Chapter 3:

Rebuilding and moving forward

The Heir of The Drakes - Chronicles of The Drakes Vol. 1


Ruslan woke up, morning light filtering through the curtains of his bedroom. It had been 2 days since he had returned home, Drake Manor was still as he remembered it after 9 years. He sat up on the edge of the bed, he put his left hand to his right side, where his arm should have been. He couldn't quite get used to it.

He got up and walked over to the dresser. He saw his shattered face reflected in the mirror, the furrow that the shrapnel had left on his face had begun to lighten and it was no longer bright red as before, but rather pinkish. He looked at his empty, dark right eye socket. He was starting to get used to the lack of depth perception, but it still played a trick or two on him. The day before he had tripped and broken a vase that his mother was quite fond of. She played it down, but it hadn't stopped him from feeling bad about it. He had to get better, or he would never get back to normal life.

He took the leather patch from the dresser and covered his empty eye. He dressed calmly. He did everything more slowly now, having only one hand with which to fasten the buttons on his shirt. He had given up wearing a tie, refusing to let anyone help him get dressed, even if it was only the knot of the tie. He didn't want to feel like an invalid, or he would end up in self-pity, he had to be determined and tenacious. He had to get over it.

He left his room and as he walked down the stairs, he began to hear the voices of his parents talking in the dining room.

- Do you think you can help him?

- Yes, the arm is no problem, but the eye?

Ruslan entered the dining room. When his parents saw him, they immediately fell silent.

- It's all right, you can go on, I've made up my mind about my condition.

- Son, I'm sorry, I know it's hard, but I'm worried, and not for nothing, - his mother replied.

- I was telling your mother that we can easily fix the arm issue, but an autolimb eye prosthesis? It's never been done before, - his father said.

- I'm sure you can think of something, and since I have some free time while I'm on medical leave, how about I give you a hand? After all, the problem is mostly mine, - Ruslan said.

His parents looked at each other with a twinkle in their eyes, his father got up and hugged him.

- I'd like nothing better! - William said proudly as Ruslan's mother smiled.

- Well, we'll go to your lab whenever you want.

- Oh no, you won't! - his mother said with her arms up in the air, - Convalescents need to regain their strength. You don't go anywhere without a proper breakfast.

Ruslan and his father looked at her and burst out laughing, Marion Drake could be more adamant than anyone when it came to the welfare of her family.

- All right, mother, even I know I wouldn't win that battle, - said Ruslan, still laughing, and sat down with his parents for breakfast.

A few hours later William Drake and his son Ruslan were on their way to Drake Industries, where the company's autolimb development lab was located. While Drake Industries was a conglomerate with varied business options, the cornerstone of its success was undoubtedly autolimb technology.

William Drake's patented autolimb technology, which had earned him a knighthood from the Crown of Albion, had made the company a household name and improved the lives of countless people. Autolimb mechanical prostheses allowed people who had suffered amputations or damage to limbs or organs to recover and even return to normal life.

In addition, Sir William Drake had set up the Drake Prosthetic Foundation, run by his wife Marion, which provided access to autolimb prostheses to those less fortunate who needed their help. This had led to many other companies trying to get their hands on autolimb technology at any cost, but Sir William had always refused to turn his work into a commercial investment, his desire was for his technology to save lives, and for this reason the people of Albion held the Drake Conglomerate in high regard. This rise to prominence of Drake Industries had led to friction and quarrels with other commercial magnates, who had tried to replicate William Drake's autolimb technology without much success.

Drake Industries was located in the industrial area of London, occupying an entire estate with four large buildings. The laboratory was in the annex building at the entrance to the complex. Sir William and his son entered the main entrance where a security guard cleared them through after a routine identity check.

Ruslan had always been surprised to enter the laboratory. Men and women were hard at work on their projects at different workbenches. Doctors and engineers were working together to achieve the best results in the development of better prostheses, and as his father always said, with no expense spared. After all, 75% of the profits of the other commercial departments of the Drake conglomerate went back into the development and implementation of autolimb technology.

- Good morning, William - Dr. Alexander Vermont, a short man with thick glasses and a white coat, approached Ruslan and his father. His hair was already marked by a grey patch at his temples, as was his bushy moustache.

- Good morning, Alexander, - William replied. - I'm sure you remember my son Ruslan.

