by Mary Nichols
‘Now go,’ Duncan commanded, coming to his senses. ‘Molly will look after me.’
‘That I doubt. She is a young lady, unused to such things, and it is hardly…’
‘Fitting?’ Duncan finished for him. ‘This is not the time to worry about decorum. Molly will do very nicely. And think of your wife, waking up in a strange inn all alone. She will be frightened or angry or both—you know better than I which it will be—but either way it ought to be avoided. Take my purse from my saddle and pay our dues and bring her back here. We will decide our next move when you return.’ The effort of speaking left him breathless.
Frank turned to look at Molly. ‘You think you can manage him? The ride has started him bleeding again and he needs a fresh bandage and something to drink, though heaven knows where you will find either without going to the house. And don’t let him roll about, especially if he gets feverish…’
‘Frank, go!’ Duncan commanded. ‘That’s an order.’
As soon as his friend had gone, the wounded man sank back onto the bed and closed his eyes. Molly watched him fighting insensibility and knew he would succumb before long. She knelt beside him and took his good hand. ‘Captain, what do you want me to do?’
‘I want you to cease calling me Captain. My name is Duncan. Haven’t we been together long enough for you to know that?’ It was said slowly and breathlessly.
‘Yes, Ca…Duncan. But where am I to find bandages and food and drink?’
‘You have a petticoat under that skirt, haven’t you?’
‘No. Breeches.’
He gave a short laugh which turned into a grunt of pain. ‘I might have known.’
‘I can tear the hem off my habit. It is too long anyway, but I fear it is not very clean.’
‘There is a well outside. Find a bucket. There’s a drinking cup in my saddlebag…’
She ran outside to do as he suggested and was soon back with a bucket of sparkling, cold water. ‘Here it is…’ She stopped. He was unconscious again.
She tried to tear the hem off her skirt, but it was well stitched and she could not make a start. Looking round, she saw a shard of broken window glass and used that like a knife. Once the tear was begun it was the work of a moment to rip the rest. She stood there with her skirt barely reaching her calves and smiled. Indecorous or not, she was better without it.
She took it off, tore it into strips and immersed them in water. While he was still unconscious she peeled off the old dressing and washed the wound, trying not to notice his bare chest, with its dusting of dark hairs. The wound began to bleed again as she worked but she made a pad of damp material and bound it tightly with dry strips.
He moaned a little and murmured incomprehensibly. ‘Be still,’ she said, trying not to sound frightened. It would not do for him to think she was afraid of a little blood. ‘I have nearly finished.’
She left him to throw away the pink-tinged water, clean the bucket and draw more from the well. She fetched his saddlebag from Caesar and found the drinking cup which she filled with fresh clean water and took to the bed.
‘Here, drink this.’ Putting her hand under his head, she raised it to help him to drink.
‘Thank you.’ He sank back again, but he looked more alert. ‘My ministering angel.’
‘Oh, no, for I am entirely ignorant of what to do. I still think you should have a doctor.’
‘Why?’ He smiled, touching the bandage. ‘He would do no more than you have done and dose me with some foul concoction which would do nothing but make me sleep. And he would demand excessive payment for keeping his mouth shut. Duelling is illegal.’
‘Oh.’ She paused. ‘Then why did you do it?’
‘Sometimes a man has no choice.’
‘He impugned your honour?’
‘Not mine. I could have waived that without too much regret, but when someone I hold dear is insulted…’ He stopped, fidgeting to make himself more comfortable. ‘This bed is devilish hard.’
She rolled up what remained of her habit and put it gently behind his shoulder. ‘A lady?’
‘Never you mind. It is not for you to know.’
‘And I think it is very uncivil of you to have secrets from me. Especially after…’
He reached out and took her hand. ‘After I kissed you? Does that make a difference? Has the world stopped turning because of it? Am I no longer your reluctant escort?’
