Within a few minutes James returned with four sturdy footmen. They had had the forethought to bring a hurdle to carry Edmund on and eased him on to it with great care. Even so, he had to grit his teeth to stop himself crying out at the agonising jolt as they lifted the improvised stretcher. Mercifully he felt his senses slip away again, but he lapsed into semi-consciousness confident that Anne would cope whatever happened.
Anne watched the proceedings unhappily, feeling Edmund’s agony rack her too. Fighting to control the foolish weakness that made her body shake, her eyes fill with tears, she walked beside them, protecting Edmund all she could from the inevitable jolting as they negotiated the narrow paths.
She was glad to concentrate her thoughts on Edmund and his needs. That left no time for the frightening question of who had tried to kill him. It seemed an eternity before they reached the house, but at last they were there. As the men hesitated in the doorway she forced her numbed brain to work once more.
‘Carry him into the library. We’d better make up a bed there rather than try to lift him upstairs.’
As they turned obediently with their burden, Julia hurried downstairs towards them. Anne waited resignedly for the outburst.
‘What has happened? I heard James shouting, so I flung on some clothes and…’Julia stopped aghast as she caught sight of the pale still form on the stretcher. ‘He’s dead!’ she screamed frantically, ‘Edmund’s dead! Oh my God! What shall we do?’
Edmund’s eyes flickered open for a second. Julia gave a shout of relief. Clutching feverishly at him she breathed, ‘Thank heaven! You’re alive, Edmund! Speak to me!’
Anne thrust her unceremoniously aside. She had neither time nor patience to cope with Julia’s folly now. Ignoring her sister’s noisy sobbing, she directed the men to lift Edmund on to the couch. Julia fluttered helplessly beside them, getting in everyone’s way, until in exasperation Anne sent her to fetch a glass of brandy for the patient.
‘Not too much, or it will make him feverish. Just enough to prevent his feeling the pain while I look at his wound. I have to see whether the ball is still in his side.’
Julia’s hand shook so much that she could scarcely hold the glass. A great dark splash of the spirit spilt down the front of her gown but she was too agitated to notice it. Watching impatiently, Anne’s eyes narrowed in sudden recognition. This was one of the new gowns— the one Julia had been wearing at dinner. She could never have struggled into that unaided without even ruffling her hair. All her jewels were in place too, so she had obviously not retired to bed as she pretended.
Was Anne’s guess correct? Was it to engineer a meeting with Weston that Julia had sent Edmund outside—out into danger? She froze as the thought stabbed that Julia had everything to gain from Edmund’s death.
She thrust the disturbing idea away. No time for conjecture now. Edmund’s needs were paramount. Carefully she lifted the glass to his lips and forced him to gulp down the spirits.
He protested weakly, but she made him drain the glass. It soon had its effect, dulling his senses further, driving away the pain.
Julia halted her restless pacing to exclaim, ‘It is perfectly dreadful if we cannot walk safely in our own grounds now without being shot at. What are things coming to? Something will have to be done about these wretched poachers.’
‘Poachers?’ repeated Anne grimly, ‘it was no poacher who shot Edmund.’
‘What do you mean?’ Julia’s frightened gaze flew to her sister’s face. Shock made her voice shrill as she demanded, ‘Did you see the accident, then?’
Anne contemplated her suspiciously. Was there more than horror at the idea in her voice— fear, too, of what else Anne might have seen? It was unbearable to have such doubts of her sister.
‘It was not an accident,’ she replied flatly. ‘What I saw was a deliberate attempt to kill Edmund. It was too dark for me to recognise the attacker, but I could see it was not a poacher.’
‘Impossible!’ Julia sank down into a chair, overcome’ by her sister’s blunt declaration.
James bent anxiously over her, exclaiming crossly, ‘I thought you had more compassion, Anne, than to upset poor Julia in that way! Her delicate nerves will not stand these repeated shocks. Of course it was an accident! Who would wish to harm Ashorne?’