- Of course, thank you for your service, your father goes on and on about how proud he is of his son and his achievements. - Ruslan looked at his father, who turned his gaze to an operator and approached him to give him a nod.

- Thank you, doctor, - Ruslan offered his left hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Dr. Vermont shook it shyly.

- What do you think of your father's legacy, Ruslan? - Vermont escorted Ruslan around the facility.

- I've always been amazed by the technological advances being discovered here, - Ruslan replied. - This technology improves the lives of so many people, it's something everyone should be proud of, isn't it, Dr. Vermont?

- Alexander, please, it's like we're all family here, your father is like that, - Alexander said with a smile, - I've always liked the way he treats everyone.

Ruslan stared at his father as he went from post to post talking to his people, answering questions, making recommendations or simply encouraging them for the good work they were doing. His father had always wanted to make the world a better place for everyone, regardless of any social or personal distinction. It was admirable, Ruslan thought.

- Your father told us about your injuries, - Alexander commented. - We've been thinking about possible solutions, but according to your father, you could advise us.

- I don't know if I'll be of much help, - Ruslan replied with a lopsided smile, he still was feeling dull on the right side of his face, so his gestures had suffered a little. - After all, I'm just a soldier, not a scientist.

- That may be, but your father says you've always had an instinct for technology, and besides, your military experience could be useful to us in developing new prototypes for line-of-duty injuries like yours. We could help many wounded soldiers return to civilian life with a high degree of functional normality, or even continue in military life. That is, of course, if we get the army's approval.

- I'll help in any way I can, - Ruslan said. - Just tell me what I can do.

- Great, let's go to your father and call in some experts to have a meeting and define the new project.

Ruslan and Alexander moved towards their father, who was still hopping from post to post making checks, small adjustments and talking to the staff with his characteristic familiarity.

An hour later Ruslan found himself in a boardroom with his father, Dr. Vermont, and two other people in white coats, one a short woman with greying black hair pulled back in a bun with several strands falling down either side of her face. The other was a man of large stature, with a boxer's build, a prominent square jaw and a pronounced bald head.

- Well, let's start with the introductions, - William Drake said.

- I am Dr. Frances Solomon, head of the medical department of this laboratory. I'm in charge of the medical examinations and the integration of the autolimb prostheses with the patient's anatomy, - the woman said, as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

- And I am Oscar McBride, head of engineering, I oversee the assembly of the prostheses and the fitting of the prostheses to the patients' needs, - the bald man said, his voice as deep as a giant's. - I am in charge of the integration of the prostheses without the need to integrate them with the patient's anatomy.

- I oversee the synaptic nerve integration of the prostheses and training in their use, - Alexander said.

- And finally, - William began. - I am in charge of the development and improvement of the internal technology of the prostheses, as well as the nerve connections of the prostheses.

- Good, - Ruslan said. - What do I have to do?

- Firstly, Frannie will give you a thorough medical examination to assess the damage, then we want you to join with each of us to define the needs and requirements that would be expected of the prostheses you need, and to give us any ideas that might help in the development of those prostheses.

His father was asking Ruslan to work together with him and his top experts, Ruslan doubted his technical usefulness, but he never declined a challenge.

- OK, when do we start?

- Right now, come with me to the medical diagnostic section and we'll proceed with the examination, - Frances replied. - William, you should also come for the nerve endings analysis.

When they entered the diagnostic room, Frances instructed Ruslan to remove his shirt and patch so she could examine his wounds.

His father was shocked when he saw the extent of the damage to his son's torso. Ruslan had always had a rather enviable physique, tall as a tower, but also burly, pure muscle; it was hard to believe that something could have ripped his arm off, even if it was an explosion. For the first time, as she saw the scarred seams where the military medics had closed the wounds, she realised the pain her son must have been in, and her heart went out to him.

- Okay, I'm going to start with some x-rays and then we'll move on to electro-mapping the nerve endings to see what damage they've sustained in preparation for the implantation of the prosthesis, and we'll also measure the voltages of your neurological impulses to calibrate the sensitivity and materials needed for the fabrication of the artificial nerve circuits.

Frances had Ruslan stand in front of the x-ray scanner and instructed him to hold his breath. When she was finished with the x-rays, she placed several patches on his side, where his right arm should have been.

- OK, now you might feel a tingling sensation, I'm going to trigger micro-voltages in the pads we've placed on you to map your nerve response.

