Having heard the sigh and taken note of the changing expressions on his cousin’s face, Standish, taking his elbow and urging him forwards, remarked gently, ‘Things still not working out between the pair of you, old chap? Could’ve sworn that you both looked quite—how shall I put it?—besotted with each other back then.’
‘Had it not been for your blasted interruption,’ grunted the earl, as he shrugged off his cousin’s hand and strode up the path in his wife’s wake, ‘we might well have been about to reach some sort of understanding.’
‘Oh, lor!’ groaned Standish, hurrying after him. ‘Sorry about that—I’ll try to be more careful in future.’
Richard halted and, with a rueful grin on his face, turned to face his cousin.
‘No offence, Charles,’ he said awkwardly, holding out his hand for the other to shake. ‘Fact is, I soaked up rather too much of the old grape juice yesterday and I’m now like the proverbial bear—with a very sore head. Forgive my lapse of manners?’
With a quick smile, Standish grasped the outstretched hand, exclaiming, ‘I only wish there was something I could do to help—I hate to see you looking so low.’
‘The fact that you are here at all is good enough for me,’ returned Richard gruffly. ‘Just two of us Standish boys left now, so we’re going to have to stick together!’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Thoroughly exhausted but highly pleased with the results achieved by her hotchpotch force in just a single day, Helena stood in the rear courtyard, smiling up at the Hall’s now gleaming windows. It was clear that Rueben Corrigan’s choice of workers had proved surprisingly beneficial to her cause.
It had transpired that several of the men, including Rueben himself, had been apprentice carpenters before an over-zealous sense of patriotism, along with a youthful craving for adventure and excitement, had prompted them to volunteer themselves for military service, some eight years earlier. Having then found themselves required to participate in some of the most savage acts of violence known to man, in the process of which they had lost many of their friends and comrades, these initially exuberant young countrymen had been forced to contend with the biting cold of the Spanish winters, along with the overpowering heat of its summers. They had endured unbelievable privations during eight long years of bitter campaigning, often subsisting on scavenged victuals for weeks on end, only to find themselves—following Napoleon’s final capitulation—cast adrift with callous indifference, with no thought or consideration as to their future welfare and even, in a great many cases, left to make their own way back to their homeland.
Totally disillusioned, huge numbers of these displaced ex-soldiers had been forced into a life of crime in order to survive; many of them had banded together and were presently engaged in terrorising whole communities throughout the land, instilling unrest among workers and inciting them to rise up against their employers.
Others, such as Rueben Corrigan, Ben Fuller and their like, had made every effort to find work and, despite continual setbacks, had succeeded in keeping themselves on the straight and narrow, their only succour often being the daily ration of bread and soup served out by the various soup kitchens set up by the many small charitable organisations throughout the kingdom.
‘A splendid day’s work, Mr Fuller,’ exclaimed Helena, beaming her appreciation at the wiry young man standing by her side. ‘If every day progresses as well as this one has done, we shall have the old house back on its feet in no time at all.’
‘It’s certainly a fine old building,’ nodded her companion, standing back to admire the newly repaired window-frame that he had just finished fitting. ‘That panelling in the great hall is quite magnificent. My old master, back in Leicestershire, would probably give his eye teeth just to get a peek at it—a great admirer of Gibbon’s work, was my Mr Tobias.’
Nodding absentmindedly, since her attention had been diverted by the sudden sight of her husband approaching from the stables, Helena’s heart executed a joyous leap but, upon observing that the earl had been diverted by a call from his cousin who, while leaning out of the window of the Hall’s morning room on the first floor, from where he had been directing various operations, was eagerly relating his part in the day’s activities, she took a deep breath and attempted to focus her mind on what her companion was telling her.
‘Did I hear you say that you were apprenticed to a Mr Tobias, Ben?’ she asked, her mind flitting back to a recent article that she had read on wood-carving. ‘That wouldn’t have been a Mr Hector Tobias, of Enderby, would it?’
