by Archer, Kate
“Is the lord an irritating sort in general?” Doom asked.
“He is,” Penny said, though she knew full well she ought not talk about one of her father’s houseguests with her groom.
“That’s it then, he’s gone about findin’ another way to irritate.”
“Well in any case,” she said, rubbing the horse’s nose, “it is not your fault, is it? I must only pity you for being burdened with such an unpronounceable name.”
The horse whinnied as if she held the same opinion on the matter and Penny continued on to find the real Bella. She would shake off her annoyance, it was a glorious morning for a ride across the countryside.
Chapter Six
Henry awoke to the sounds of horses stamping on the drive. He awoke, that is, if he had even slept at all. The mattress he’d tossed and turned on all night was the lumpiest surface he’d ever laid on short of a particularly rocky field in Belgium. He understood the house was a casual one, but he thought it would not be too much to expect a mattress that did not poke at one as if it were alive and incensed to find a person lying on it. Though it was barely light, he gratefully rolled out of the confounded bed and peered out the window.
To his surprise, Miss Darlington came from the house, mounted her phaeton, and drove off with her surly looking tiger hanging from the back.
He could guess why she left so early. He’d mentioned he would go to the stables first thing in the morning. Of course, he’d known she would go also. He thought it would be an excellent opportunity for a conversation after his apology. It was true that she had not immediately acceded to his proffer of regret, but surely the morning must bring some rationality to the case. Surrounded by horses, she was bound to be in a more cheerful frame of mind.
Now it seemed as if she purposefully left at dawn to avoid him.
He wished she would not go on with it. He’d found the night before deuced uncomfortable. Why should they not go back to what they had been? Why should Burke have all the conversation?
He leapt up and dressed himself. She would not avoid him so easily.
Forty-five minutes later, Henry was finally on his way. He’d meant to make a fast dash out of the house and be on Miss Darlington’s heels, but it had been impossible. Dressing himself proved to be a more lengthy operation than he had supposed—where did Jarvis hide his boots and why was it so impossible to locate a neckcloth not smudged with dirt and why could not Jarvis keep the hay off his coats? Then there was Mendbridge’s stable hands to contend with—the grooms were awake but moved as if they were walking through knee-deep mud. As if that was not bad enough, they stopped what they were doing when some old woman came out with a tea tray. Who was she? Why was she there? Why was she asking them all how they’d slept? They were all still asleep as far as he could gather.
He’d paced and clutched his crop in frustration, that frustration not being allayed by the woman chuckling and saying, “There, love, they’ve got some tea in them now—you’ll be off in a blink.”
At being called love, he had presumed she confused him with his valet. That theory was disabused when she directed a groom to “hurry it along for the lord.”
By the time he’d finally got on the road, the sun was well up in the sky.
Bucephalus was in her stall. She stamped her foot, her own way of saying she would like to be out and galloping. He was somewhat large for the filly, but he knew she would not mind it—she was as strong as she was fast. While a sleepy groom walked her to the yard and saddled her, Henry casually asked which direction Miss Darlington had gone.
None of the stable staff had seen her. She had come and gone before they were even out of bed.
Henry examined the grass in all directions. He could see in a moment that she’d ridden east. Very well, he would ride east too. Then, when he came upon her he would pretend surprise. Surely, she would not gallop away from him. It would give him time to elaborate on his apology of the night before.
He was not certain what it might be that would sway Miss Darlington to give up her anger. How did one go about explaining something that had been so monumentally stupid? He did not suppose he’d insulted anybody to such a degree since he’d been a boy and told his younger brother that he was an orphan who’d been left on the doorstep. He’d felt terrible then and he felt terrible now.
Perhaps that was it. He ought to explain how terrible he felt over it. He had to admit, to himself at least, that he’d not felt as terrible about it until last night. But then, he’d had some notion all along that their unfortunate conversation had not led to anything permanent. Miss Darlington would not be over affected by his stupid outburst.
