‘He was recommended to Her Majesty by the English Lord with the red hair, Spencer. The Queen of Naples was furious as she wanted him for herself and he refused her.’
‘So he is ambitious, then? Why ride with a mere queen, when there is an empress on offer?’
‘Ambitious? No, I don’t think so. He is not a courtier and he is definitely not a spy. You don’t need to worry on that score, Bela.’
‘But you have another concern? Captain Middleton has a reputation for more than horsemanship, I hear. He is very popular among the ladies, but not so much with their husbands.’ Karolyi had remembered where he had heard Middleton’s name before. There had been some tendresse with a married woman, who had left in the middle of the season to join her husband in the country. The lady – what was her name? Blanche, or something like that – had not been seen in town for a while; there had been an addition to the family, which fortunately had been a daughter. The provenance of daughters could stand a little vagueness.
‘He is a handsome young man in uniform, why would any husband like him?’ said the Countess with a shrug.
Karolyi knew better than to press the Countess any further. She was not a woman who could be flattered into indiscretion. An Austrian lady-in-waiting would have told him everything about the Empress and Captain Middleton, and more, but Countess Festetics was Hungarian and she felt that it was almost her patriotic duty to resist the swirling gossip and jockeying for position that characterised the Viennese court.
There was a clamour from behind them and the hounds began to pour over the brow of the hill on the other side of the Manor. The Countess picked up her glasses. Realising that the conversation was over, the Ambassador decided that he might as well have his day out with the Quorn and he took up his horse’s reins.
‘Goodbye, Cousin, I am glad to have seen you. It is so nice to speak Hungarian again. I feel quite rusty.’
‘I am lucky, the Empress always talks to me in Magyar, she is very proud of her fluency.’
‘And how fortunate that she speaks such good English as well. I assume Captain Middleton does not speak Hungarian, or even German?’
The Countess laughed. ‘Enough, Bela, enough. Go away and chase your fox. The exercise will do you good.’
The Ambassador accepted his dismissal. Even though the Countess had told him nothing, as a true diplomat he had gleaned all he needed to know.
Falling
There is a moment towards the end of a day’s hunting when the light begins to fail and even the most sure-footed horse begins to stumble; it is a time when hedges loom ominously in the winter light and muscles are cramped from long hours spent in the saddle. After a couple of falls at the end of the last season, Bay had learnt to recognise that sudden waning of his strength, the point at which his mind no longer knew the limits of his body. It was the first sign that, at thirty, he was no longer as physically indomitable as he had been at twenty-one. He was a more skilful rider than he had been then, so his form had been unaffected but he knew the decline had begun. For a while Bay had mourned the notion that life would only get better. But today there were no regrets. The sun had shone and the fox had eluded them for three hours, making it one of the best runs of Bay’s hunting career. He found himself hoping that this particular animal might evade the hounds in the end; it deserved some reward for having given them such glorious sport.
The hounds were careering across a ploughed field towards a small copse. He looked across at the Empress, who was riding alongside him; her habit was splashed with mud and a loop of hair had come unpinned and was flapping against her back like a noose. But her back was as straight as ever and she sat so lightly on her horse that she seemed, to Bay, to hover in the saddle. They had barely spoken that day, the pace had been so fast, but every time he caught her eye Bay felt the thrill of the connection between them. All the anxieties of the morning had been pummelled away by the relentless pursuit of the fox. Now he felt nothing but an intense joy in the moment, hurtling across the Leicestershire earth with the Empress at his side.
They reached the copse. The question was whether to wait to see if the hounds ran the fox to ground, or to skirt the edge of the wood to see if the animals came out the other side. Most of the riders, including the Prince of Wales, were pulling their horses up, grateful for a moment’s respite. Bay made to do the same, but the Empress raised her riding crop and urged her horse to carry on. Bay touched Tipsy’s flanks with his heels and followed her.