‘Why, yes, indeed it would, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘Didn’t serve my full time, of course—on account of my brothers persuading me to join up with them—both dead now, sadly—and precious little chance of him taking me back on again, at my age.’
‘Your old master is said to be somewhat of an expert, I believe?’
‘Oh, a proper wizard with the carving knives, he was, ma’am,’ returned the young man, with a wide grin. ‘The local folk used to say that he would have given that Gibbons fellow a run for his money, if he had still been around!’
Nodding thoughtfully, Helena studied Fuller’s enthusiastic expression for a moment or two then, making up her mind, she asked him, ‘Do you suppose he would be interested in coming down here to Surrey to take a look at our panels, with a view to replicating those that have suffered the worst damage?’
Fuller’s eyes widened. ‘I should think that sort of thing would be right up Mr Tobias’s street, your ladyship—I’ll get a letter off to him right away and thank you for thinking of him, ma’am! Now that the roof and the window frames are finished, we can get on with stripping off the panelling and sorting out the good from the bad.’
With another smile, he dipped his head and was on the point of turning away from her when, glancing upwards to feast his eyes on the now completed roofwork, the smile was instantly wiped from his face, to be replaced by a look of total dismay.
Uttering a violent ‘Look out, sir!’, he flung himself across the courtyard towards the earl.
Hearing the warning shout, Richard spun round and took a step forwards. Seconds later, at the very moment that Fuller cannoned into him, hurling them both to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs, a huge shower of roof slates shattered all around the pair of them, sending a myriad of splintering shards in all directions, as the heavy slate made violent contact with the courtyard’s paving-stones.
For almost a full minute, there was a heavy pall of silence as those who had witnessed the accident endeavoured to make sense of what had happened but then, as realisation dawned, all hell broke loose as, first, Helena and then a score or more of the other workers dashed over to remove the debris that had descended upon the pair.
Ignoring the cuts and scratches to her hands, Helena frantically thrust aside the broken bits of slate, only to reveal the terrifying sight of her husband’s face, his features totally obliterated by a mixture of blood and dirt!
‘Gently, gently!’ she beseeched, as the anxious band of willing helpers strove to extricate the seemingly lifeless pair from beneath the pile of rubble. Don’t let him be dead, she prayed silently, please don’t let him be dead! Dear God, I love him so much!
Catching hold of Richard’s hand, she held it to her lips, as the men, having lifted the earl free, carried him across to the other side of the courtyard and laid him reverently down on the lawn. Scarcely able to breathe for fear of what she might learn, she knelt down and pressed her head against his chest. As the blessed sound of a racing heartbeat thundered into her ear, she let out a wild sob of exultation and threw her arms around him. He was alive!
All at once, Richard’s eyes flicked open and, lifting his hand, he swiped the congealing blood away from his nose and mouth and stared up at her.
‘What the hell happened?’ he asked hoarsely, as he gradually became aware that he was no longer trapped beneath the man who had thrown himself at him and that the arms that were pinioning him to the ground, were
in fact, Helena’s!
‘There was an accident,’ she said breathlessly, making a valiant attempt to straighten herself up, only to find that her husband had wrapped his arms across her back and was intent upon keeping her where she was. ‘A pile of slates fell from the roof—Mr Fuller tried to—!’
‘Yes, I remember now,’ he replied testily, hurriedly letting go of her and struggling to rise to his feet. ‘The young fellow who pushed me to one side—where is he—was he hurt?’
His eyes travelled across the grass, to the spot where the men had laid Ben Fuller. He, unlike, his master, lay unmoving, a weeping Cissie Pritchard doing her best to suppress the flow of blood that was seeping from the ugly gash on the side of his head.
