The Wayward Son

by Warfield, Caroline

  “I think he cracked some ribs, too,” she said, gesturing helplessly. “No obvious breaks in his arms or legs, but his back—I just don’t know. We need Dr. Farley.”

  “Clarion will find him and get him here as quick as can be done,” he murmured. In spite of his conflicts with the earl, Rob didn’t doubt him on this. He started to go around the bed, but Lucy rose. “Take my place here. I’ll see how Agnes is managing with the boys. She secured Andy’s arm, but she says it’s a bad break, and the doctor will have to set it.”

  When she opened the door, the sound of voices rose from below.

  “I found some of the men out front when I rode up,” Rob said. “I sent one to guard the wreckage. I don’t want anyone to touch it until I have a chance to examine that bridge. It was in perfect repair a week ago. I looked at it myself.”

  She nodded. “I think the tenants and the villagers working up the hill are worried. I’ll talk to them.” She closed the door behind her and left him alone with the injured man.

  Her departure left Rob oddly bereft, but he had little time to consider what that meant. He placed a gentle hand on the old man’s chest, relieved at the faint movement beneath his fingers. He looked around helplessly for something to do, anything to provide comfort. The water in the basin next to him had turned a muddy brown, and the old man’s face was clean enough. He hadn’t felt so helpless since the day he watched a platoon of men walk directly into a French ambush, too far away to intervene or even shout a warning. He picked up one slack hand and held it between both of his.

  “Don’t leave me now, Da. Not before we talk.”

  A flicker of an eyelash, quickly quieted, gave him hope.

  “I’m here with you now, and the doctor is coming.” He took a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry I’ve been sidestepping that conversation. There’s much I need to know. Much you need to hear, not all of it good.”

  Rob laid his head on the bed, the fragile fingers still cradled in his.

  *

  Hours later, Lucy pushed a cart toward the drawing room with a pot of fresh tea and a platter of Agnes’s biscuits.

  Vincent Thatcher slumped on her stairs, where he’d rested to wait for her, reluctant to share the drawing room with those he considered his betters. The physician had given Andy laudanum, and he’d been put in one of the guest rooms. Vincent wouldn’t leave him.

  “If you insist on staying the night, I’ll have Cilla make up a pallet for you in Andy’s room, Thatcher, or we have rooms in the attic,” she said, filling his mug. He took an offered biscuit.

  “Thank ye, ma’am. I’ll stay with my boy.”

  “But if you want to go home, I can sit with him through the night. Dr. Farley says he’ll be right as rain after that arm heals, and the Bensons are here in force to look after their father.”

  As if in response to her words, Eli Benson came down the stairs.

  “How is he?” Lucy asked. There had been universal relief when Farley announced he saw no sign of back injury. He told them the response to foot and leg stimulus boded well. It was short-lived, as the innkeeper remained unconscious and unresponsive otherwise.

  “Sleeping still,” Eli said with a worried frown. “Farley told us we’ll know more if he makes it through the night. Emma sits with him. She’ll fetch us if there is a change.”

  If… “I had a room made up for your brother before you got here, but he won’t use it. You’re welcome to.”

  “Thank you, Lucy. If I get sleepy, I’ll take you up on it.”

  “I’ll be in Andy’s room,” Thatcher said, taking his coffee and biscuit up with him.

  She pushed the cart ahead of Eli into the drawing room. Ellis Corbin had come, but he’d returned to Ashmead, walking through the woods before dark with the children. Brynn Morgan had been dragooned into seeing to the Willow. The earl had taken his son home, as well, promising to send for news in the morning. Paul Farley nodded in a winged-back chair by the empty hearth.

  Sir Robert, who sat next to a table in the far corner, every nerve alert, watched them come in. He stuffed papers he’d been reading into his pocket. “Any change?”

  Eli shook his head and pulled a chair up next to his brother. Wrapped in worry, their tense expressions enhanced a resemblance she hadn’t noticed before, more in their posture and gestures than their faces. How odd to resemble two people as different as David Caulfield and Eli Benson.

  “Does Emma need a break?” Sir Robert asked.