The ground began to rise and Bay’s horse faltered at the steepness of the gradient. When he had brought her up to speed and looked up, the Empress had disappeared over the brow of the hill. Bay raised his crop and brought it down on Tipsy’s flank. The horse crested the ridge but coming down the steep escarpment on the other side, she stumbled, and Bay, who was looking ahead for the Empress, suddenly saw the earth rising towards him.
* * *
In a stupor he heard German and felt a drop of rain falling on his face. A red wave of pain scalded him awake; he opened his eyes and saw the Empress’s face very close to his own. He wanted to smile but the pain was too intense. He heard himself groaning.
‘Bay? Bay Middleton, can you hear me?’
Bay tried to nod.
The Empress pulled off her glove and put her hand in his. ‘If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.’ Bay felt the cold, rough fingers, but as he tried to press her hand in return he felt an excruciating jolt of pain in his shoulder and a horrible looseness. The bile rose in his throat. He knew that he must have dislocated his shoulder; it had happened to him once before when he had fallen steeplechasing. Chicken Hartopp had been there and had known what to do. He had given him his crop to bite on while rotating the joint back into place. Afterwards he had teased Bay for the bite marks that had almost severed the pigskin.
Bay tried to speak. But no words came out.
‘Are you injured? Can you move your limbs?’ The Empress’s voice was cracking with tension. She stared intently into his eyes. He tried again to speak, but all he could manage was a moan of pain. The Empress reached into the pocket of her habit and brought out a silver flask. She poured a little brandy between his lips. The alcohol hit the back of his throat and made him cough, but it cleared away the fog in his head and he was able to say, ‘My shoulder, dislocated … Help me put it back.’
The Empress nodded, ‘Tell me what to do.’
‘More brandy…’ She held the flask to his mouth and poured out a few drops, but seeing the expression on his face, she tilted it so the brandy cascaded down his throat. Bay waited for a moment while the alcohol numbed the acute edge of his pain and then he forced himself to speak again.
‘Can you feel the joint?’
The Empress put her hand gingerly on his shoulder.
‘Yes, I can feel something here that is not right.’
‘Can you turn my arm and push it back in at the same time?’
The Empress bit her lip. ‘I don’t want to hurt you. Perhaps we should wait for help.’
Bay felt himself wobble with nausea. ‘Please, just do it now. I can’t bear this.’
He felt her grasp his hand and he said, ‘Now turn it outwards and push down.’
He heard his own scream as the Empress rotated his arm and pressed the shoulder socket into place. Then suddenly it was all over. The agony had gone, his shoulder, though sore, was no longer the all-consuming centre of his existence. He was still holding the Empress’s hand; he tried to raise it to his lips, but the effort was too much.
‘Thank you,’ he said. She turned her head away. He saw that she was rubbing the hand that he had been holding. He thought of what he had done to Chicken’s riding crop.
‘I’m sorry, did I hurt your hand? At least you didn’t have to shoot me.’ He attempted to smile.
She looked at him then, her face white and tear-stained, but she managed to smile back.
‘It was I who hurt you. You see, I am not so ruthless. If you were a horse, I think I could not s
hoot you even if you broke your leg.’
‘I am grateful for that. I would be even more grateful if I could have some more brandy.’
She gave him some more, and then, without wiping the flask, she took a swig herself.
‘I am sorry, you need this more than I do, but you see, when I saw you fall, I thought you must be dead.’
Bay tried to laugh.
‘Don’t you know that it’s very bad form to die at a Quorn meet? I would never hunt again. Have you seen the Master? I am much more scared of him than I am of dying.’
‘I think that you are not enough scared of dying. I think perhaps I am the same way. But I was scared when I thought you were dead.’
‘Then we must be reckless together, or not at all,’ said Bay.
‘I warn you that I am not so good at being careful.’
She looked at him directly then, and Bay saw that there were shiny trails on her cheeks where the tears had dried.
‘Nor me.’
