hands so that he would know she was there, and his eyes opened again, and this time stayed open.
‘Sophie?’ he croaked, his voice husky and dry. ‘Sophie?’
‘I’m here, Charles,’ she whispered. ‘I’m here... always.’ And leaning forward, she touched his cheek with her lips.
For a moment a beatific smile spread across his face before he lapsed back into sleep.
Sophie felt a surge of joy welling up inside her as very gently, she tucked the hand she’d been holding back under the covers, and went to tell his mother that Charles had turned the corner and he was coming back to them.