  Eli shook his head, reaching to the teacart for a biscuit. “She won’t leave his side.”

  The older brother nodded, though Lucy couldn’t tell if it meant approval or resignation.

  Sir Robert rose and reached for the bottle of whiskey she had left on the mantle for him. He poured a generous amount in his brother’s cup, but not his own, before sitting back down.

  Lucy reached for the teapot and pulled her hand back. She knew from experience it would keep her up all night. Someone needs to sleep, she thought. There’ll be more to do tomorrow than tonight. There seemed little point in seeking her bed, however. She took refuge on the settee in front of the windows overlooking the side of the house.

  The two men sipped tea in silence. What little there might be to say could be pointless at best, painful at worst. Eli broke the quiet first. “What are we going to do, Robbie?”

  “Do?”

  “If we lose Da. The inn—”

  Sir Robert leaned over to put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, leaning close. “Don’t borrow trouble, Eli. He’s sleeping upstairs. That’s what we have for now.”

  “I hate doing nothing!” Eli sputtered grimly. He gulped down his tea and rose. His brother stood as well and astounded Lucy by wrapping his arms around the younger man, his aloofness nowhere to be seen.

  “I know,” Sir Robert told him in front of Lucy’s avid gaze. “We want to fix it. We can’t. There is no worse feeling.”

  Eli pulled away and breathed deeply. “I’m going to try to sleep.”

  “Oblivion?”

  “Aye. Wake me if there’s a change.” He raised a brow and gazed intently at his brother’s face. “Any change.”

  “Count on it,” Sir Robert said. “Go to bed.”

  Eli bid Lucy good night, glanced at Farley’s sleeping form, and left them, taking a candle at Lucy’s urging.

  Sir Robert walked over and covered Lucy with a coverlet. “You aren’t going to bed, are you.” It wasn’t a question, and she saw no need to answer. She snuggled more deeply into the settee and closed her eyes, but her whole being thrummed with awareness of the man across the room, the man who refused to stand with his father at the assembly in his honor, yet embraced his brother, the man who sat enfolded in grief and worry in her drawing room.

  She heard the rustle of paper and knew he took the message he had been reading out of his coat pocket. “Important message?” she murmured without opening her eyes. The question sounded impertinent even to Lucy, but something about the night and the shared worry broke down fences and cold courtesy. She thought he wouldn’t answer.

  He didn’t at first. “I’m called to London. Urgently,” he said at last.

  What can I say to that? “What will you do?”

  “Tonight? Nothing. The summons is one more thing I can’t fix tonight.”

  She opened her eyes when she heard him move. “I think I’ll take more tea up to Emma before it gets cold. That I can fix. Shall I dim the light?”

  “Please. Take the candelabra.”

  He lit one candle from the brace of candles in front of the mirror, took the branched holder, and left her there with the single candle flickering in the dark.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Grey light filtered through the drapes when Rob returned to the drawing room. The candle had guttered out. He reached down and picked up the coverlet that had slipped to the floor next to the settee. Lucy’s face, peaceful in sleep, soothed him. The sight of her bunched skirt and tangled legs awoke parts of his body and
soul better left dormant. He covered her as gently as he could, pulling the coverlet up over her shoulders.

  “News?” Her sleepy voice came from behind him, where he stood at the door, poised to leave.

  He turned to speak to her. “None. Farley came up an hour ago but saw no change. He’s sitting with Emma. She slept in the chair much of the night.”

  Lucy swung her legs down and sat up, the coverlet wrapped around her. She ran her fingers through her hair, the moment painfully intimate.

  “I hear your housekeeper in the kitchen. I’m on my way to see if there might be breakfast.” He left her to her privacy and sought the cold practicality of Agnes Spears bustling about the kitchen.

  “Those as don’t eat are useless to everyone else,” the housekeeper muttered, putting down a slice of ham in front of him. “Bread’ll be out of the oven soon. I let it rise in the night. For now, here’s a bit of yesterday’s.”

  Rob finished his second coffee before Eli stumbled in, drawn by the smell of sizzling ham and fresh bread. Rob raised a brow in question. Eli shook his head. “Was it you brought Farley and Emma coffee?”