The test lasted just ten minutes, after which they went on to measure the intensity and response time of his neural impulses, which required considerably more time, and a great deal of effort on Ruslan's part.

- Ruslan, I want you to think about moving your right arm.

- Are you serious, doctor?

- Yes, I'm serious. And call me Frannie! Everyone does.

- It's going to be hard to concentrate on an arm I no longer have, Frannie, - Ruslan replied.

- Try it, I'll tell you when you can stop.

- Come on, son, we've done it many times with other patients, it takes a bit of time, but it works, you try it, - his father encouraged him.

It took them at least another hour and a half to get acceptable results on the neurological response test. When they finished, Frances motioned Ruslan to a chair.

- I have to examine the muscle damage to see how to anchor the prosthesis, but as tall as you are I'd need a ladder.

- Yes, they often complain about how tall I am. In the army they said that because of me they would have to raise the height of the transport vehicles.

Frances began to examine Ruslan's side carefully, checking the stitches already closed, the muscle groups torn by shrapnel and checking the collarbone and ribs.

- OK, now we'll examine the face.

Ruslan lowered himself further into the chair so that Frannie could examine the empty socket and the scar on his face in detail with a pocket torch.

- Right, you can get dressed now, - she said to Ruslan.

- So Frannie, how does it look? - William asked as his son pulled the patch back over his face and began to dress.

- I'm not going to lie to you, the damage is bad, and the carnage the medics did didn't help at all.

- Am I that bad? - Ruslan asked as he struggled with the buttons of his shirt.

- Look Ruslan, the shrapnel ripped through your arm, but not cleanly like a guillotine, it tore skin and muscle and splintered bone. And when the doctors treated you, they were only concerned with stopping the bleeding, which saved your life, but meant they had to remove far more tissue than necessary that would have gangrenous due to lack of blood supply. As for the eye, there was little they could do except remove it, as the depth of the scar and the damage to the eyelids meant that the impact burst it like an egg. But they could have been more delicate when cutting the optic nerve, we are going to have to do extra nerve reconstruction work to be able to connect something to that nerve. And as for implanting it in the shoulder, we're going to have to use an integral support that completely replaces the shoulder joint and we're going to have to reinforce the bones of the rib cage before we can attach the prosthesis, or they'll splinter. We cannot use support straps as we do with other patients, because there is no foundation on which to fit the prosthesis before it is fixed.

- What does that mean? - Ruslan asked.

- It means that a new type of prosthesis must be designed, not only for your eye, but also for your arm. And that fixing it requires major reconstructive surgery.

Frannie rubbed her eyes at the dilemma before them. Her father looked at Ruslan with concern.

- Can it be done? - William asked.

- Yes, but it won't be easy, and there's no guarantee it will work properly. It's an experimental treatment, - Frannie replied.

- Well, if it lays the groundwork for others like me to improve their lives, I'm happy to be the first, - Ruslan interjected.

William Drake looked at his son and saw a steely determination in his eyes. The new prosthesis and the implantation treatment would require the best expertise of his entire team. But if it worked, it would open the door to new, life-saving treatments. If his son was willing to give it a try, he would make sure it was a success, even if he had to work his ass off.

After completing the medical examination, Ruslan and his father met with chief engineer Oscar McBride to discuss the technical details and the needs of the new prosthesis.

- Well, the first thing I need is for you to tell me what your needs are in terms of the morphology of the prosthesis, - Oscar said. - Some patients ask for their prosthesis to be larger or to have a certain functionality to facilitate their daily work, while others want it to be more like the lost limb so that they can lead a normal life.

- In principle, I am interested in the second option. I'm looking for a replacement for my arm, not something different, - Ruslan replied.

- Well, then we'll make a mould of your left arm and reverse it, and we'll also take measurements of it so that the prosthesis is as close to the original as possible, - McBride said, as he took notes in a notebook.

- I also need the prosthesis to allow me to use a weapon normally if I want to try to re-join the army, - Ruslan said.

- Well, we'll have to give you more articulation in the hand to facilitate that application, but you'll probably have to adapt the weapon's grip for 100% functionality anyway, - Oscar explained.

- Understood, - Ruslan replied, weighing up his options.

- Any other specifications you would like to add? - the engineer asked.

- Would it be possible to incorporate a concealed weapon into the prosthesis? - Ruslan asked, scratching his chin.

