by Jane Ashford
* * *
Susan had long since decided that this was the worst day of her life. After leaving the wrecked phaeton, she walked nearly half an hour before reaching a cluster of buildings. And when she came among them, she saw to her chagrin that they belonged to one of the main posting houses on the road out of London. The place bustled with ostlers, waiters, and elegant travelers, and she drew a great many curious looks as she made her way inside, her tattered gown and tangled hair making her feel horribly self-conscious. With every step she expected to be recognized and questioned by some London acquaintance, but mercifully she managed to find the innkeeper and tell her story without being remarked.
At this point, she began to appreciate her luck, for the landlord at once delegated three of his large staff to take her back to the phaeton and help her bring Ellerton to the inn. He sent another for the nearest doctor. Amidst this whirlwind of activity, Susan at first felt dazed, then grateful to have some of the responsibility lifted from her shoulders.
When she had guided the men back to the location of the accident, they found that a small huddle of onlookers had by this time collected. As two of these were examining the equipage with furtive greed, Susan was unexpectedly thankful for the horses’ difficult temperament. They had clearly kept everyone away from the phaeton. “He’s in here,” she told the men, and they pushed through the foliage to the baron, who lay as she’d left him, still unconscious.
“Be careful of his leg,” she warned as they transferred him to an improvised stretcher. “Oh, shouldn’t he have wakened by now?”
“He do look bad,” replied one of the men, an ostler. “That were quite a spill you took.” His tone was almost admiring, but it did nothing to comfort Susan.
They laid Ellerton in the wagon they’d brought, and the ostler went to deal with the team. “They are in a bad temper,” warned Susan, but he merely gave her a gap-toothed grin and began to murmur to the animals. By the time the wagon was turned and ready to depart, he had gotten close enough to stroke the noses of the leaders.
“I’ll have to lead ’em back,” he called. “Axle’s broken. I’ll cut ’em loose and be along directly.”
The wagon driver nodded, and they went slowly back to the posting house. Susan sat in back to watch over Ellerton, but though he groaned once or twice when the wheels jolted over something in the road, he did not come round.
By the time they had carried him up to one of the inn’s bedrooms, the doctor had arrived. Susan was ordered from the room and forced to wait in a parlor downstairs while he made his examination. Here, for the first time able to relax a little, she nearly gave way to tears. This time her wretched temper had gotten her into a scrape that she might not escape unscathed, she thought miserably. She had meant no harm—or not much, at least—but she had again allowed her fury to take over. What if he died? What would she do?
Shuddering, she wrapped her arms around her chest and went to stand by the window, staring unseeing out at the approaching dusk. Her supposed admiration for Baron Ellerton was forgotten in worry for herself; he was to her at that moment less a man than a symbol of her own mistakes and stupidity. If he is all right, she told herself fervently, I promise I will change. I will never do such a foolish thing again as long as I live.
“Miss?” said a deep, scratchy voice from the doorway.
Susan started and turned. “Doctor! Is he… How is he?”
“Not good.” The doctor came further into the room. He was a dark, competent-looking man of about forty. “His leg is broken, as you thought, as well as two ribs. But it is the blow to the head that worries me. He obviously struck something very hard when he was thrown from the carriage. He still has not regained consciousness.”
“Does that mean… Will he…?” Susan’s mouth was very dry, and she found she could not ask the crucial question.
“I cannot tell anything for certain until he wakes,” answered the doctor seriously. “You must send for me as soon as he does. I will come back in the morning in any case.”
She nodded, numb.
The doctor eyed her, pity and uncertainty in his brown eyes. “Is there someone you can send for? You should be in bed yourself. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Perfectly.” She didn’t look it as she gazed abstractedly about the room. She would have to write to Georgina and William, she thought.
“You are… That is, the gentleman is a member of your family?”
“Oh, no. We were just…out driving.”
“I see.”
His tone made Susan focus on him again. “The horses were frightened and bolted,” she added. “We…he said they must run themselves out. We came from London.” The doctor’s expression told Susan how improbable this sounded, but she refused to tell a stranger about her dangerous prank. Gathering the shreds of her dignity, she continued, “Thank you very much for your help. I must write to my family now.”
This seemed to relieve him somewhat. “Good. I will see you in the morning, then.” His cheeks reddened slightly. “Or, that is, I will see the gentleman, and whoever stays with him. My name is Mason, by the way.” He paused, waiting for Susan to give her name.
She balked. This escapade would cause storms of gossip if word of it got out. “Thank you very much for your help, Dr. Mason,” she answered dismissively.
He stiffened a little, then bowed and went out.
Susan put her face in her hands and stood very still for a long moment, then straightened and moved to the writing desk in the corner of the parlor. For the first time in her life she longed for William’s down-to-earth advice. He would be furious with her—rightly, she admitted—but he would stand by her and do whatever he could to help her out of this tangle. As would Georgina, Susan realized. Though her hand trembled as she scribbled a note to them, she was also filled with a warm flood of relief.