Last night, he’d seen that she might consider their acquaintance as permanently altered. The real damage he’d done had slowly sunk in as he tossed and turned on that lumpy mattress.
Henry mounted Bucephalus. After taking her up to a canter, he gave his filly her head. He must catch up with Miss Darlington.
His filly did not pause for a moment and shot off with him. Despite his misgivings over what he ought to say when he encountered Miss Darlington, Henry could not be wholly unhappy. The cool morning air became wind on his face as Bucephalus went ever faster. It seemed her main interest in life was to reach ever greater speeds.
Though he was on the heavy side for his filly’s size, she seemed not to notice it. She would notice it, though, when she raced. Then, she would have Rupert on her back and the lighter weight would make her feel as if she could fly. It was a strategy he’d discussed with Miss Darlington and she’d seemed to see the logic in it.
They’d discussed so many things! They really should go back to what they were. Surely, she would see the sense in it. It could not only be he that missed the exchanges.
Henry forced his attention back to what he was doing. He was fast approaching a farmer’s fence and it would be easily taken.
At the edge of his field of vision, Henry caught sight of a blur of reddish brown with a distinctly bushy tail. The fox darted in front of them. Bucephalus saw the creature moments before they reached the fence. She refused the jump like a carriage hitting the side of a mountain, and then twisted and bucked. Henry lost the reins and felt himself flying through the crisp morning air.
*
Penny and Doom had gone on a good long gallop and had now been walking their horses back in the direction of the stables for a quarter of an hour. Ahead, the farmer’s fence came into view. There was no gate and it was bordered by close growing trees heavy with underbrush. There was only one way through and that was over.
They both spurred their horses and made the approach, easily clearing the low fence. As Penny slowed her horse, a movement at the tree line caught her eye.
“Doom,” she said to the groom, “just there.”
Doom followed her pointing and said, “That’s what looks like Bella but ain’t. It’s the irritating fella’s horse.”
It was indeed Lord Cabot’s filly standing in the shade of an old oak.
“I bet that irritating fella is gone into the trees to…”
Doom had trailed off. Penny could not imagine why somebody would wander into the trees without even bothering to secure their horse. It was quite irresponsible.
“For what,” she said. “Certainly not for berries, it is not the right season.”
Doom, much to Penny’s surprise, looked away embarrassed. “Well, not berries, I don’t think. A man might, he might just decide, considerin’ there’s nobody about…well, to relieve himself.”
Penny turned away in disgust. What sort of man could not complete a ride without stopping for that?
As she turned her head, she suddenly saw Lord Cabot. He was not somewhere in the trees, he lay on the grass near the fence they’d just cleared. She must have flown right over him.
“Good Lord,” she said, “he’s been thrown.”
Penny leapt off Bella and threw the reins to Doom. She approached the lord. His face was pale. He breathed but he did not wake. She e
xamined the position of his body. She could not be certain, but there did not seem to be any bones broken. At least, no arm or leg rested in an unnatural position. As for his neck and back, that was another matter. Many a horseman had been thrown and still breathed, until they were moved and the broken neck gave way. Many a horseman’s legs did not appear broken, until they were found to be no longer of use.
Penny felt a near overwhelming sense of panic. She had the urge to run from the scene and pretend she’d never viewed it.
She took a deep breath in and forced herself to think rationally. He needed to be moved, but carefully. They needed a doctor and they had none in Newmarket.
“Doom,” she said, “tie Bella to a tree, and Lord Cabot’s horse too. Ride Zephyrus to the stables for help. We’ll need a litter and a cart stacked with blankets or hay to get us over this rough terrain and back to the house. As well, bring at least four of the boys to help move him without unnecessary jarring. Send another of the boys for a doctor to meet us at the house. Tell him to fetch the best man, they are local and will know who to go for.”
