by Nancy Butler
“Crikey, it’s the bogey man!” one of the younger boys cried out.
“You, Mikey, you shut your gob,” Joe admonished his nephew. “Mr. Perrin risked his life to save you.”
The first four children slithered down the tree and into the boat. The last, a wideset youth of perhaps sixteen, was making his way down when Romulus called out, “Stop! The boat can’t take any more weight.”
Already the water was lapping dangerously near the gunwales. He thought he’d be able to easily carry five children in the boat, but Joe Black’s nephews were all strapping specimens. Rom knew he hadn’t the strength to make another trip across and he doubted Joe had the skill to make the crossing on his own. Without conscious thought, he climbed from the boat and settled himself on one of the tree limbs.
“Go on, lad.” He motioned downward. The youth quickly lowered himself from the branch he’d been clinging to. Joe Black looked up at Romulus. He said nothing. But what he was thinking was written clearly on his somber face. He ordered the child in the bow to give two tugs on the downstream line and, as if by magic, the boat began moving into the current, rapidly angling across the water toward the shore.
“Thank you, sir!” Joe Black shouted out.
Romulus watched as the two men at the downstream station helped Joe Black and the children from the boat. The boys and Bessie clambered up the bank to where their mothers waited. Farther upstream, Lady Hamish’s barouche was drawn up near the edge of the water, and Romulus could see the two cloaked figures who stood there, their arms entwined. His mother and Allegra. He wondered how long they had been standing there, and thanked God he couldn’t see their faces.
The water was swirling around his boots now, brown and full of silt. As he shifted to a higher branch, the tree canted noticeably. Undermined by the force of the water and by the weight of all those strapping children, his haven was no longer secure.
“Romulus!”
He heard the voice over the wuthering of the wind.
“Rom-u-lus!”
It was Niall, calling from the opposite bank. He was trying to force his stallion into the water, but the horse, wise creature, was having none of it. As Niall slashed at him with the ends of the reins, the horse reared up. Niall threw himself off its back and waded out into the water.
Romulus cupped his hands around his mouth. “No, Niall!” he cried out. “Don’t do it!”
Niall stopped and looked up. Across sixty feet of water their eyes met.
Rom’s gut twisted. He’d said unforgivable things to the Gypsy, to drive him away. But like Allegra, Niall was not easily daunted.
“I’m sorry,” Romulus mouthed. Niall nodded once, and then drew slowly back from the water’s edge.
The tree creaked and tipped a bit farther to one side. Romulus held his breath. There were times in the past year, when he wouldn’t have minded dying in the river. But not now, not when he had so much to live for. It was damnable to think that he would perish before he had a chance to reclaim his life. To seize the joy that had always eluded him before he met Allegra, before he knew he had a mother who loved him.
It had made all the difference to his wounded soul, to discover he was the son of that intelligent, capable woman. A woman who had learned, as he had, how painful it could be to place duty before love. His torment had melted away at her revelation. He saw then that neither of them was infallible—that life sometimes offered choices where there was no positive outcome.
She’d had to choose between responsibility to her father, and allegiance to her husband and son. He’d had to choose between staying behind to nurse his dying friends in prison—for that was the one thing he had never revealed to a single soul, that three of his comrades had still been alive when he left—and abandoning them, so that he could aid the men who were well enough to escape.
He accepted that choice now—that he had chosen to serve the living—without any lingering guilt.
And because of that acceptance, he had at last been free to set his mended heart before Allegra.
He’d made his decision that morning, as he’d held her in his arms. He would claim his birthright and take the place in the world that should have been his from infancy. Not that he regretted the years with his father—they had made him the man he was. A man capable of selflessness and deep commitment to those he loved. But now he wanted to use those strengths, the ones that had made him a healer and a rescuer in his life on the river, in a broader setting. He would oversee Hamish House with the same concern and integrity that he had brought to his swankeeping. And Allegra would be his touchstone—she, who drew everyone to her, would be his guide for learning to get on with others. Together they could fill Hamish House with love and with light…and perhaps even bring his mother back into the world she had foresworn so many years ago.
Yes, he would have done all those things, he mused bleakly, if he wasn’t stranded in this tipsy tree, facing a damned watery death.
* * *
Diana stood shivering beside Lady Hamish, fighting off despair as she cursed the river that was swirling below Rom’s perch. Already he was into the thinner branches of the tree, which now hung perilously close to the racing, white-capped water. As she watched, it lurched a bit more to one side.
The wind had died down somewhat, enough so that you could hear yourself think. But she didn’t want to think. Not when all her thoughts led to the same fearful conclusion.
It was unthinkable that she should lose Romulus now—she’d only just gotten him back! If only she were not so weak, she could have rowed the boat back to him herself. She wondered if she dared ask one of the grooms to risk his life. Or the publican. But although the wind had lessened, the water still fretted and plunged. It wouldn’t be fair to ask it of them. She feared only an act of God could save Romulus now.
“He’s moving,” Lady Hamish cried softly, her fingers holding tight to Diana’s shoulder.
