Cursed

by Felicity Harper

  Prudence laughed with her. “That’s my girl!” she said as she hugged Henrietta. “Enjoy every moment of it.” She straightened and, with a determined look, said. “Now, I must go and find father. I am sure he has something up his sleeve.”

  Henrietta laid a firm hand on her sister’s arm. “Please do not allow him to make the challenges too ridiculous or elaborate. Remember, I am supposed to decide whether to marry Sir Hardwick based on their outcome.”

  “Don’t worry, Hetty. By the time those tasks have been completed, you will have absolutely no doubt in your mind of his worthiness.”

  There was a cursory knock on the drawing room door and, as Prudence scuttled off in search of their father, Mr Briggs entered. He looked worried. Henrietta hurried across the room to meet him.

  “What is it, Mr Briggs?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, my Lady,” the estate manager replied. “But it’s the ogre. He’s dying.”

  Having collected the things she needed, Henrietta handed them to Mr Briggs and donned her warmest pelisse. “Come,“ she said, as they set off, “you can tell me all about it on the way.”

  A howling wind whipped at their clothing the moment they left the house. A stable lad was waiting with their horses. Henrietta and Briggs mounted then split their load between them and turned for the woods, their heads bowed against the force of the gale. Once they entered the shelter of the forest, the thick trees muffled the roar of the wind.

  “Tell me what happened, Mr Briggs.”

  Briggs was careful to tell Henrietta only that the ogre had been injured in an accident, judiciously saying nothing about her arrow or Hardwick. He didn’t think Lady Henrietta needed to take upon herself any blame for what had happened. As for Hardwick, it was not his place to cast aspersions upon the character of the knight, whatever Briggs himself might feel about the man.

  “And this injury - you think it might have become infected?”

  “I’m no physician, my Lady, but I would say so.”

  “Then we must hurry, Mr Briggs.” Henrietta cried, spurring her horse on.

  “Lady Henrietta, wait!” Briggs cautioned. “The ogre - he does not wish to be helped.”

  “What on earth makes you say that?”

  He shrugged. “The ogre’s not one for lengthy discourse but the pot he threw at me was a clue of sorts.”

  “Good Lord! I shall have none of that! He will get the help he needs whether he likes it or not!” said Henrietta, sounding - even to her own ears - exactly like Prudence.

  The density of the trees and the low-hanging branches made the going slower than Henrietta would have liked. By the time the gamekeeper’s lodge came into view, it felt like an age had passed. Briggs helped Henrietta down from her horse.

  “Let me go in first, my Lady.”

  A moment later, there was a growl which was quickly followed by the clang of a pan hitting the door.

  “Heavens!” she muttered and marched towards the cabin. She flung open the door and took stock of the situation. Mr Briggs was standing with his legs braced; he was holding a study chair in front of him to ward off the threat of flying cookware. The ogre was slumped across the large table which dominated the small space. He looked up wearily and saw Henrietta staring at him with her mouth agape.

  “Out!” he roared.

  Henrietta put aside her shock at his immense size and, instead, took note of his high colour and the sweat soaking his hair. She picked up the pan that had walloped the door. “First things first, Mr Briggs: we need to get him into bed,” she said, her voice brooking no argument. She walked over to the corner of the large room and saw the bed was nothing more than a bare mattress on the floor.

  “Excuse me a moment, Gentlemen, while I fetch the blankets,” she said, placing the pan out of reach on a counter top as she passed. “Mr Briggs, the stove will need to be lit.”

  Both Briggs and the ogre watched warily as, moments later, Henrietta bustled back in from outside with her arms full of blankets. She dropped them onto the mattress and proceeded to make up a bed. Mr Briggs hurriedly took out a tinder box and lit the dry kindling that was already inside the little wooden burner. Before long, a fire was burning steadily and the room was beginning to warm.

  “There!” she said once the bed was made. It pleased her to think that the ogre would now have a comfortable place to lie and a fire to keep him warm. She made to move towards the ogre. “Come now, Mr Briggs,” she said.