Although he was not aware of any pain, the blood that he could see on his hands seemed to suggest to Richard that he, too, had suffered some sort of damage. Reaching up, his fingers probed every part of his head and face and found nothing. It was not his blood! As realisation dawned, he strode quickly across to his injured rescuer and knelt beside him on the grass, motioning Cissie to one side and, extracting his own handkerchief from his pocket, he pressed it firmly against the jagged injury.
‘It needs to be held tightly, to prevent further loss of blood,’ he explained, to the curious onlookers, beckoning to Helena to assist him in the removal of his neckcloth, prior to binding it securely around the injured man’s head. ‘I have had some experience of sabre slashes and I would say that this cut is in need of being stitched as quickly as possible—I assume that someone has had the forethought to send for a doctor?’
‘Mr Standish rode off for one, just as soon as he saw what had happened,’ volunteered one of the bystanders.
A sudden hush fell as Fuller’s eyes drifted slowly open and a strangled moan emitted from his lips. ‘Set up,’ he whispered, fixing his gaze on Richard. ‘S-set up.’
‘Not advisable to sit up just yet, old chap,’ returned the earl softly. ‘Best to stay on your back until the doctor has dealt with that cut—you’ve lost quite enough blood already. Just lie still, until we can get help, there’s a good fellow.’
Lifting a shaky hand, Fuller clutched at Richard’s sleeve. ‘S-saw—ro…’ he slurred breathily. ‘S-saw…’ Then his hand fell, his eyes closed and he lay silent once more.
‘Out of luck, I’m afraid!’
Hearing Standish’s voice, the crowd stood back and allowed him through. ‘Both local doctors are out on calls,’ he informed his cousin, as he sought to regain his breath. ‘I sent a lad over to Hilverton to see if their fellow is available, but I don’t hold out much hope—if we can’t stop that bleeding…’ His voice tailed off and he turned away in distress. ‘I can only thank God that he stopped you getting the brunt of it, Richard.’
‘All the more reason to do our best to save the poor fellow,’ said Richard. Then, although he knew that it was a forlorn hope, he looked up and called out, ‘Is there no one amongst you who knows how to set stitches?’
‘I have a little experience,’ came a soft voice at his elbow.
Spinning round, Richard stared at his wife in astonishment.
‘You cannot possibly—’ he began, only to have her hold up her hand to silence him.
‘I saw many such procedures during my visits to St George’s, when Jason was first brought home,’ she assured him quietly. ‘In addition, both Charlotte and I were often called in to assist Doctor Redfern at the Swallow Inn, when he was unable to manage a young patient on his own. I am willing to try.’
‘But, such a wound as this! I cannot possibly allow it!’
He gestured to the figure lying comatose at his feet.
‘Would you rather stand by and watch the poor fellow bleed to death, then?’ she pressed him urgently. ‘I am well aware that you consider my experience limited, but what other choice do we have?’
Following a low murmur of approval from the crowd of workers, Rueben Corrigan stepped forwards.
‘I know it ain’t for me to say, sir,’ he blurted out, twisting his cap nervously in his hands, ‘but I guess young Ben here would be willing to take whatever chance he could get—t’would be a right shame to see him die like this after surviving eight years on the battlefield. I say let her ladyship have a go—we know that she’ll do whatever is in her power to save him and, should she fail in her endeavours, sir, I can assure you that there’s not one amongst us who would hold her to blame.’
Stepping back, he then added, ‘’Sides which, I’ve always been inclined to believe that it’s the Almighty who makes the final decision in matters such as this.’
‘Not a lot of point in us interfering then, is there?’ muttered Standish under his breath, but Richard, having caught his words, shot him such a condemnatory look that his cheeks flamed and he turned away, looking decidedly abashed.
Realising that there was little time to lose, Richard found himself obliged to make an instant decision.
‘Do we have suitable facilities for such a procedure?’ he asked Corrigan, knowing that it would be pointless to try to transport the injured man back to Westpark, where ideal conditions would prevail.