Who indeed, Anne wondered bleakly. Weston? James? Julia herself? Was that why she was so frantic now—for fear of what Anne might have seen, dread that her part in it might be exposed? Anne surveyed her critically. Julia seemed to have aged ten years in the past few minutes. Her face was haggard with anxiety—or guilt? But no! She was being too fanciful. It could not have been Julia. The figure that had levelled the pistol had been unmistakably male.
Even so, a moment’s reflection showed Anne that this fact did not entirely absolve her sister. Although she had not fired the shot she might still have been party to its planning. It was horrible to have such suspicions of her sister, but Anne could not shake off the fear that Weston’s hold on Julia might be so strong that she had been forced into complicity in his schemes.
In that case, had his been the finger on the trigger? She tried desperately to recall that shadowy form, but it had been too brief a view to allow her to recognise anything familiar about it. Impossible to be sure.
While all these wild conjectures were whirling around in Anne’s head, her hands were steadily cutting at Edmund’s coat and shirt, easing them away from the ugly patch where blood was now welling strongly. Fighting to overcome her own nausea, Anne glanced across at her sister and told her bluntly,
‘I warn you, Julia, that I intend to deal with Edmund’s wound now. If you don’t wish to watch the operation you had better leave the room directly.’
‘How can you contemplate such a thing?’ Julia shuddered. ‘I’d sooner die than look at all that blood, let alone touch it!’
‘Fortunately some of us have less sensibility,’ Anne replied flatly, refusing to allow herself to think of what lay ahead. She must stifle her imagination and get on with the task for Edmund’s sake. ‘It will be Edmund who dies if the bleeding is not staunched soon.’
Not waiting to see her sister go out, she bent to her task. Edmund stirred. ‘The doctor …’ he muttered thickly.
‘We cannot afford to wait for him. You have lost far too much blood already, and it might be hours before he arrives. Don’t worry,’ she added with the ghost of a smile, ‘I shan’t hurt you.’
In spite of the assumed confidence with which she spoke it took a great deal of resolution actually to start, immense effort to keep her hands steady as she probed the mangled flesh.
Thankful that Edmund was barely conscious, she still worked with infinite caution, knowing that if he flinched she would be unable to go on. Her hold on self-control was very thin.
Eventually she discovered the small lead ball lodged, as she had expected, in his side. She was very relieved to hear the doctor arrive at this point and to relinquish to him the task of digging it out, although she forced herself to stand beside him to assist where necessary. At last it was over and the side tightly strapped up.
‘Best not to move him any more than necessary now,’ the doctor ordered, so Edmund was settled for the night on the sofa. Jonas volunteered to sit up with his master.
As Anne ushered the doctor out, they saw Julia hovering anxiously in the hall, James at her side. ‘Is—is he going to be all right?’ the widow whispered, hollow-eyed with despair.
‘Of course he is! Perfectly all right!’ The doctor had never had any sympathy for Julia’s histrionics. ‘Thanks to Miss Wetherly’s good sense and prompt action, his lordship will suffer nothing worse than a sore side for a few weeks. I suggest you all go to your beds and let the patient get some rest. That will do him far more good than all this fussing.’
While Anne was giving orders for the doctor’s horse to be brought to the door a groom panted up to them. ‘If you please, miss, could the doctor come to the estate office as soon as he’s done with his
lordship? There’s been an accident there.’
‘Another accident!’ shrieked Julia. ‘What is it this time?’
‘It’s Mr. Weston, your ladyship, ma’am. He’s been knocked unconscious.’
‘Good God! He must have encountered the same maniac who shot Edmund!’
Anne, glancing at her sister, was shocked to see an expression almost of satisfaction flit across her face as she spoke, but in a second it was gone. Was Julia so entangled with the steward that she wanted harm to come to him? Or was she merely relieved to find suspicion of being responsible for Edmund’s attack lifted from him?
‘What has happened to Mr. Weston?’ Anne asked. ‘Is he badly injured?’