  “Erm - how, exactly, do you imagine we are to achieve this, my Lady?” Briggs asked as he looked at the stubborn set of the ogre’s face. Henrietta had noted it too but she also saw the pain and weariness etched across the ogre’s heavy features. “You have a point, Mr Briggs, “ she said. “I think it best I see to that wound first. Will you fetch the other bag for me, please?”

  Once Mr Briggs had left, Henrietta turned to the ogre. “Now listen to me,” she said, in her very best Prudence voice. “I have no intention of letting you die so, whether you like it or not, I am going to tend that wound.”

  “Leave me be!” The ogre sounded exhausted and Henrietta softened her stance. “I will be as gentle as I can, Ogre, but let me say now how sorry I am for any pain I shall cause you.” The ogre said nothing but closed his eyes and laid down his huge head. Briggs returned with the other bag and placed it on the table. Henrietta looked at the encrusted blood on the ogre’s shirt. Removing it was going to cause him even more pain: it was perhaps for the best, she thought, that the ogre had fallen asleep.

  “A bowl of water, if you please, Mr Briggs,” she said and started to unpack the salves and wrappings she had brought with her. When Briggs returned from the well with a bucket of water, he poured some into a bowl and handed it to Henrietta.

  “Thank you. Will you pour some into that pan and heat it for me, please?”

  Henrietta dipped a piece of linen into the water and carefully used the sodden cloth to dampen the ogre’s shirt. Once it was sufficiently wet, she was able to pull the fabric away from his back with little difficulty.

  “Mr Briggs, would you please help me remove his shirt? I would like to do this while he is insensible to the pain I might otherwise cause him.”

  “Perhaps you should leave, my Lady, while I carry out this task.”

  “Good heavens, Mr Briggs! How do you suppose I am going to tend his wounds if I am all ‘miss-ish’ about seeing his bare back?”

  “Very well, Lady Henrietta,” Briggs said resignedly and stepped forward to help with the ogre’s blood-stained shirt. Henrietta gasped as the extent of the ogre’s wound was revealed.

  “Good Lord! This is worse then I was expecting!”

  “Aye, it looks like an infection has taken hold too.” Briggs looked at the sleeping ogre. “Let us hope he is as strong as he seems.”

  Henrietta drew in a breath and braced herself for the task ahead. “Is that water hot yet, Mr Briggs?”

  Deeming it hot enough, Briggs poured some of the water into a clean bowl which he passed to Henrietta. She dropped some lavender infusion into the water. It would help to clean and heal the infected wound. At the touch of the hot cloth on his flesh, the ogre gave an unconscious yell. Henrietta worked mechanically. She could not afford to let the ogre’s cries of pain still her hand. She had to get as much of the infection out as she could so she pressed and wiped at the infected wound until she had cleared out all the pus.

  It took three bowls of the lavender-infused water before the wound finally ran clean with fresh, bright blood. Henrietta wiped her hands and applied the salve; the pungent herbal scent filled the room as she gently rubbed it in to the laceration. She finished by wrapping the ogre’s injured shoulder in linen strips then used the rest of the warm water in the pan to wash her hands again.

  “It’s time to get him into that bed, Mr Briggs,” she announced, “though Lord knows how we’re to do that!”

  He stirred. His shoulder pained him.

&nb
sp; “Here, Ogre: drink this. It will ease the discomfort.”

  She was here again. Henrietta. She hadn’t run at the sight of him after all. Or did he only imagine her here? He lifted his head and drank.

  “There!” She took the cup. “That should help.”

  The effort to carry out the small task had cost him. Exhausted, he lay back down.

  “It sounds as though the rain has let up at least.” Henrietta pottered around, chattering all the while, and the sound of her voice eased him back into sleep. Later, he woke again and she was not there. Had he dreamed her? He had blankets over him: the fire was lit; the room was warm. No, he had not imagined her. His heavy eyelids closed.

  “I shall need you to help me turn him, Mr Briggs.”