Diana’s eyes darted up. Sure enough, Romulus had shifted on his branch and was reaching cautiously below him. His fingers found the submerged grappling iron that was caught on one of the lower limbs and he coaxed it away from the tangle of sodden leaves. He leaned forward, well out from the tattered green canopy above him, and flung it over the water. It caught in the branches of another tree some fifteen feet from beyond him. He tugged on the line, securing it, and then slid off his branch into the roiling water.
“No!” Diana cried out.
The top of his head was all she could see—his wet hair the same color as the dark, muddy water.
Lady Hamish’s arms drew around her. “He’s trying to save himself.” Her voice broke. “Praise God, Diana, he’s fighting back!”
As they watched with anxious eyes, the man in the water drew himself toward the distant tree. The current snatched at him and carried him out beyond his goal. Twice his head disappeared beneath the surface. Both times Diana had to look away. Hand over hand, with agonizing slowness, Romulus pulled himself toward safety. When he reached his goal, he clung, unmoving, to the slickened trunk of the tree. After some time, he dragged himself up onto one of the lower branches.
Diana turned to the baroness, holding her by both wrists. ‘Tell me, Lady Hamish,” she implored. “Why does he mean so much to you? I see it in your eyes, I feel the fear for him pulsing in your veins. You are right—he is fighting back now. Yesterday he would have let the river take him. What did you say to him, what did you tell him, that has made such a difference?”
She sighed. “He didn’t want me to tell you yet…but it’s foolish to hold back now. Romulus is my son.”
Diana reeled slightly. “You are his mother?” And then she smiled. “I should have guessed. It all makes sense now. He…he told me he found his soul last night.”
“Is that what he said?” The baroness smiled. “I wasn’t precisely sure he took it as good news.”
There was a commotion behind them as a rider came clattering up and reined his horse beside the barouche. Sir Beveril Hunnycut d
ismounted and came striding toward them.
“Beveril!” Lady Hamish cried.
He gave her a cautious glance. “Vivian’s cook heard about the children trapped on the island, from a traveler who took refuge in her kitchen. I thought I’d come along…see if there was anything I could do.”
“The children are safe,” Lady Hamish said.
“Well, that’s a fine day’s work.” He cocked his head. “But then why are the two of you still here?”
Wordlessly, Diana pointed to the group of trees at the center of the island.
“Good lord!” Beveril exclaimed when he saw Romulus clinging limply to a branch. He turned and quickly drew Lady Hamish into his arms.
“There wasn’t enough room in the boat,” she whispered hoarsely into his shoulder. “And now he’s the one who is trapped.”
Beveril assessed the situation, saw even from this distance that the man across the water had used up his last reserves. And he saw at once what needed to be done. He may have been a self-serving glad-hander in Parliament, but he knew his way around the ordering of men.
“You there!” he called to his aunt’s grooms. “Drag this boat downriver, er, upriver. I’m going across.”
He tugged off his fitted riding coat and helped the men put the boat up onto the shore. They hauled it over the bracken that edged the river until it was well above the island. Lady Hamish came running up just before he pushed off.
“Forgive me, aunt,” he said without looking up from the oars.
“I’ll forgive you anything, Beveril. If you bring him back to me. He is—”
“I know,” he said as he met her eyes. “I think I’ve always known.”
Diana brushed past the baroness and scrambled over the gunwale. She was clutching one of the extra oars to her chest.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” she said as she sank down on the stern seat.
“No!” Beveril and Lady Hamish cried out in unison.
Diana stuck out her chin. “I need to do this, don’t you see. If I have to stand here one minute longer unable to do anything, I shall go mad. And besides,” she pointed out to Beveril, “you won’t make it across if you are broadsided by a log. Now please row!”
He cast off then, rowing boldly for the island. The water pushed the boat back a few feet for every stroke he took. Diana wondered how Romulus had been able to make the first trip, as ill as he had been.
Though the wind continued to buffet over their heads, and the chill water sloshed over the sides of the boat, she felt no fear. Her only focus was the man on the island. She nearly didn’t see the jagged length of timber that came bearing down on the boat like a missile. Just before it crashed into them, Diana scrambled to her feet and fended it off with her oar. It caught in an eddy, thudded hard against the stern, and then went racing away. She whispered a prayer of thanks—the river gods were still with her.
Romulus watched in disbelief, as Beveril and Allegra came doggedly toward him over the surging water. Beveril brought the boat directly beneath the tree, and then gazed up into Rom’s disbelieving eyes.
“You needn’t look so shocked,” Beveril said blithely. “I did a bit of rowing at Oxford. Well, aren’t you going to come down…cousin?”
Romulus pried his trembling fingers from the tree limb and tumbled into the boat. Diana immediately threw her arms around him, hugging him fit to break a rib.
“Steady on, witch,” he said softly. “I’m only just out of my sickbed.” He saw the expression of stunned relief on her pale face, the stark fear only now beginning to fade, and all his levity fled away.
“I thought…” he uttered hoarsely. He couldn’t seem to find the words. “I was….”
“I know,” she answered, reaching up to stroke the wet hair back from his face.