- Ruslan! - his father interjected. - We don't make prosthetic weapons here.

- I know, - his son replied. - I'm not looking for an offensive weapon, just something defensive, like a retractable blade, for cases of extreme necessity.

- It could be studied, - McBride said. - Give me a couple of days to prepare the blueprints for the prosthesis and then between the two of us we'll study the possibility of including that, what did you call it, retractable blade? Alright?

- Of course, it will be much easier to make modifications on an already prepared blueprint.

- As for the prosthetic eye, it will be complicated, as nothing like that has ever been done before - McBride ran his hand over his forehead thoughtfully.

- Wouldn't it be possible to use the design of camera optics together with the nerve connections of a standard autolimb prosthesis? - Ruslan suggested, folding his arms.

- It's a good idea, technically you could transmit all kinds of information through such artificial nerve connections. What we must come up with now is a way to convert the images captured by the optics into electrical impulses usable by the nerves, - McBride rubbed his hands together impatiently. - I've always liked a challenge, so this should be interesting.

After finishing his meeting with Oscar, Ruslan met with Alexander, to plan his rehabilitation and relearning sessions, as he would have to get his nervous and locomotor system used to functioning with the new prostheses, which would entail a period of adaptation. And so, once the initial details of the project were finalised, the design and production operations of the prototype began.

Over the next two months, Ruslan, his father and the autolimb development team at Drake Industries worked on the creation and development of a novel prosthetic system, as well as its implantation and fitting procedures. During development Ruslan worked closely with each member of the team, making modifications to the plans, performing new medical tests and developing new rehabilitation protocols in order to get the best functionality from the new prosthetic model.

His father and Ruslan had long conversations about the functional testing of the new autolimb prosthesis.

- We are slightly behind schedule, with only one test subject it is difficult to verify that the new prosthetic technology can be produced on a large scale and can be adapted to multiple types of ailments and patients, - his father commented over coffee in the laboratory's break area.

- What would you need to have the necessary variability in diagnostic tests? - Ruslan asked, he was becoming much more fluent in lab jargon.

- Well, at least a couple more subjects with amputations on different parts of the body to test for different needs based on different types of trauma, - his father explained, and took a sip from his coffee cup.

- I think I have the perfect volunteers, - Ruslan gave his father a friendly pat on the shoulder.

A week later Ruslan was on a train on his way to Bristol, planning to visit an old friend. He had to walk a long way from the station to a farmhouse on the outskirts. The house was small, red brick with a slate roof. A barn, three times the size of the house, stood about fifty metres to the north-east of the house. And to the northwest was an enclosure where sheep and goats grazed, tended by an old sheepdog, a black and white border collie, which dozed in the shade of the fence. When Ruslan approached the house, the dog got up and barked at the sight of a stranger. The door of the house opened, and a woman came out onto the porch on her crutches.

- What's the matter, Uther, what's all that barking about? - she said, addressing the animal. But she was perplexed to see her dog frolicking on his back while a stranger, his face hidden by the brim of his hat, stroked his belly.

- You've got a good guardian here, Connie, - Ruslan said, raising his head so that her friend could see his face.

- Ruslan?! - Constance couldn't get over her astonishment. - What are you doing here? London's a long way away.

- I know, and Bristol too, it took me a while to get here, - Ruslan replied as he stood up.

- Connie, who are you talking to!!!!! - his mother's voice was heard from inside the house.

- We have a visitor, mother!!!!! - Constance replied, and smiling she turned to Ruslan. - Won't you come in?

- It would be a pleasure, I was hoping to talk to you about something, - Ruslan said with a tone of complicity.

They both entered the house, while Uther returned to his place under the fence, wagging his tail.

The Perry's house was very homely and cosy, with a wood-burning fireplace in the living room, which doubled as a hall. The wallpaper on the walls had a pastel pattern that gave the room a soothing air. Suddenly Constance's mother came out of the kitchen, wiping flour from her hands on her apron.

- Tell me, my dear, who is the visitor?

- It is Captain Drake, Mom, - Connie replied.

- Oh, Captain Drake! Forgive me for not shaking hands, - Brianna Perry greeted, still rubbing her floured hands on her floral apron.

- Please, call me Ruslan, there is no need for such formality Mrs. Perry, - he replied.