He wanted to touch her, but his arms would not move. They stayed immobile for a moment, Bay lying on the muddy ground, the Empress kneeling beside him, until a gust of noise from the hunt bellowed out over the hill.
The Empress cocked her head in the direction of the sound. ‘Should I go and fetch help?’
‘I think I will be all right, if you can help me. But I will need some kind of sling.’
‘A sling? What is that?’
‘Something to hold my arm up.’
Sisi stood up, and picking up the long tail end of her riding habit, she tore it along the seam. As she started to rip it against the grain to make a triangle, Bay saw that she was wearing the chamois leather britches he had glimpsed before. They fitted as tightly as a jockey’s, revealing every contour of her slim thighs and long calves. It was both shocking and thrilling to see a woman’s legs so accurately represented. Through his pain he felt a frisson of desire.
Now she was kneeling beside him again.
‘Can you sit up?’
Bay tried to raise himself with his good arm but the effort was too much for him.
‘Will you let me help you?’ Her voice was hesitant.
Bay tried to smile. ‘I would be very grateful for your help, Ma’am.’
She very carefully slid one hand underneath his bad shoulder, leant over and clasped her arms around him. Her upper body was pressed against his; he could feel her breath on his face.
‘Are you ready?’ she said. ‘I hope I am strong enough.’
He heard her intake of breath, and then a jolt of pain as she pulled him upwards. Now they were looking directly into each other’s eyes, their noses almost touching. He only had to lean forward a fraction to kiss her. He tried to read the expression in her dark eyes, but in that hesitation the moment was lost. She drew away from him and started to fiddle with the piece of material she had ripped from her habit.
‘If I tie it like this, does it feel right?’ She drew the ends of the material into a rough knot behind his neck.
‘Perhaps a little tighter.’ The sling was already supporting Bay’s arm but he liked the cold touch of her fingers against the back of his neck.
‘Like this?’
‘Exactly.’ Bay leant back slightly and felt the swell of her bosom behind his head. He thought how pleasant it would be to remain exactly as he was now. But the light was already beginning to fade and the occasional noises that were carried through the gloom were a reminder that the Quorn could not be far away.
Putting his good hand out to support himself, he scrambled to his feet. He swayed a little as he stood upright. Sisi put out her arm to support him. He gave a rueful laugh.
‘As your pilot, Ma’am, I would have to conclude that I am a failure. I am meant to be protecting you from harm.’
‘Oh, I have all the protection I want. It is not often that I get the chance to be useful.’
Their horses were grazing together a little further down the bank. Bay whistled through his teeth to Tipsy, who came over and nuzzled his hand. Bay realised his next challenge.
‘Now my uselessness is complete. I think I can mount Tipsy with one arm, but I won’t be able to help you.’
Sisi laughed.
‘Do you think that I am the kind of rider who can’t mount her own horse unaided?’ She made a clucking noise through her teeth at her horse, which to Bay’s amazement bent its forelegs and knelt in front of the Empress. She swung herself lightly onto the saddle and the horse rose to its feet.
‘In another life, I could have had a career in the circus.’
Bay considered her. Since she had torn her habit in half to fashion his sling, her legs in their suede britches were quite visible.
‘You certainly have the legs for it, Ma’am.’
Sisi looked down. ‘It is a mercy it is getting dark. Otherwise we might cause quite a scandal.’
Bay shivered. The impossibility of their current situation struck him. To be seen riding about the countryside with a half-dressed empress was compromising to both of them. If he was to leave her, he would be equally at fault for abandoning a woman in a strange country. But perhaps that might be the wiser course.
‘I should really leave you. Easton Neston is only half a mile away. I don’t think I should come to the house. Baron Nopsca would have a seizure. If I set off now I can get to Melton Mowbray before dark and find a doctor. I hope you will forgive me if I desert you.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I am not much good, am I? First I fall off my horse and then I propose to leave you to find your own way home.’ He pulled Tipsy’s head round in the direction of the road and started to move off, but Sisi held out her riding crop to bar his way.