Doom, ever the cool customer, nodded and leapt down from Zephyrus to secure the other two horses. Lord Cabot’s horse shied and looked to make a dash into the woods, but Doom talked to her soothingly until he got hold of her reins. He hopped back on Zephyrus and galloped toward the stables.
Penny kneeled on the grass, looking at Lord Cabot. She watched him breathe in and out, the only sign of life he currently exhibited.
She’d wished all sorts of terrible things to rain down upon his head, but she’d never wished him dead. Or worse, paralyzed—a slower death for a man there could not be. She’d seen it in her own neighborhood. Billy Bates, the son of a tenant farmer, had come home from the war dragging his right leg behind him. There had been the hope that the leg would grow stronger, but not many months later he ended in a wheeled chair. His father pushed him out to the yard on fine days, but what was to happen when the old man passed on? Billy had apparently considered that question too, and set himself afire while his father was out in the fields. There had not been a question of it being an accident—Billy had taken embers in a bucket and crawled far away from the house and the barn before lighting his lard-soaked clothes.
No, Lord Cabot could never carry on in a chair. One who loved to ride as well as he could not bear such a thing.
The minutes ticked by and Penny wished he would wake, and also that he would not wake. She knew that the longer a person was unconscious, the higher the danger. On the other hand, she had no wish to witness a waking where a man realized he could not feel his legs.
It felt like an hour had passed before she caught sight of Doom again. He’d stabled Zephyrus and just now rode postillion on a cart pulled by four horses. The cart was filled with curious grooms straining their necks to get a look at the scene.
Doom expertly turned the vehicle so the open end was as close to her as possible, halted the horses, and leapt down. He turned to the grooms and said, “What ya lollygagging for? Hop to it, we don’t got until noon.”
The grooms seemed to accept that Doom was to be their leader on this particular excursion and jumped down from the cart.
Penny got to her feet. Before she could even inquire, Doom said, “One of the lads has gone after Doctor Prentiss, he lives not a mile off and is said to be the most experienced in these parts.”
Penny nodded and faced the grooms. “Boys, listen carefully. Bring the litter by Lord Cabot’s side. Three of you will lift him to one side—under the shoulder, hip, and ankle—the fourth will slide the litter underneath him. It must be done in one smooth motion, no jostling. I will tell you when to lift. Do you understand?”
The boys nodded at her, though she could not ignore the fear on their faces. They knew as well as she what could happen.
Nevertheless, it must be done.
*
Penny paced the drawing room while Kitty sat on a nearby sofa. “Do sit down, Penny,” Kitty said. “You have done all you could do and now Lord Cabot is in the doctor’s hands.”
“What sort of hands, though?” Penny asked. “Who is this Doctor Prentiss, anyway? He struck me as a gruff old farmer.”
“He is old, indeed,” Kitty said. “A mark of a man who knows what he is doing. He cannot have got through thirty years of doctoring and still be recommended as the best in the neighborhood if he were not skilled.”
Penny knew Kitty was right. It had just been such a harrowing trip from the fields to the house. After they’d got Lord Cabot in the cart, Penny had put Doom on Bella, while she had ridden Bucephalus. She’d thought the lord’s horse might give her trouble, horses often balked when faced with an unknown rider, but the filly had gone on calm enough. She had seemed to prefer to keep an eye on her master and so Penny had ridden her alongside the cart as they made their way back.
Lord Cabot had not fully awakened as he lay on well-padded hay in the back of the cart, though he had shown more signs of life. Those signs had not been very encouraging, as they had mainly consisted of groans.
It had seemed to take forever to reach the house, and they had passed many a curious onlooker. A trio of young boys had followed the cart, jumping up to look inside and gleefully inquiring if the gentleman was dead. It would not be an hour before all of Newmarket understood that Lord Cabot had encountered some sort of accident.
Penny thanked the heavens her father had been at home when they’d arrived. He’d quickly taken over her charge and directed the footmen to carry him up the stairs in the litter. Though her father moved with his usual confidence, Penny could not help but note the worry in his eyes. He understood as well as she did what the real risk was.