  Rob pointed his cup at Agnes. “This angel come to earth did it.”

  It turned out there were rolls in addition to fresh bread, the smell giving light to a dark morning.

  “I’ll just fetch these up to Dr. Farley and Mrs. Corbin,” Agnes said, laying a platter in front of them. “You two eat up. You need your strength.”

  Eli plunged in with vigor, but Rob found he couldn’t. Lucy arrived in a clean frock and apron with her hair piled on her head in a way that gave Rob a view of the column of her neck.

  This sight across the breakfast table every day would get my days off to a good start. He realized what the random thought implied and shoved it away. Don’t be a fool, Benson!

  Lucy frowned at him so deeply he wondered what his own expression had conveyed. He forced his eyes down to the coffee in front of him.

  “There’s no point in sitting here all morning,” he growled. “I want to go take a look at that bridge.”

  “It would feel better to be busy,” Eli agreed. “I’ll go with you.”

  Before they could move, the disturbance from above stairs drove everything else from their minds.

  “Robbie,” Emma screamed down the stairs. “Come!”

  Rob took the stairs two at a time, his brother close beside him. Agnes and the Thatchers stood in the hallway looking worried, but the joy on Emma’s face where she leaned on the doorframe relieved him. They hurried in to find Farley leaning over the bed, examining the shoulder wound. He grinned up at them.

  “He didn’t like me poking and prodding,” the doctor said. “When I started examining him, he frowned…”

  “He did, Robbie,” Emma exclaimed, wringing her hands. “I saw his face move.”

  Rob looked at the physician. “A good sign?”

  “He also tried to lift his hand to bat me away. I would say yes.”

  Emma threw herself in Rob’s arms, and he grinned at Eli over her back. Behind Eli, Lucy’s encouraging smile warmed his heart. “How long until we know more?”

  “I wish I knew,” Farley answered. “I have to caution you, he isn’t entirely out of danger.”

  “Understood,” Rob murmured.

  “If I might make some suggestions,” Lucy said, drawing all eyes with her brisk practical tone, “Emma must eat and nap.” Emma started to protest, but Lucy overrode her. “I will sit with Mr. Benson for now. You will rest across the hall in the room Eli used last night. You’re no good to anyone if you drop. Sir Robert and Eli, didn’t you plan to have a look at the bridge? It will do you both good to have something to do. Go!” No one gainsaid her.

  Rob met Eli at the foot of the stairs, eager to be about something constructive. A knock at the door kept them from heading out. They opened it to find Ellis Corbin.

  “I only came to see how he goes on. Alice has the wee ones, and half of Ashmead is at the Willow clamoring for news.” He glanced up the stairs behind them, “Emma!” He ran up to embrace his wife at the top.

  “Emma will bring him up to speed,” Eli said. “Let’s—”

  The sound of hoofbeats in the drive interrupted him. The earl rode up alone.

  “Well met,” Eli called. “Robbie and I are going to inspect that bridge.”

  Rob heaved a sigh, uncertain how he felt about involving the earl.

  Clarion leaned over the horse’s neck. “Does that mean he’s better?”

  “Better,” Rob said, “But not out of the woods. You don’t have to join us.”

  “Let me come.”

  The two men stared at each other.

  Could Clarion be behind the rash of sabotage? Unlikely, and yet…

  “Please let me,” the earl continued. “I need something useful to do.”

  “Exactly,” Eli grinned. “Let’s see what we can find out.”

  A nagging thought that had irritated Rob off-and-on all night rose to the surface. “Wait. There’s something I have to do first.” He left them on the steps and strode back to the stable yard on long, increasingly anxious steps, determined to speak with Aaron Miller.

  In the end, it didn’t matter. Miller had disappeared.

  *

  The workmen gathered around Lucy when she brought up luncheon at midday.

  More than one voiced the same questions. “What’d the major find down at the bridge? Has he gone after Miller?” Underneath those, another lingered, “Is Mr. Benson going to live?”