‘Not realty, miss, but he has a nasty cut on his head that needs looking at. The men have the fire nearly out now. Seems someone hit Mr. Weston over the head then set light to the place.
Terrible mess it’s in, but Mr. Weston managed to give the alarm before it spread any further.’
‘It must be the work of the same madman,’ shuddered Julia, clinging to James’s hand. ‘I shall be too terrified to set foot outside the door until he has been caught and hanged.’
Anne was less sure. There had been such a calm deliberation about the attack she had witnessed that she could not believe the attacker insane. But why else should he fire on Edmund? It would have been logical to do so if Edmund had surprised the intruder or tried to prevent his escape, but he had not even known of the man’s presence before he took aim.
It was difficult, on the other hand, to believe that the two incidents were entirely unconnected. But if the man’s object had been robbery from the office, then why should he risk discovery and capture by stopping to attack Edmund, who was scarcely likely to be carrying valuables about the garden with him?
After all the strain of the evening’s happenings, thinking made her head throb. Too weary to speculate further, she left Julia and James arguing fruitlessly and went to bed. Sleep came late as she tossed and turned, trying despite all her good intentions to resolve the problem.
She was amazed when she arrived, heavy-eyed, at breakfast next morning, to see Edmund already sitting at the table. He was pale and moved stiffly, but his riding-habit showed that he meant to go out that day.
‘Are you mad, Edmund?’ Anxiety made Anne’s voice sharper than she intended. ‘What are you doing here? The doctor said you were to stay in bed for a week at least.’
‘Nonsense, a little scratch doesn’t warrant all that fuss.’
‘It was more than a scratch, and you cannot deny that it still pains you.’
‘Not enough to prevent me riding. I’ve had far worse than this before now. I’ve made an appointment with the steward this morning and I mean to keep it.’
‘But haven’t you heard? Weston, too, was injured last night.’
‘Not seriously, I understand. In any case, I can sort through the accounts even if he is unable to be there to explain them.’
He refused to discuss the matter further, and Anne lapsed into an angry silence. Let him drive himself into a fever if he wished to be so obstinate! She would not stop him.
James soon joined them but Julia did not appear. To Anne’s disgust, Edmund seemed more concerned over Julia’s state of health than his own. He nodded sympathetically as James sighed, ‘Poor Julia! The dreadful events last night sadly distressed her. She has too mercurial a temperament to withstand such upsets.’
‘Mercurial fiddlesticks!’ snorted Anne. ‘Julia allows her imagination too much rein. She makes herself ill.’
‘You are too severe with her. Julia cannot help her nervous nature. You forget that she has not your ability to remain calm in a crisis.’
‘And is never likely to gain it while everyone is so foolishly indulgent with her.’
They both stared at her as if she were a murderess. Anne glared in impotent rage at them.
They truly believed that Julia’s silliness deserved serious consideration. What was there about her sister that made even normally sensible men like Edmund so uncritical of her?
Anne stamped away in a rage, determined to ride over to Melthorpe Hall to see how the repair work was progressing. The sooner she could move there the better. Life was too wearing at Ashorne. She sent a message to the schoolroom cancelling her lesson with Kit, and rode away. A faint twinge of guilt troubled her, as she had half-promised to take the child with her on her next visit to the Hall, but she did not feel able to cope with his childish prattle today.
A hard gallop shook off the worst of her fury; the warm spring sunshine gradually soothed her agitated spirits. It was hard to remain unhappy on a day like this. The place was busy with the sound of hammers and saws when she arrived there. It was dispiriting to see how little had been accomplished, but at least they had made a start.
Seeking out the chief carpenter, she asked if it were possible to speed up the work.
‘Our plans have had to change, Bedford. Now Lord Ashorne has come home it is my sister and I who must move in here.’
He shook his head doubtfully.
‘I don’t see how we can manage any better, miss. There’s more problems than we’d thought at first. The rain has got in the roof and sent the timbers rotten. To replace them will take a couple of months. Then there’s the floors…’
‘But surely some of the rooms could be made habitable fairly soon?’