The doctor had arrived a half hour later and had been speedily shown up.
Since then, she’d been pacing the drawing room while Kitty attempted to soothe her and encourage her to take tea.
Mrs. Wellburton bustled in, having just come downstairs. “My dear girl,” she said, “Montrose has told me all of it. How do you hold up?”
Penny could not say how she was holding up. Was she holding up?
Kitty said, “She would hold up a deal better if she would sit and have some tea. She has had an awful morning, indeed.”
Before Penny could repeat that she had no need of tea, Lord Mendbridge came in, followed by the doctor.
Penny stood stock still. Here was the moment they would find out. Had there been permanent damage done? Would he die?
“There now, girl,” her father said, “you look white as new-fallen snow. There is no cause for fear. Eh, Doc? Tell them all about it.”
Doctor Prentiss, who aside from his respectable clothes did indeed resemble a gruff old farmer, nodded. “He has woken, pupils even, only a mild headache, and screamed like a stuck pig when I put a needle to his feet to check the feeling. No real harm done, I think. He ought to stay quiet for a fortnight, though it’s my experience men that age will never do it. At least keep him abed for a few days, until the headache is gone. Then, if he insists on rising, he may run what risks he likes. I’ll stop in on the morrow to have another look at him.”
Penny felt a wave of relief wash over her. She was certain that part of it was the news Doctor Prentiss relayed, but the other part was Doctor Prentiss himself. He seemed a no-nonsense individual who’d seen this sort of thing a hundred times before and was not about to get excited over it.
The doctor took his leave, and Penny thought he did so with alacrity, as if he had no time to stand around talking to people who did not, in fact, have an illness or injury for him to consider.
“There now,” Kitty said cheerfully, “all has come right and there is no cause to worry further.”
“Deuced thing, it was,” Lord Mendbridge said. “Cabot claims a fox ran in front of his filly right before a fence and she refused and bucked. No horse of ours would do such a ridiculous thing, or if they did, I reckon we’d hold on.”
With that comforting idea, Lord Mendbridge left the ladies
to their drawing room while Mrs. Wellburton hurried after him, determined to get his views on some household matter or other.
“Do sit and have tea now, Penny. The danger is past, and it will do nobody good to starve yourself over it.”
Penny sat down and allowed Kitty to pour her a cup and fill a plate with biscuits. After all, she must not be a goose about it. It had been a frightening morning, but as Kitty said, the danger was past.
“I am just very much relieved,” she said, “I did think there was a chance of permanent damage. I think you know what I allude to. No man can carry on having lost his vigor.”
“You think of poor Billy Bates,” Kitty said.
“Yes, that is what I feared.”
“And now you may put that fearsome thought from your mind,” Kitty said cheerfully. She set her own cup down and said, “I suppose you will forgive Lord Cabot his recent transgression, now that he has come so close to killing himself?”
Penny was silent. She was not at all certain. It was true, during the emergency, she had given no thought to what had passed between her and the lord. She had only wished for his recovery.
“Well, I…”
“There is no harm in it,” Kitty said. “Though you might be careful about it. Do not lay yourself open to any further hurtful comments from that quarter. I know how much to heart you take such things and the fact is, an accident does not change a character or cure a temper. I would say be friends, but do not let down your guard.”
Kitty was right. Lord Cabot’s accident bore no relation to his intemperance on the night of the Tudor ball. This day had found her exceedingly worried, and grateful to see her worry come to naught. Terribly grateful, as it happened. She would never forget his pale face, the crinkle gone from his eyes, the smile gone from his lips. It had been horrifying.
But that did not mean he was in any way changed. He’d shown his true character the night of the ball, and that character was still fixed.
Penny found the trial of the past hours had caused the worst of her anger toward the lord to dissipate like fog under bright sun, but caution must still remain by her side.