- Then Ruslan, I hope you'll call me just Brianna too, I'm not old enough to be addressed as Mrs. Perry, - Brianna said, smiling.

The front door opened, and Constance's father Henry entered the house with a bucket full of potatoes in one hand and fresh lettuce in the other.

- Brie, my dear, I've brought you what you asked for! - Henry almost didn't finish the sentence when he saw Ruslan standing in his parlour-reception room.

- We have a guest, my dear, - his wife said.

- I'm sorry for turning up unannounced, - Ruslan apologised. - I had business with your daughter and it seemed more practical to come in person.

- Of course, but the journey must have exhausted him, there's no transport coming here! - Henry said. - Connie, why didn't you tell him to sit down? We have tea ready if you want a drink, captain.

- I'm all right, Mr. Perry, thank you.

- Oh, we'd agreed no formalities! You can call him Hank, we all do, - Brianna said downplaying the matter, and added, - We were going to have lunch right now, join us Ruslan.

- I don't want to intrude, - Ruslan tried to politely decline.

- It's no bother unless you refuse! - Brie snapped at him.

- Trust me, you'd better play along, - Hank said, lightly tapping him on the side with his elbow.

- My mother never takes no for an answer, - Connie laughed.

After a hearty and lively lunch, with conversations about crops, taxes and cattle breeding as the main topics, Ruslan, Connie and her parents sat down for coffee while Ruslan explained the reason for his unexpected visit.

- Connie, would you like to get rid of those crutches? - Ruslan said, leaning forward in the armchair to set his cup down on the tea table in front of him.

The seriousness with which Ruslan made such a statement completely captured the attention of his hosts.

- What do you mean, Ruslan? - she asked.

- I suppose you know that I belong to the Drake clan, - Constance nodded, and Ruslan continued, - Drake Industries is especially prominent in the development of autolimb prosthetic technology.

- Yes, I know, but I could never afford a prosthesis, - Connie said.

- What if it wasn't necessary? - Ruslan replied, looking up until his eyes and Constance's met.

- Is that even possible? - Hank asked.

- There are two possibilities, one is for you to apply for a place at the Drake Foundation, but this would only allow you to be fitted with a standardised prosthesis, which is what the government authorises. But there would also be a second possibility, - Ruslan enumerated.

- And what would that be? - Brianna asked curiously.

- In conjunction with my father and his team, I am involved in the development of a new prototype prosthesis, specially designed for war trauma. In addition to being the designer, I am also the first test subject. But with only one subject it is impossible to design a prosthesis that suits the needs of multiple types of patients with different types of amputations, - Ruslan explained, gesturing with his left hand.

- And you want me to help you by being a second test subject? - Connie asked.

- That's right, exactly. I'm also going to talk to more of the combat-wounded members of our old company. And I could use your help in convincing them, - Ruslan said, leaning back in his chair.

- What would it take to get our daughter involved in your project? - Brianna asked, with some concern.

- She would have to stay in London until the project was completed, and of course all expenses, medical and living expenses, would be paid for by Drake Industries. And at the end of the project, you will have a new leg, almost as good, if not better, than the one you lost, - the young Drake replied.

Constance stared at Ruslan, then looked from her father to her mother and back again, hesitating.

- Connie, - her mother interjected. - You must go.

- But mamma, I can't leave you alone with the farm, - Constance replied in surprise.

- Constance Perry! - her father used a solemn, serious tone. - You have always dreamed of working in London, and you would regain the chance of a normal life. - And changing his serious countenance for a big smile, he continued speaking in an affectionate tone. - Follow your dreams, sweetie, we will always be here if you need us. But you must live your life.

Connie hugged her father, who hugged her back warmly.

- Ruslan, will you take care of our daughter? - Hank asked with a serious look on his face.

- As if she were my own sister, - Ruslan answered without hesitation.

- I accept your offer, - Constance said, and she and Ruslan shook hands.

- Well, when would you be ready to go to London? - asked Ruslan.

- Tomorrow! - Connie replied with impatient joy.

- Well, I'll go back to Bristol and look for lodgings, I'll meet you at the railway station tomorrow, - Ruslan said and got up to leave, but Brianna Perry held him back by his left arm.

- We're not going to let you wander through the countryside to Bristol after dark, and then look for a bed in a dingy hostel in the city. You can stay the night and tomorrow morning my husband will drive you to the city.

- No need .... - Ruslan began.