  Lucy held up a hand for peace. “Sir Robert sent Ellis Corbin to alert Mr. Morgan to organize a search before he and his brother went down to the bridge. They aren’t back yet. That’s all I know about that.” She told them their beloved innkeeper still slept, but more peacefully, and that the doctor was encouraged by signs of movement. “There’s little we can do for him except keep going on about our business.”

  Martin Abbott, the men’s de facto leader, reiterated her words. “Aye, men. Let’s get back to work and finish this. We’ll be needed down at the bridge soon enough.”

  Lucy put a hand on Abbott’s arm briefly. “Thank you.”

  He touched his forelock. “We’ll handle this, Miss Whitaker. You take care of folks down at the house.”

  Lucy paused by the kitchen garden and stooped to pull weeds, glad to have something useful to do. Abbott’s confidence aside, Lucy actually felt helpless. Emma refused to leave the sick room. Agnes kept everyone fed. Farley remained steadfast.

  Her thoughts churned over what had happened. Sir Robert—Rob as he had become in her thoughts during the long vigil—had been adamant that he had inspected the bridge and found it sound not long before. She couldn’t think who wished to harm her, to harm her visitors, to harm Willowbrook itself. The name Spangler had hung in the air since the accident, but no one said it out loud, and Lucy couldn’t imagine his motivation.

  In any case, she felt excluded from the effort. What most needed to be done had been appropriated by Rob and his brothers. She said brother to the men, but there were two of them. She watched them march off to inspect the damage and was struck forcefully that Major Sir Robert Benson had been flanked by both of his brothers, momentarily at some sort of truce.

  Her hand stilled. David and Rob had avoided eye contact in the immediate crisis and seemed determined to be civil, but they fooled no one. She couldn’t ignore the sparks between them, and Willowbrook—her Willowbrook—lay at the bottom of it.

  She thinned a row of carrots, dissatisfied with that tidy conclusion. Something deeper and darker existed between those two men, one of whom she held in long-standing affection and the other… She sat back on her heels. How do I hold Robert Benson? Respect? Something more? He isn’t the villain I took him for. Perhaps Eli can keep the peace between them.

  She rose and brushed her hands together to remove the garden soil before wiping them on her apron.

  She walked to the front, put a hand to shade her eyes, and peered dow
n the lane, her wait rewarded when three figures came around the turn and emerged from the wooded drive. David and Rob appeared to argue. Eli walked silently to the side. So much for a truce.

  She stood her ground until they approached. All three carried pieces of wood, which they stacked neatly on the drive in front of the house.

  “Well?”

  “There are clear signs of sabotage. Someone meant to do harm,” Rob said harshly, nodding toward the boards.

  “We agree on that much, at least,” David added, shooting a glance at Rob. “The bigger question is, who did it?”

  “Aaron Miller, surely.” Lucy glanced from one grim face to the other. “You ordered a search.”

  “The largest question is who hired him, and for that, we can’t wait. Spangler has been allowed leeway for too long. He thinks he’s invincible.” Rob glowered at David.

  “I agreed to summon him.” David glared back. “Eli and I will question him. I merely said you shouldn’t jump to the easy conclusion.”

  “Who the hell else?” Rob shouted.

  “None of it makes sense. If you can find Miller, he might have information.” Lucy’s stomach churned at the tension in the air.

  “If. And I can’t leave here while Da lingers upstairs.” Rob climbed the steps, frustration written in every tense line of his shoulders and jaw. Lucy moved to let him in the house. David left them, and Eli trooped in behind him, both faces etched with resolve.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Another burst of hope occurred midafternoon, when Old Robert opened his eyes, blinked at Emma, and croaked, “Hurts.” Farley managed to get a bit of laudanum in him as Emma sobbed into Rob’s shoulder.

  Eli stood a little straighter. “I’m going down to see how Morgan and Ellis are doing managing the Willow and the search. Send Johnny if you need me. Otherwise, I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll let you know what I hear from Clarion.” He left, looking more hopeful.

  At dark, Rob talked Emma into withdrawing to the guest room.

  “Farley says he may sleep through the night, and you are beyond exhausted. Besides,” he took his sister’s face in both hands and took on a stern expression that was only partially pretense, “you haven’t given me much opportunity to sit with him.”