He set his hands on her shoulders, his golden eyes full of reproof. “Don’t ever frighten me like that again, Allegra. There was no need for you to place yourself at risk.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You’re a fine one to talk,” she chided. “Next time you wait on the shore with your heart in your throat, and see how you like it.”
“My heart was in my throat. That blasted plank nearly carried you both off.”
“I’ll make a trade with you,” she said. “I’ll stay off the river when it’s in flood, if you promise to restrain your heroic impulses for a few decades. At least long enough to meet your grandchildren.”
“I’ll have other things to keep me busy,” he murmured, leaning forward to kiss her.
With a little cough, Beveril remarked, “I hate to break up this touching reunion, but I think we should get back to shore—the boat seems to have sprung a leak.”
He tugged twice on the bow line as Diana settled Rom on the stern seat. They were swiftly drawn back to the shore, which was a good thing, since the boat was rapidly filling with water.
The grooms ran forward into the river and pulled them from the sinking craft. The man who was helping Romulus to shore was quickly supplanted by Diana, who wrapped both arms around his waist as she coaxed him up the slippery bank to where Lady Hamish was waiting.
He reached out to his mother with both hands.
“Romulus,” she whispered, a catch in her voice, as she rushed forward and clasped him in her arms. Her pale face was glowing with relief as she tenderly drew a blanket over his shoulders. “Come to the coach now, my dear. We need to get you home.”
He nodded, but then caught sight of one of the grooms, who was about to sever the line that held the listing rowboat to the bank. Romulus took a step back toward the water and waved him off.
“Don’t!” he called over the wind. “Don’t give it to the river. I’m very attached to that boat.” He looked down into Diana’s face. “It tossed a black-haired water witch at my feet.”
“I’m still there, Romulus,” she said, grinning up at him as her hands plucked at her drenched skirts. “Well, perhaps not at your feet, but just as waterlogged as the day you found me.”
He tucked her under his arm as the three of them made their way toward the coach. Beveril stood beside the open door and guided his aunt up the steps. He turned then and laid his hand on Rom’s shoulder.
“You’ve got grit, Perrin,” he declared. “It’s hard to dislike a man with grit.” His voice deepened. “And you’ve also got…my most sincere and humble apology.” He held out one hand.
Romulus took it, though his eyes remained wary. “I forgive you, Hunnycut. But I wonder if you will forgive me. For taking what you once thought was yours.”
“Not mine any longer,” Sir Beveril said gruffly. “Never was apparently.” His gaze shifted to Diana. “Neither the house nor the girl. I wish you joy of her—she’s a rare handful.”
Romulus tugged her against him. ‘That she is.” His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “But then I’m no day in the park, either.”
They watched as Beveril went striding over to his horse.
“Will your mother make things right with him?” Diana asked. And then bit her lip.
His eyes narrowed. “So she told you about that, did she?”
Diana nodded slowly. “Yes, though I feel a fool for not having realized it sooner.”
“Mmm. Not half as foolish as I feel. But I’ll see to Beveril, even if she doesn’t. He had…an unfortunate upbringing.”
“You don’t hate him any longer, then? For what he did to you?”
He studied her a moment. “This seems like as good a time as any for starting over. The old scores are evened now, I think.”
“Yes,” she answered. “And I even got to repay you for rescuing me…well, a little.”
“Ah,” he said, setting his hands tight at her waist. “But you’ve got to be careful who you rescue from the river, Allegra.”
“Oh, I know all about that,” she said. “They don’t always pay you back in kind.”
“Did I say that?” he responded with a grin, just before he bent her back and kissed her hard upon the mouth.
>
Chapter 15
It was definitely not good ton to run off from your own wedding party.
But Diana had received enough congratulations and felicitations to last her a lifetime. She slipped through the French doors of Lady Hamish’s drawing room, lifting the skirts of her pale amber gown as she flitted over the velvety green lawn. The river drew her, as it had the night of that other party, the one she had fled from in heartsick doubt.
The sky was darkening overhead, the western horizon shot with fingers of scarlet and gold as she stood upon the granite breakwater, gazing across the silvery Thames. She thought back over the past three weeks, and to all that had transpired since the day of the windstorm.
After his ordeal on the river, Romulus had slept for two days straight. Diana had fretted over what his state of mind might be when he awakened, but when he at last roused from his slumber, he had hoisted her onto his bed and proceeded to kiss her with such vigor, that she knew her fears were groundless.
She had returned to Mortimer House that same day, sure in her heart that Rom was mended, and knowing, further, that he needed time to be alone with his mother.
“Wise Allegra,” Romulus had called her, as he saw her off. Wise, perhaps, but dashed lonely. Even if Romulus had driven over to visit her nearly every day, his visits were monitored by Helen and James.
Diana gazed back at Hamish House, alive with light and music and a host of wedding guests, and sighed wistfully. Even now, now that she was wed to her swankeeper, there still seemed to be no private moments between them. She wished that the lodge on the island was still standing—it would have been a perfect honeymoon cottage, remote, secluded and gloriously private.
Diana kicked at a loose stone in distemper and heard it thunk into the river. She felt as though she were a public exhibition, on display for people to gawk at. Everyone seemed to be watching her with a knowing expression in their eyes. It was unsettling to say the least.