  She was back. Briggs too. Their hands were helping him to turn. There was a stinging as his bandages were removed and his wound cleansed; and then he was wrapped up again. Could this be real? Were they really here - or had his fevered brain conjured them up? A cool cloth soothed his hot brow. A soft voice guided him back to sleep.

  When next he woke, she was sitting by him, reading aloud from her book. It was a tale of a knight errant and his fair maiden and the impossible feats he had carried out in the name of their love. It was a tale as old as time but, still, as the story unfolded, the ogre understood a little better how a man like Hardwick would capture Henrietta’s whimsical heart.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I cannot postpone for much longer, my dear. People will begin to talk.”

  “I understand, Papa. It’s just that, with the girls going with Aunt Penelope and my friend being sick, there has barely been time for me to think about anything else.”

  Aunt Penelope had taken the wailing sisters back to Norwood with her. The plan was that she would present them formally in the city come the Spring. Both girls had been delighted at the prospect of having a proper debut. Their aunt had privately told Henrietta the two girls would be spending the time between now and then learning decorum and manners. This was not, she had reassured her eldest niece, a reflection on her training of them. Rather, it spoke of the wilfulness and ingratitude of both girls when it came to appreciating the efforts others had put into their schooling.

  Mrs Hyde-Thornton would be staying. Her role was ostensibly that of companion to Henrietta. Her father thought it was what she needed now her younger sisters were away and Prudence was married and had supposedly left home. “I grant you,” Lord Pemberly had remarked, “we are all in danger of forgetting your sister has - indeed - left the nest.” He had given Prudence an arched look, to which she had responded by sticking out her tongue.

  So, for now, Prudence was back at Merrington with Miles and the girls were probably driving their aunt and uncle to distraction at Norwood. Caroline Hyde-Thornton was a wonderful companion - just not for Henrietta. While she was pleasant enough company, Henrietta had seen too little of her to judge how she fared as an actual companion. Her father, on the other hand, was more than able to pay tribute to Caroline’s many good points because it was with him that Mrs Hyde-Thornton spent the majority of her time. It amused Henrietta that they thought her so imperceptive as to miss the secret looks and whispered conversations they shared. She might have said something were it not that she understood their wish for privacy. She wished them well.

  “How is this friend of yours bearing up?” Lord Pemberly asked now. His eyebrows were raised questioningly. “Or am I not allowed to enquire?”

  “Yes, Papa, of course you may ask. My friend is beginning to show signs of recovery. In fact, I am on my way now to pay a visit.”

  “Would you like me to send for the carriage? The rain has made the going a bit bleak.”

  “No, Papa, that’s fine. I have made my own arrangements,” and Henrietta hurried away before he could ask her what those arrangements were. She felt a rush of guilt. She hadn’t been very honest with her father of late. She was keeping secrets from him and, on one or two occasions, had felt it necessary to lie. Neither keeping secrets nor lying sat well with her but, on the other hand, perhaps it was past time she had some secrets of her own to keep.

  She had worn her sturdiest boots but still they were thick with mud by the time Henrietta arrived at the ogre’s lodge. She walked in without knocking, as was now her habit, and found the ogre who was tending the stove, bare-chested.

  “Oh! I’m sorry! I hadn’t thought you’d be up and about!” Self-consciously, she backed out of the door. She waited outside, hoping the cool air would take the heat out of her cheeks. While the ogre had been ill, Henrietta had seen to his wounds without embarrassment: she had simply done what was needed but seeing his naked chest now he was no longer sick felt very different. It wasn’t just that she’d truly noticed for the first time how big and muscular he was but also how intimate the situation felt.

  The ogre opened the door, a shirt covering his chest, and gestured for her to enter.

  “Sorry! I thought you’d still be asleep,” Henrietta said as she went inside. “You are looking so much better. How do you feel?”

  The ogre said nothing. He just watched her as she started to unpack her basket. “I brought some pies. I made two: one with meat and one with the last of the blackberries.” Even though she could hear herself prattling on, Henrietta found herself unable to stop in the face of the ogre’s silence.