- Nonsense! You know I don't take no for an answer! - Brianna urged, planting her index finger in front of his face.

- Give it up, - Connie laughed. - You can't argue with my mother.

- She reminds me of mine, - Ruslan replied. - All right, I'll be happy to accept your hospitality.

- Good decision, - Brie said mockingly.

That evening Ruslan dined with the Perrys in a lively manner, and they talked late into the night. Brianna insisted on preparing an empty guest room. Ruslan, obviously, couldn't refuse.

It was past midnight, but Ruslan couldn't sleep. Even after almost three months, nightmares of his time in combat haunted him some nights and kept him from falling asleep. He got up, quietly walked down the carpeted wooden stairs and out onto the porch of the house where he stared up at the night sky. Far away from the city a blanket of stars illuminated the moonless night. Suddenly he heard the faint creak of the front door. Turning round he saw Connie.

- I couldn't sleep, - Ruslan told her without her having to ask.

- Yes, it's hard for me too sometimes, - she replied. - The scars that mark our minds from what we have seen can be even deeper than our wounds.

Ruslan did not answer, but his silence was more than eloquent confirmation.

- You are still carrying guilt that is not yours, - Connie said, putting her hand on his left shoulder. - You must let go of that ballast or you will end up sinking.

- It was my responsibility as commanding officer, Connie, - Ruslan said. -Our comrades' blood stains my hands.

- It was your superior's responsibility for giving you the deployment order, - she replied. - And I doubt that's going to keep him awake at night.

- That's no justification for me, - Ruslan sighed, lowering his head.

- You can't justify the deaths of so many good men and women, Ruslan, - Connie said, patting him encouragingly on the back. - But in time you accept that there was no other choice.

Ruslan thought about it and looked up at the stars. He knew it wasn't his fault but knowing it and accepting it were different things.

- Will your parents be all right when you leave? - Ruslan changed the subject.

- Yes, they'll miss me, but they're used to it from when I enlisted, - Connie accepted the change of heart as a matter of course.

- A lot has happened since I left home for the recruiting office, - Ruslan said.

- They promised us adventures when they recruited us, and in that they kept their promises, what they didn't warn us about was the price they might carry - Connie put her crutches aside and leaned on the porch railing.

- I wanted to help people. That's why I signed up, - Ruslan said, shaking his head. - I was deluded.

- Well, I was only thinking about the steady payroll, - she joked back.

They both leaned against the wooden railing of the porch as the night air cooled their faces. A silence that spoke louder than any banal conversation about what they had lived and suffered together, like blood brothers on the battlefield, remained between them for a few minutes.

- And tell me, rich heir, have they found you a suitable mistress yet? - Connie said suddenly.

- What's that all of a sudden? - Ruslan asked impassively.

- I don't know, since prominent clans always must perpetuate the bloodline, I assumed they would have found you a mate by now, - she replied sardonically. - Besides, that's how they make sure you don't want to leave again.

- I'm a confirmed bachelor! - he said mockingly with a bombastic tone. - Besides, it doesn't work that way in my family.

- Well, if you're introduced to some rich, good-looking heiress and you're not interested, you can always introduce me to her, - Connie said knowingly. - I'll let you off the hook!

- I don't know if it would be socially acceptable in London high society. But they don't like my family much either, so I wouldn't recommend you use me as a reference.

Ruslan already knew of Constance's proclivities, like many of his fellow officers, she had always gone out with them on leave and had caused the most trouble in the places they frequented during their breaks. Many officers had transferred her out of their units because of her manner. Until she ended up in Captain Hastings' unit, who didn't care about the personal inclinations of his soldiers as long as they gave 100% to their work. And Ruslan had always judged people by their character, not by the opinions of others. That's why despite all the rejected requests for Connie's promotion, he kept making them. Which earned him the enmity of some commanders. But he didn't care about that. He would always fight to defend his friends and Constance was his best friend by far.

- Come on, let's get some sleep, we've got a strenuous journey ahead of us tomorrow, - said Ruslan, and they both went back inside.

The next day Henry drove them to the station, but not before Brianna stuffed them with a hearty breakfast, which neither could refuse. In front of the station, Connie hugged her father, and he kissed his daughter on the forehead. He shook Ruslan's hand, climbed into his carriage and set off back to his farm as Ruslan and Connie hurried to board their train, which was about to leave for London.