‘I forbid you to leave, Captain Middleton.’ Her tone was light but it was a command nonetheless.
‘But I am only thinking of you, Ma’am.’
‘It is not your place to worry about my reputation,’ she said. And then, softening, ‘The thing about my position is that people will talk about me whatever I do. I learnt a long time ago that there was no point in being worried by it. At least this will give them a decent story.’ She tilted her chin up. ‘You must come back to Easton Neston now; you cannot possibly ride all the way to Melton Mowbray in your condition. I will send for the doctor and you will stay with me until you are quite recovered. We will have your things sent over.’ She tapped the horse with her crop and set off smoothly up the hill.
Bay had no choice but to follow. His attempt at chivalry had been definitively countermanded. He was not entirely unhappy about this. There was no reason to go back to the web of rivalry and half-friendships at Melton Hall now that Charlotte had left. Indeed he rather relished the thought of Chicken, Fred and especially Augusta learning that he was now staying with the Empress. Then he wondered what Charlotte would make of the news, and whether he could get a letter to her before Augusta did. But he didn’t have her address, and he felt uneasy about the fate of any letter that was sent to her via Melton. Augusta was quite capable of intercepting any missive that she thought was from Bay. That morning’s feeling of irritation with Charlotte returned. Why on earth had she slipped away without a word? Was it some mysterious act of feminine caprice? If so, she was not the woman he had thought she was.
A pothole in the road made Tipsy stumble and the jolt sent a stab of pain through Bay’s shoulder. He knew that the Empress was right; he was not strong enough to ride ten odd miles in the dark across open country. He would most likely fall off and die of exposure. He could already feel the initial shock of his fall wearing off, and an awful cold weariness numbing his body. He knew that if he was to slide off his horse now, he would be unable to get on it again. It was a relief that she had made the decision for him. His longing to lie down was so great that he did not dwell too much on the fact he was not accepting an invitation, but obeying an order.
The Ex-King’s Bedroom
The journey back would normally take twenty minutes, but though Bay could ride well enough one-handed, anything faster than a walk
was too painful for his shoulder, and so the journey took them over an hour. He had urged the Empress to go on ahead, but she had refused.
‘If you were to fall again, you would be quite helpless.’
‘But I won’t fall again.’
‘Nobody ever thinks that they are going to fall, Captain Middleton.’
Just after they had had this conversation and were riding slowly along the broad river valley that led to Easton Neston Park, the Quorn came into view, spreading like a scarlet stain down the hill towards them on the other side of the river. The fox was clearly visible in front, running from side to side, trying to shake off the hounds who poured after it. The riders had thinned a little from the morning. As they grew nearer Bay saw the massive figure of the Red Earl and beside him the Prince of Wales. For a moment it looked as though the fox was going to cross the river and bring the whole hunt after it, but at the last moment the terrified animal swerved into a thicket of trees overhanging the water. It must have found some refuge there – possibly in a deserted badgers’ sett – as it did not emerge. The hounds set up a terrific row, and the riders began to rein in their horses, waiting for the kill.
The Empress did not stop to watch the hounds at work, riding steadily on, with Bay following. But she was hailed by one of the riders on the other side of the stream who, recognising her, came right down to the water’s edge.
‘Your Majesty! I was afraid that you were lost.’ There was relief in the Austrian Ambassador’s voice, but also a note of warning.
The Empress turned her head and said, ‘As you can see, Count, I am quite safe. It is poor Captain Middleton who has been injured.’
Bay nodded to the Count. ‘Put my shoulder out. The Empress set it for me.’
Karolyi was too well trained to show any surprise at this, although his eyes did widen when the Empress checked her horse and he saw her chamois leather-covered legs gripping the side saddle.
‘I am taking the Captain to Easton Neston. Perhaps you would be good enough to send for a doctor.’ The Empress gave Karolyi no opportunity for further conversation.
The Fortune Hunter Page 21