‘You cannot escort me anywhere now,’ she retorted, stung into retaliating. ‘But perhaps that is what you wanted, though it seems to me a risky way of ducking out of it. Asking to be shot!’
He chuckled suddenly. ‘That’s what Frank said.’
‘You should have listened to him. And if you are in pain, then you are well served. I have no sympathy.’
He looked at her for several seconds, his eyes moving over her face as if reading the expressions that flitted across it: perplexity, because she had not meant to be so acerbic, worry, anger, concern. There was real anxiety in her blue eyes. A tear glistened on her lashes and she blinked hard to dispel it, making it roll slowly down her grubby cheeks.
He lifted his good hand and wiped it away with the back of his finger, making her shiver. ‘I am sorry, my dear. I have not served you well, have I? I have dragged you about the countryside, compromised you, taught you to prevaricate and gamble, and now this.’ He looked about the tumbledown hovel. ‘Is this adventure enough for you?’
‘More than enough,’ she said crisply. ‘Adventure is all very well, when it is no more than a lark and no one is hurt by it. But this is altogether more serious. I was afraid you would die…’
‘It will take more than a pinprick to kill me, Molly.’
‘It is more than that, and if it should fester or you develop a fever, what must I do?’
‘Neither is likely.’
‘You said something about a house…’
‘Did I? I must have been dreaming.’
‘No, you were wide awake. And Mr Upjohn thought we might obtain help there.’
‘No. And I forbid you to go. I need you here.’
‘But you need proper bandages and food and drink.’
‘Not so much that I cannot wait until Frank returns. He will bring all we need.’ He looked quizzically at her. Even with her dirty, blood-smeared face and her hair in a tangle, she was beautiful, and the breeches she wore outlined her firm young thighs and tiny waist. It was as well that every movement was painful or he would be tempted to take her in his arms again and declare his love for her. ‘Are you afraid I will kiss you again?’
She felt the colour flare into her cheeks. ‘No, I think you were not yourself and did not know what you were doing.’
‘Oh, I did, believe me. The temptation was too much to resist, but I apologise unreservedly. It will not happen again.’
Which was not at all what she wanted to hear.
A silence fell between them and a few minutes later he fell asleep. She sat on the edge of the bed, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the twitching of his nose and lips, as if he was dreaming, and decided he was not about to die. The terrible tension she had been feeling ebbed away, leaving her exhausted. She could not keep her eyes open. For want of anywhere else to lay her head, she stretched out beside him and in seconds was slumbering.
That was how Frank and Martha found them, her arm flung across him, her head nestling in the crook of his good arm.
‘Disgraceful!’ Martha said, but Frank only smiled knowingly and bent down to touch Molly’s arm.
She woke instantly and sat up, looking round, wondering for a moment where she was. ‘Oh, Mr Upjohn, you are back.’ She scrambled from the bed, her face on fire with embarrassment.
‘Yes. How is the patient?’
Molly turned to look at Duncan and a slow smile lit her face. ‘I think he will do. I think he will do very well.’
Duncan woke at the sound of her voice. Forgetting his injury, he tried to sit, and winced when it hurt him. ‘Damn this confoun
ded shoulder; it is as stiff as a board.’ He looked up at Frank. ‘Any trouble?’
‘If you mean did I see Brancaster’s son and heir, no, I did not, though I do not doubt you have made an enemy there. You humiliated him in front of his cousin and his valet and he will not easily forget it.’
‘I am quaking in my boots.’
‘It is not a matter for jest. You might not be so lucky the next time.’
‘At the moment we have more important matters to deal with.’ They must reach London before that Runner caught up with them.
‘I’ve brought food and drink and Martha has some salve in her bag which will help your wound.’
‘Good. And the carriage?’
‘Outside.’
‘Then the sooner we are on our way again the better.’
‘Not today, surely?’ Molly protested. ‘You are not well enough…’
‘I say when I am well enough and my first concern is to see you safely into the hands of your mama. We have dallied too long.’
