the ignition and then leaning across his inert body to drag at the wheel. The bus came to a lop-sided halt on the wrong side of the road, on a narrow grass slope leading to a small waterway. It took a few long seconds to decide what it would do next and then tilted sideways and slid slowly over. Arabella had ample time to see a car, coming fast and apparently straight at them. Her head was full of a jumble of thoughts, tilting themselves sideways out of her mind just as the bus was tilting—Sister Brewster, squeaking like a parrot; the children, gasping and crying incoherently for help; Hilary, telling her it would be quite an easy trip and she had nothing to worry about; last and most strangely, a vivid memory of Anne’s gorgeous bridesmaid’s hat.
The bus landed on its side quite gently and lay rocking. She heard the squeal of brakes as she tried to twist round to hold the children nearest to her upright.
CHAPTER TWO
THERE was someone trying to open the driver’s door, now crazily above Arabella’s head. She could hear a man’s voice, uttering harsh foreign words as the door handle came away uselessly in his hand and fell within inches of her head. The next moment she saw a large hand slide through the partly opened glass top of the door and work its way to the inside handle; when the door opened with a protesting groan, the hand’s owner put his head through and stared down at her.
He was a good-looking man, not so very young, with fair hair and blue eyes under thick arched brows. Arabella examined his face with a dreamlike detachment brought on through shock, but when he allowed his gaze to roam rapidly round the chaos around her, she pulled herself together.
‘Please help us,’ she was glad to hear her voice was steady. ‘These children are spastics.’ Even as she spoke she wondered if he understood a word she said.
Apparently he did, for he disappeared without a word, leaving her a prey to the fear that he might have decided that it would be more prudent to get help rather than start rescue operations on his own. Her fears were groundless, however; she heard the door at the back of the bus being wrenched open with some difficulty and his voice, speaking English this time, telling Sister Brewster with firm authority to climb out into the road and stop any car which might come along. She couldn’t hear Sister Brewster’s reply, but the squawking had stopped.
The bus had stopped rocking by now, but there was water slopping through the half-open windows at the back. Arabella made shift to unbuckle two or three of the children who were getting wet, and lift them on to the other side of the bus, to sit them higgledy-piggledy on top of the children already there. She heard the man’s voice again and saw that he was back, leaning precariously through the door. He spoke with approval:
‘Good girl—move as many as you can from that side, but keep away from the back, the bus may slide even more. We’ll get the children out in a minute or two, but first I must move the driver.’
Arabella cried: ‘He’s…’ and stopped herself just in time because the children had stopped their wailing and crying to listen. ‘Isn’t he?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Tell me the names of any of the children who can help themselves enough to get out of the back of the bus.’
‘John, Teddy, Peter…’ she paused. ‘Sister Brewster’s there,’ she reminded him.
‘No use at the moment—go on.’
‘I can’t remember any more names, but they can help William and Joan once they’re out. They’re not too good on their feet, but they could manage.’
She could hear him telling them what to do; he had a deep, rather slow voice, it was very reassuring just listening to it; she felt her heartbeats slow as her first fright subsided. It was just a question of getting the children out. She contrived to turn once more and take a more detailed look at her small companions. Some of them had minor cuts and red patches which would be nasty bruises later on and they would all be badly shocked; she thought briefly and with regret of poor Mr Burns and then lifted her head again as their rescuer spoke.
‘You’ll have to help, I’m afraid. Untwist his feet from the pedals, will you?’
He made the request in a matter-of-fact way which made it easier for her to do as he had bidden her. Poor Mr Burns disappeared from view and the way was more or less clear for the children.
‘I’m afraid you must heave them from below,’ said the man, ‘but there’s bound to be a car along soon and then we’ll have help—it’s a quiet road, but not as quiet as all that.’ He peered down. ‘Strapped to their seats, are they? Let’s start with the little one beside you and then you’ll have more room to turn round.’
It was a slow business, for the children were unable to help themselves, but Arabella, although small, was sturdy and possessed the gift of patience. She had just pushed ten-year-old Bobby Trent’s frail body below the door so that the man could lean down and catch him by the arms, when she heard a car pull up. Without loosening his hold on the little boy, the man turned his head and shouted something, and Arabella heard an answering voice before the car started up again, its urgent roar fading quickly into the distance.
The man grinned down at her. ‘Gone for help,’ he told her briefly, ‘and there’s help here besides.’
He lifted Billy as though he had been made of feathers and disappeared with him, to reappear after a moment and climb through the door. The bus had been overcrowded before, what with its cockeyed seats and scattered luggage and terrified children. Now there was no room to move, for he was an immensely tall man and largely made. But they were not cramped for long; another man appeared above them and now the children were being passed swiftly upwards and out to safety. Arabella, with an eye to the men’s speed, began at once to unbuckle the remaining children so that no time should be lost. It was a difficult task, for the children were frightened, making their helplessness even more marked. She soothed them as best she could and tried to control wildly waving arms and legs, wishing that Sister Brewster could pull herself together and give a hand, although probably she was busy with the children already rescued.
‘Would it be easier to get the rest of the children out of the back door?’ ventured Arabella.
Her companion didn’t pause in his rescue operations. ‘No—the bus is beginning to tilt at that end; we don’t want to shift the balance, it might make it more awkward.’
She considered that nothing could be more awkward than their task at that moment, but she kept silent. It was hardly an occasion for conversation, and the men seemed to know exactly what they were doing.
There were only five children left when she heard several cars stop close by with a tremendous squealing of brakes. The man beside her had called to his helper above, who in his turn shouted down to whoever it was who had arrived, and a moment later a round, serious face, crowned by a peaked cap, appeared at the door above them. ‘Police,’ muttered Arabella, and redoubled her efforts with the incredible muddle Sally Perkins had got herself and her straps into. The owner of the face seemed to know the man in the bus, for he listened to what he had to say, nodded his head in agreement and disappeared again.
Arabella could hear the singsong warning of the ambulances now, and the thought flitted through her head that she hadn’t the least idea of what was to happen to them all; presumably someone would arrange something—perhaps Sister Brewster? No, on second thoughts, old Brewster would be waiting for someone else to do it for her. The last child was heaved gently aloft, so that he could be lifted clear of the bus, and Arabella found herself clipped round her neat waist and held high, so that she could be lifted through the door too, to be deposited gently on the grass. She was barely on her