Nine
Georgina and the others arrived at the posting house later that night. Susan had gone up to her bedchamber, but she had not undressed, being certain sleep was impossible. Thus, when Georgina tapped very lightly at the door, she answered at once, and immediately flung herself into Georgina’s startled embrace. “Thank heaven you have come! I feared you would wait until morning. I have gone nearly distracted trying to think what to do.”
Georgina patted her back comfortingly and waited a moment to let her regain her composure. Then she said, “How is Baron Ellerton? And what happened, Susan? Your note said only that he was injured.”
Susan stepped back a pace and hung her head. “He is very bad. The landlady is sitting with him now. It is all my fault, but I am sorry!” This last rose into a wail.
“But what happened?” Georgina was sympathetic but impatient.
“I saw the baron in the park,” began Susan in a small voice.
“Yes, we know about that. Lucy told us. But I think we had better go down to the others. That way you needn’t tell the story but once.”
“What others? Is William with you? Of course, he would be.”
Georgina nodded. “And Lady Marianne MacClain and Mr. Brinmore.”
Susan stared at her, appalled.
“They called just as we received your letter,” added Georgina, conscious that Susan had some right to be upset. “They came upon us before we realized, and heard part of the story. Then Lucy grew hysterical, and…there was nothing for it but to tell them the whole.”
Susan recovered from her frozen astonishment. “I cannot possibly face them, Georgina. I won’t go down!”
“They have been very kind,” protested the other. “They want to help.”
“Help! Marianne will gloat over my foolishness. She probably came only because of the baron. And Tony will laugh himself sick. I will not see them!”
“Nonsense!” insisted Georgina. “All of us are here to help. Come.” She took Susan’s arm and attempted to lead her, but the you
nger girl pulled away. It was nearly twenty minutes before she could be convinced to descend to the parlor where the others waited, and even then she did so with no good grace.
Tony and William were lounging on a sofa when they entered, half-asleep. Marianne sat opposite, looking tired but determinedly alert.
“Hello,” said Susan, stepping into the room ahead of Georgina. “Isn’t this the most ridiculous muddle? But you needn’t all have come out here. Things are nearly under control again.” She took the remaining armchair and looked from one to another of them, smiling.
Georgina couldn’t help but gape. Susan seemed a different person from the frightened young girl upstairs.
“What the deuce have you done, Susan?” asked William, “Is Ellerton badly hurt?”
His sister looked solemn. “Yes, I fear he is. I have been very foolish.” But her tone showed none of the anguished contrition she had exhibited only minutes earlier. “I tried to drive his team, you see, and—”
“Ellerton allowed you to drive his horses?” interrupted Marianne, amazed.
“Well, no.” Slowly she told them the story. She would have preferred to omit certain details, but the others asked questions which forced her to reveal them. There was no other explanation for what had happened.
At the description of Daisy’s attack, Tony choked. “That hellish animal is all right, by the by,” said William. “He found his way back to the house.”
“Did he?” Susan was diverted from her tale. “How clever he is.” She avoided Marianne’s outraged gaze. The latter was stunned that Susan had used her previous ploy in this way.
“Too clever by half,” growled her brother. “What happened then?”
She described the accident and its aftermath. “The doctor will call again in the morning,” she concluded. “He hopes the baron may be better then.”
This reduced them to glum silence again. Ellerton’s precarious state weighed on all their minds.
“So, what are we going to do?” asked William. Instinctively he looked to Georgina, though he would have denied any claim that he expected her to save the situation.
“We must see what the doctor says,” she answered, looking fatigued and distressed. “And we must see that he is well nursed, of course. We will have to send word to his family.” She turned to Marianne. “Do you know them?”
The girl frowned. “I don’t think he has any close relations. I have never heard of any.”
“Well, we will inform his household. They will know.”
“But what are we going to tell them?” wondered William.
This was the difficult question. They all contemplated it for a moment.
“We can’t give out the true story,” he added then. “It would create a scandal.” He glared at Susan, who avoided his eyes.
Georgina pondered. “We will let it be known that Baron Ellerton has had a carriage accident,” she said. “Susan will not come into it. And we will see that he is cared for.” She paused. “If he has no suitable family, I will nurse him myself.”
“You?” William was surprised. “Susan should do it, if anyone.” But he eyed his sister doubtfully.
“I doubt that nursing is one of her talents,” responded Georgina, and no one disagreed. “It is, however, one of mine. I nursed my father through his last illness.” She did not add that the thought of allowing anyone else to care for Ellerton annoyed her intensely. “The rest of you will return to London and go on as before.”
“You cannot stay here alone,” objected Marianne.
“I will send for my maid. And I imagine some of Ellerton’s servants will come to help. I shan’t be alone.”
“But it isn’t fair.”
Georgina shrugged.
“I shan’t be able to go out without you to chaperone me,” pointed out Susan. She felt that this might annoy them, yet it was important to her.
“William can escort you,” said Georgina.
“But…”
“You can go about with me, if you like,” offered Marianne, her tone barely warm. She was not feeling in charity with Susan Wyndham.