Molly was disappointed. He really was wishful of being rid of her, after all, and she had hoped…She pulled herself up short; she did not know what she had hoped. ‘You are singing a different tune from the one I heard the other day,’ she said tartly. ‘Nothing would serve then but we must go to Newmarket. You said you had not undertaken to go by the shortest route.’
‘I have changed my mind. It is wonderful how a ball through the shoulder concentrates the mind. The sooner you are with your mama, the easier I shall be.’
‘Amen to that,’ Frank said, with feeling.
While they had been speaking, Martha had been taking the salve and some fresh bandages from her bag. She handed them to her husband and while he set about re-dressing Duncan’s wound and putting the useless arm in a sling she fetched out a parcel of food: cold roast chicken, half a loaf and some little fruit tartlets.
Molly sat on the only chair and watched these proceedings. She was feeling rather glum but she could not explain why. Perhaps it was because Frank and Martha had taken over looking after her patient and there was nothing she could do for him, or perhaps it was because Duncan had made it very clear he did not want her and, if that were so, it had not been at all fair of him to kiss her.
What had the duel been all about? Someone else’s honour, not the Captain’s. A lady perhaps? The lady the Captain had spoken of, the one who had not returned his love? Had he, in the weakness caused by the wound, thought he was kissing her? Oh, how mortifying if that were so, for she had responded in a way which, thinking about it now, made her go hot and cold all over.
But he had seemed perfectly alert. Oh, she did not understand. She wished with all her heart he had not kissed her; they had been perfectly at ease with each other before that, and now there was a constraint between them and he did not seem to want to look at her.
After they had shared a frugal meal, the ladies went to the coach while Duncan changed his torn and blood-stained clothing for the biscuit-coloured pantaloons, blue superfine coat and canary-yellow waistcoat which he kept in his bag for those occasions when he needed to give the impression of being a man of means. Then Caesar and Jenny were roped on behind and Duncan joined her in the coach and they set off again.
Their progress was slow but that was to the good because Duncan, while pretending all was well, winced with every jolt.
‘I wish I knew what you were duelling about,’ Molly said.
‘No need for you to know.’
‘Was it about the carriage? Mr Bellamy didn’t lend it to you, did he?’
‘Yes, he did. Not willingly, I agree, but he did allow us to borrow it.’
‘Then what was it about? You could have been killed.’
‘That’s what a duel is,’ he said. ‘One man trying to kill another.’
‘Do you always reduce everything to the commonplace?’ she demanded. ‘You make light of even the most serious situation. I cannot believe it is not all a sham to cover your true feelings.’
‘I have no feelings.’
‘She must have hurt you very much to make you so bitter.’
‘She?’
‘The young lady you loved once. You said it had come to nothing.’
‘Do you always store up things people tell you so that you may bring them out later to discomfit them?’
‘I was not trying to discomfit you. I wish you to be perfectly comfortable. If you did not want me to speak of it, you should not have told me in the first place.’
‘You are right. I must remember to hold my tongue in future.’
‘But perhaps talking about it might help.’
‘No.’ He was very firm.
‘What do you suppose has happened to Mr Bellamy?’
Her sudden change of topic startled him. ‘Bellamy? I do not know. You saw what happened. He rode away.’
‘Yes, and I am persuaded he was the one who stole the woman you loved. That’s why you duelled with him, that’s why you would not shoot him. It would have made her so unhappy and she would not have been persuaded to return to you. Why, I do believe it might have the opposite effect and drive her into Mr Bellamy’s arms. On the other hand, if she thought you had desisted from firing at Mr Bellamy and put yourself at risk on account of her happiness, she would think more highly of you. She would know you were ready to die for her.’ She stopped speaking suddenly. ‘You are laughing again.’
‘Oh, Molly, you are priceless. I do believe you could make a living as an author.’
‘Do you?’ she asked, diverted. ‘Do you really?’
‘Such an imagination! Such romantic notions!’
‘Now you are bamming me.’