But it was Bet Mooney who stepped forwards this time. ‘Kitchen’s as clean as a whistle,’ she informed him, as she sniffed back her tears. ‘Table’s been scrubbed many times over and, thanks to young Ben here, we’ve no shortage of hot water.’
‘Right—four of you sort out a stretcher—rip out one of the doors, if need be, and let’s get this lad down to the kitchen!’
Turning to Helena, the earl reached out and took her hands in his, frowning as he discovered how cold they were. ‘Are you sure that you feel up to this, my dear?’ he asked softly. ‘No one will think any worse of you if you decide that you can’t go through with it.’
‘He saved your life,’ she replied shakily, unable to prevent the tears that sprang into her eyes as she recalled the total desolation that had swept over her when she feared that she had lost him. ‘There is nothing in the world that I would not do for the poor man, after that.’
Another indication that she felt some real affection for him, thought Richard, hope flaring in his eyes as he looked down at her. There had been several moments lately when he had almost believed…
But then, realising that this was hardly the time for such speculation, he heaved back a sigh and, tucking her hand into his arm, he led her towards the house in the wake of the stretcher party, with the words, ‘Tell me what you need, my dear. I can send off to Westpark for anything you think you might require.’
Helena paused for a moment, thinking hard. Then, with a decisive nod, she replied, ‘Whisky or brandy. As much as you can spare—for both cleansing and patient-numbing purposes—needles and thread my women will have here, of course—basilicum powder, if Mrs Wainwright has any, sheets for tearing into bandages and—oh, yes, of course—some more oil lamps. We will need as much light as possible!’
‘I’ll get on to it right away’ he returned and, lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed the tips of her fingers. ‘Sadly, whilst I know that this is hardly the time to mention it, I just wanted you to know how much I—’
‘We’re ready now, if you please, ma’am,’ interrupted a tentative voice at his elbow. ‘We’ve managed to get Ben on the kitchen table, but he’s thrashing about something awful, ma’am—you’d best come at once, if you would.’
Steadfastly ignoring her husband’s groan, Helena regretfully extracted her fingers from his grasp and turned to greet the waiting Cissie. ‘Well, then,’ she said, as she conjured up a valiant smile, ‘we had best get on with it.’
She had only gone a few steps down the path before she suddenly stopped in her tracks and, turning back, she implored him, ‘Wish me luck, Richard, and say a little prayer for me, if you would.’
At the sight of her troubled expression, as she made her simple request, it took Richard every ounce of his resolve to stop himself from leaping forwards, wrapping her in his arms and carrying her away from this appa
lling task she had set herself. But, given their present situation, the best he could offer her was a supportive smile and a few words of encouragement.
‘With every beat of my heart, dear one,’ he said, his eyes dark with unsuppressed feeling.
Scarcely daring to believe that she could have heard aright, Helena’s heart leapt into her throat and, unable to tear her eyes away from his burning gaze, she took a hesitant step towards him but then, conscious of Cissie’s insistent tugging at her arm, she offered him a faltering smile, turned reluctantly away and allowed herself to be propelled towards the doorway.
Grappling with the powerful feelings that were threatening to overcome his resolve, Richard watched her disappear then, with a wry grimace, he, too, turned and hurried off in the direction of the stables. At the very least, he intended to make certain that her requests were carried out to the letter.
Wiping a weary hand across her forehead, Helena took a deep breath and, standing back from the table, peered across at the clock on the kitchen dresser. Ten to one! It had taken her nearly three hours to close up Ben’s wound—although it was true that much of that time had been involved in calming him down. Luckily for him, he had still been in a deep swoon when she had poured the fiery spirit into the gash to wash away the dust and grime that had accumulated as a result of the accident, and she had been able to set the first half dozen or so of the twenty-five stitches without too much difficulty. But then, as soon as his eyes had reopened, he had begun threshing about like a madman, mumbling all sorts of nonsense about saws and stands and ropes and goodness knows what else.
A Marriageable Miss Page 27