‘Maybe—the south wing is not so badly affected. We could patch something up there perhaps. But why do you still need to come? We heard that his lordship was shot dead last night and Mr. Weston left at death’s door.’
‘Then you have heard a vastly exaggerated account. Lord ‘Ashorne is only wounded, and Weston not seriously hurt either.’
‘More’s the pity,’ Bedford growled. ‘I don’t wish his lordship no harm, but there’s many hereabouts would be glad to see the back of the other one.’ Seeing that Anne was astonished at his vehemence he went on bitterly, ‘There’s my own daughter for a start. She was fool enough to listen to his lying tongue, and now she’s left with a babe to rear alone and her only sixteen.’
‘But surely,’ Anne protested, ‘something can be done. He should be made to marry her.’
‘And what good would a husband like that be to her—a lecher and gamester to boot? She’s better off alone.’
‘He could still be forced to pay for the child’s upkeep,’ Anne said indignantly.
‘He denies all knowledge of it. Moll tried, to get her ladyship to make him help, but she wouldn’t listen either. It isn’t safe for us to argue too much if we want to keep our jobs. We only hope his wings’ll be clipped a bit now his lordship’s home.’
He broke off, and following his gaze he was infuriated to see Edmund standing in the doorway.
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded truculently, disturbed at that treacherous stab of emotion she still experienced at the sight of him.
Ignoring her discourtesy, he strode across to join them, ‘Weston proved too unwell to meet me, and as it turned out that the account books were extensively damaged in the fire I was unable to deal with those either.’ .
How extraordinarily convenient that must be for Weston, thought Anne. It bore out all her doubts of the attack on him. Or was she being unfair—letting prejudice colour her conclusions? Bedford’s story had confirmed her judgment of the steward, but that did not make him capable of attempted murder.
She wondered if Edmund was suspicious too, but no sign of it showed in his face as he went on, ‘So when I learned you had come here I decided to follow, and discover for myself the state of the building. Your report of it is so very different from your sister’s.’
As Julia had not set foot in the hall for at least twelve months, Anne wondered how she could claim to know so much about it, but with an effort she kept that reflection to herself.
Grudgingly she followed Edmund around the echoing rooms as he made his inspection.
All its faults seemed more glaringly obvio
us as she viewed them through his eyes. He made no comment, but she grew more and more resentful of his interference as he walked silently beside her, his expression growing blacker as they went on.
‘I know it is not perfect,’ she was goaded into declaring at last, as he stared forbiddingly at the great patches of damp running down the walls of what had once been Julia’s morning-room, ‘but it will serve to house us for the time being, with a little more work.’
‘You cannot seriously intend to move here while the place is in such a deplorable condition?’ he asked incredulously. ‘How could you ask Julia to live in such squalor?’
Julia! Always people worried about Julia and Julia’s comfort!
‘If I am ready to put up with a little discomfort, why should Julia be unable to do so too? At least here we shall be independent.’
‘Your sister is content to accept my hospitality. Why are you too proud to do so too, Anne?
It is quite impossible that either of you should live here until the house is totally renovated.
For a start it needs a completely new roof. As you saw, the rain comes through in a dozen places.’
Anne knew that he was correct but that did not prevent her arguing. ‘Bedford says that it can be patched for the present and gradually replaced.’
‘False economy. Far better to have the job done properly now, than patch continually and still have to rebuild the whole roof in a few years’ time.’
‘It is all very fine for you to talk so airily,’ objected Anne rebelliously. ‘Julia cannot afford to…’
‘Naturally,’ he interrupted, ‘I intend to make myself responsible for all the costs of putting the Hall to rights. But for the unfortunate muddle over my capture, the house would not have been allowed to lapse into such disrepair. I feel myself bound to make it good. I will tell all the workmen to send their accounts direct to me.’
Change of Heart Page 8