‘No, not at all. I am full of admiration. Nothing seems to put you in a taking, not duels nor hold-ups, nor my grumpiness. You follow my lead, and pick up on everything I say, with the quickest wit imaginable. You have lied for me and you did not contradict when that scamp mistook me for Bellamy, you picked up the gun without the least distaste, you have dressed my wounds, and all that without quaking.’
‘Oh, I was quaking, but I knew I must not let it show. The Colonel, one of my step-papas, always told me to stand firm and face my fears. He said it often when he was teaching me to ride.’
‘And I collect you are a fearless rider.’
‘I would not say that, but I enjoy riding and do not baulk at a fence unless it be very high.’
‘Then how did you come to be thrown from a cantering mare?’
‘When?’
‘Why, the night we met. Jenny was hardly bucking, was she?’
‘It was dark. The shadows of the trees…’
‘And perhaps you were gulling me into believing you were hurt. I have seen no signs of it since.’
‘I believe you are determined to quarrel with me,’ she countered. ‘It is not gentlemanly to question a lady’s honesty.’
He laughed. ‘Touché, my dear. I apologise, for I would not for a second have been deprived of your delightful company since.’
She was confused. The compliments rolled easily from his tongue, almost as if he meant them, but he was also quick to upbraid her, to tell her she had no idea how to go on. He had kissed her as if he meant that too, but he had not denied the suggestion that Bellamy was the man who had stolen the woman he loved. And she did not know how she felt about that.
She did not think there was any hope of reaching London that day, but she did not mind. All at once it did not seem such a delightful prospect. She had forgotten how sharp her mother’s tongue could be, how she disdained to notice her offspring unless it was to run errands or mend a tear in a petticoat or listen to the many difficulties she had had to contend with all her life. As if it were Molly’s fault her father had died and her two stepfathers after him, and left them without a feather to fly with!
It would be much more fun to be a lady high toby and ride with the Dark Knight, taking from the rich to give to the poor and laughing at every attempt to bring them to book. Except, of course, t
hat the Captain was not the Dark Knight; she had been glaringly abroad in thinking that. He was, as he had always maintained, nothing more than a scapegrace and a gamester. But there was more to it than that. Much, much more.
The memory of that kiss still warmed her. She was drawn to him, wanted to be close to him, to learn more about him, but sometimes he angered her so much she disliked him intensely. He was an enigma—a man with strange ideas about honesty, not averse to breaking the law and yet she knew instinctively that he was an honourable man.
She risked a peep at him from beneath the brim of her bonnet. He was sitting with his eyes shut, but the corners of his mouth were turned down as if he was in pain, which he probably was. He ought to be in bed, not racketing about the countryside.
He was not unaware of her scrutiny and wondered what she was thinking. Trying to decide when he spoke the truth and when he was hoaxing her, he supposed. But he didn’t know that himself. He said things he did not mean, gave way to impulses that were far from gentlemanly and generally behaved in the rakeshame manner his grandmother had deplored.
But how could he change? He could not make himself into a man about town overnight. Or could he? Did he want to? What had he to offer someone like Molly? Adventure palled in the end and there was nothing else, no income worth the name, no title because he had relinquished it. Would he have done that if he had known Molly at the time? It was no good tormenting himself with that question; it was done and he had to live with the consequences.
How long would it be before retribution caught up with him? How many other Dark Knights were there riding about the countryside? They would all be tarred with the same brush. It was time he abandoned his scapegrace ways. His grandmother had offered him a way out, but was that fair on Molly, even if he did love her to distraction? It was because he loved her that he must part from her.
He must take her to her mother and quietly fade out of her life. He wished her happy. More than anything in the world, he wished her happy.
By the time they arrived in Great Chesterford his injury was hurting like the devil and he was more exhausted than he could ever remember being, except perhaps when he had been wounded and taken prisoner during the war. He was glad to abandon his earlier intention of reaching London that night and stop at the first coaching inn they came to, procure beds for them all and tumble into his.