  Eventually he spoke. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  “You want me to go?”

  Barely sparing her a glance, the ogre nodded.

  “Well, hard luck because I’m not going anywhere!” Henrietta yelled. “Do you have any idea what I put myself through to visit you, you miserable great oaf?” Barely pausing at his incredulous look, she informed him: “I had to lie to my father, tramp through the bloody mud …” - she stuck out a foot to show him her ruined boot - “and carry a sodding great big basket …” - she pointed at said ‘sodding great big basket’ - “ … and I ruined my second best pelisse!”

  She held up the filthy, tattered hem for the ogre to inspect. “And what do I get in return? A - grumpy - monosyllabic - dunderhead - telling - me - to - leave!”

  An awkward moment of silence followed before the ogre spoke again. “Dunderhead?” he harrumphed and held out his hand. “Take that off. It can dry in front of the fire.”

  Henrietta took off her pelisse and handed it to him. “Thank you. I’m … I will just finish unpacking these then,” she muttered. She couldn’t believe she had caught herself about to apologise for her anger. Well, like heck she was going to apologise! She bit her bottom lip and resolved to remain silent. Let him do the talking for a change!

  Only, it seemed the ogre was quite happy to maintain the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them. Well, if he didn’t care then neither would she. Only: she did. Henrietta wanted to examine his wound and make sure the swelling had completely gone. And she had yet to give him Mr Briggs’ message.

  Of course! Mr Briggs would want her to pass that along!

  “Mr Briggs has filled the wood box.”

  The ogre looked up from his spot in front of the fire and she felt encouraged to go on. “He says there should be enough there to see you through for several weeks, He didn’t want you causing more damage to your shoulder by cutting your own wood.”

  He nodded and Henrietta took that as a signal that all was well. Thank heavens; there was lots she needed to say yet. She put a pie on a plate and placed it in front of him. “You really must eat. I have been unable to get much more than soup down you for the last few days.”

  He gave her a long, brooding look. “Thank you. For - all of it.”

  She knew what he was trying to say and his words, though few, were heartfelt.

  “I was glad I could help,” she replied and then, because she didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable, she put on her bossiest tone and said. “Now sit and eat!”

  She moved out of his way as he crossed the small kitchen. At his full heigh
t, the ogre towered over her. Now that she was seeing him at his full height, it was hard not to be aware of just how big and powerful he was. He turned up his shirt sleeves and washed his hands in the bucket of water. When he had finished, he dried them carefully and sat down to eat. Henrietta watched him in astonishment. She could think of noblemen of her acquaintance who eschewed such etiquette - and yet here he was, this huge creature, conducting himself like a gentlemen.

  “I’ll make us some tea,” she said, suddenly restless, and she busied herself putting the water on to boil. “I will need to take a look at your wound before I go,” she continued, “but it does seem as though you are on the mend.” She added tea leaves to the pot and chattered on self-consciously. “I shall tell Father he can go ahead with his plans for the final stage of the tournament now.” She gave him an impish smile. “I swear he’s enjoying this tournament more than I am.”

  “And you are not?”

  “Enjoying it? Yes. I suppose I am in many ways.” It had proved impossible for Henrietta not to be swept up in the romance and sheer outrageousness of the tournament. “But, that doesn’t mean I won’t be glad when it’s finally over.”

  “When you marry?” The ogre noticed her colour deepen.

  “Oh, I suppose. I don’t know yet.” She turned away. “Let’s have this tea, shall we?”

  He had his answer. Henrietta had set her heart on Hardwick after all.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Now is the perfect time for the challenges to begin!” said Lord Pemberly from the head of the dinner table. “If we give a sennight for each challenge, the last one will coincide nicely with the Winter Festival.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea, Papa!” Prudence said. “Imagine it, Henrietta: everyone will be there for the bonfire and hot toddies and breathlessly waiting for the final outcome, then you will appear - wearing a forest green dress; a matching velvet pelisse and a fur trimmed hat - ready at last to make your decision!”