“Good,” replied Georgina, as if all were settled. Susan looked skeptical.
“But how will we explain your absence?” asked William. “And your presence here? If we have Ellerton’s servants, they will spread the tale.”
This caused another silence.
“It is easy enough to tell people I have been called away,” said Georgina meditatively. “We must tell Aunt Sybil and your mother the truth, of course.” She paused. “Ellerton’s servants will not know me.”
“But travelers passing through this inn may,” put in Marianne.
“Umm. Well, I will simply have to keep to my room.”
“Ellerton’ll have visitors,” protested William. “This won’t work, Georgina. I say we just leave it to Ellerton’s people.”
She shook her head. “I learned with my father that one must be on hand oneself.”
“Tell them you stopped at this inn on your way, er, somewhere, and found Ellerton here. Took pity on him,” suggested Tony, who had contributed nothing so far. “No one else to watch over him, so you stayed.”
“That would never work,” scoffed Marianne.
“Why not?”
They all contemplated the idea for a moment.
“It might do,” admitted William. “You could repeat what you told us. Say you had a particularly poor specimen of a nurse with your father—”
“Which we did,” interjected Georgina.
“And you couldn’t just leave him.” William seemed to warm to his story as he went on.
“You tried to send for his family, but there was no one to come,” contributed Marianne.
“Very awkward, of course, but what could you do?” finished Tony, very proud of his scheme.
For some reason, the possibility that her plan would work filled Georgina with joy. “That should pass muster. There will be talk, naturally, but…”
“It is unfair that they should talk about you rather than me,” objected Susan, her conscience pricking her through her relief.
“It certainly is,” agreed her brother, “but I see no way around it. And it won’t be that same sort of talk. Besides, Georgina is…” He stopped and flushed.
“Ten years older than you,” finished Georgina calmly. “Quite on the shelf, in fact. I daresay the gossip will die down almost at once.”
None of them disputed this, but all four looked uncomfortable.
“Well, now that is settled,” Georgina continued, “we should all try to sleep. There will be a great deal to do in the morning. William, did you speak to the landlord about rooms?”
“Yes. That’s all right.”
“Splendid. Let us go up, then.” She turned, and Tony rose to follow, but the others hesitated.
“I say, Georgina,” blurted William, “this is really good of you. I don’t know how… Isn’t it, Susan?” He scowled at his sister to hide a softer emotion.
Susan nodded vigorously.
“Indeed, it is…thoroughly admirable,” agreed Marianne.
“Stuff!” replied Georgina, and walked out into the hallway.
* * *
None of them slept particularly well, and in the morning there were notes to be written and arrangements to be made. Georgina took some trouble over the composition of her letter to Baron Ellerton’s household, knowing that whatever tale she told was likely to be circulated throughout London. “You will be responsible for speaking to our own servants,” she told William when she gave it to him. “Their knowledge is garbled and incomplete, but they should be asked not to speak of the incident in the park.”
“Of course,” said William.
“Susan, here is a list of the things I shall need. You can pack them up for me and send them down with Lucy.”
It had been decided that Susan and Georgina would exchange maids, to remove Lucy from London and the temptations of gossip.
“We’ll all be at your service for errands and the like,” offered Tony. “You need only send word.”
“I shall.” Georgina smiled. “And now, you should be on your way. That note should be delivered as soon as possible.”
The carriage had already been ordered. The four young people gathered their things, and Georgina walked with them to the wide front door. Outside, Tony and William mounted up, but the girls lingered.
“I feel as if we’re abandoning you,” said Marianne, holding out her hand. “Are you certain you don’t want one of us to stay?”
“Completely,” responded Georgina. “It would not do.” She smiled. She had been greatly impressed with Marianne’s calm good sense and ready sympathy through this episode. Susan might actually be better off under her tutelage, she had decided.
“If you change your mind, you need only write,” said the other.
Georgina nodded, still smiling, and Marianne turned to climb into the chaise.
This left only Susan. “I feel dreadful,” she said in a low voice. “You are paying the price for my folly.”
“You may make it up by falling into no more scrapes,” replied Georgina.
“I shan’t. I shall be a model of propriety.”
This made Georgina smile again. “Don’t promise what you cannot fulfill. I will be content if you are merely a little prudent.”
Susan bridled, then grinned, her elfin face lighting with mischief. “Very well. I think I can manage that.”
Georgina laughed. “Good! Now, go.”
Susan got into the carriage, and the party set off. Georgina stayed to wave, then turned back to her duties. She felt a curious sense of relief to be rid of her family and friends. Though she would not have said it aloud, she found she relished the idea of solitude, with worthwhile work to do. It was much more to her taste than the gaieties of the Season. She did not explore her emotions beyond this, and thus was not required to consider the pleasure she took in the thought of caring for Baron Ellerton. She was terribly concerned for him. She had visited his room twice during the night, and each time the landlady had shaken her head and whispered that he had not come round. Georgina’s anxiety was at least partially eased by the knowledge that she would be doing her utmost to help him.