by Megan Daniel
In a moment she was tenderly set on Pasha’s broad back and Derek climbed up behind her, making a safe cradle for her with his arms. The anger that had kept her going seeped out of her, and she sagged against the warm safety of him with a sigh of relief.
He was uttering soothing sounds, and she thought she heard “poor darling”, and “my poor little love” among them. She must be growing delirious.
They were no more than a pair of miles from Row- bridge Manor. Derek’s frantic pounding at the back door was answered by a flustered Mrs. Gleason.
“Lawks, sir!” she cried at him and his wet burden, now dripping mud all over her spotless kitchen. “Why, it’s Miss Crawley's daughter! Oh, sir! She’s .. . she’s not dead, is she?”
Mrs. Gleason’s alarm was understandable, for Saskia, ashen-faced, had finally given in and fainted once more.
Chapter Twenty
Saskia came around to discover herself under a quilted coverlet on a comfortable settee in the Gleasons’ cozy sitting room. She was smiling as her eyes fluttered open to encounter the deep hazel gaze of her cousin. It was heavy with concern, and she realized that he was holding her hand, stroking it unconsciously. His touch was very gentle.
“Derek,” she whispered. She tried to sit up but became conscious of a most violent headache.
“No, no,” said Derek softly. “You mustn’t even try. I’m going for the doctor now.”
“Oh no,” she exclaimed. “You needn’t. I’m fine. Really I am. If I could just lie here a minute ...”
“I am going for the doctor!” he said less softly and less gently. “And you, my girl, are in no condition to argue the matter, thank God.”
He was right of course. She could barely speak much less read him the scold he deserved. She attempted a look of defiance, but the fire of their usual encounters was lacking.
He smiled back. “That’s better. Now be a good girl for Mrs. Gleason. I shan’t be gone long.” He reached out a
cool hand to smooth back her hair, and then he was
gone.
“There’s nought to worry 'bout now, miss,” bubbled Mrs. Gleason. “Your young man’ll be back with the doctor quick as ever you please.”
“My young man,” sighed Saskia as she fell asleep. She was smiling again.
When she awoke again a middle-aged gentleman in doctor’s black was asking her where she hurt. He peered out from behind thick spectacles and his side whiskers bounced when he smiled.
Mrs. Gleason was readying a basin of herb-scented steaming water and a pile of clean towels and bandages. Across the room stood Beatrix, who Derek had thoughtfully brought back with him. There was a worried frown on her face and a tear in her eyes. Derek stood holding Trix’s hand, patting it reassuringly.
“Everywhere,” said Saskia softly. “I hurt everywhere.” For in that moment, with all her natural defenses knocked awry, Saskia had had to recognize the thing that she had been pushing from her consciousness for days. She was hopelessly in love with Derek Rowbridge. She had been in love with him for a long time. She groaned and turned her head away.
“Yes, yes,” chuckled the doctor. “I expect you do. That was a nasty fall. You’ve a bump there the size of an egg, and you’re all over bruises, I’m sure. We shall do what we can to make you more comfortable, shall we?” He turned to Derek. ‘We must get her up to a proper bedroom. Will you assist us, sir?”
Derek was beside her in an instant. For the second time that day, Saskia was lifted in his strong arms. It was a lucky thing that his coat was still damp from the rain. He wouldn’t notice the wetness of the tears she was unable to hold back.
“I went an’ aired out Milady’s room,” said Mrs. Gleason, “an’ there’s fresh linens on the bed.”
They entered the pretty bedchamber that had been
Saskia’s grandmother’s. Derek laid her gently on the bed.
"Thank you, sir,” said the doctor. “You may go away now and trust the young lady to us. We will see to her.”
Derek had no intention of leaving his poor broken Saskia. “Go away! But...”
“Sir!” admonished the doctor, peering sternly over his spectacles. ‘We must get her out of these clothes and into bed.”
“Well, what’s stopping you? I . . He was suddenly struck by the doctor’s meaning and, to everyone’s surprise and his own embarrassment, he blushed. “Yes, yes, to be sure,” he muttered. “The lady’s sister will help you.” He turned to Beatrix. “I’ll be just outside. You’ll call me if ... ?”
“Of course,” she reassured him and Saskia saw her squeeze his hand. Oh, how her head ached!
The doctor set about bathing bruises and bandaging cuts and gingerly feeling the growing lump on the back of her head.
‘Well, well,” he said at last. “No broken bones, it seems. The cuts and bruises will heal themselves in a few days. It is to be hoped you won’t come down with a fever from your wetting.”
“Fair drenched through, she was, Doctor,” said Mrs. Gleason, “and blue with the cold.”
“So I heard,” scolded the doctor. “Riding out in such weatherl That was not prudent of you, my dear.” He waggled a finger at her as though she were a child. “I’ll send over a saline draught just in case, but I think you’ll do. And now you are to rest, young lady. No doubt you’ll be up and about in a few days, which is better than you deserve. In the meantime, I don’t want you out of this bed. Understood?”
“Yes, Doctor,” she mumbled. At the moment she had not the slightest desire to get up.
Mrs. Gleason’s fears to the contrary, the promised fever did not develop. Saskia’s body began to mend itself;
her heart did not. She was disastrously in love, and it was depressingly clear to her that Derek was just as deeply in love with her sister.
Oh, he had been amazingly attentive to Saskia, reading to her in his rich, deep voice or playing backgammon or just sitting and chatting. But she had no illusions as to why he was there. With Trix smiling so be- witchingly across the bed, he always had a reason to be there. It was surely not Saskia who drew him so often to the pretty yellow bedchamber.
She supposed she ought to be grateful. She had wanted a good, kind, wealthy husband for Trix. Now she had got him. Derek would be very wealthy, for he was certain to win the contest now. He might well have done so already, with so much time and freedom to wander about the house at will, searching out hidden diaries in libraries and other assorted clues of whatever variety. When he married Trix the family would be secure. He obviously liked them, except for Saskia, and would see them well provided for.
Saskia saw herself dwindling into an aunt, running the lives of her nieces and nephews as efficiently as she did those of her brothers and sisters. Derek was right. She was managing.
Even the masses of flowers from her many friends and admirers could not lift her spirits. They might as well have been funeral wreaths for all the joy they brought. She had often laughed when one of Mama’s heroines suffered from a “hopeless passion” or went into a decline for lost love. She would not laugh in future. This was surely the most horridly uncomfortable feeling in the world, this business of being in love with someone who didn’t love you.
She tried to go back to sleep to shut out the hurt. She accomplished the goal of slumber, but her dreams were all of Derek Rowbridge.
On the third day after her fall, Saskia was allowed to sit up and have a visit from her family. Jannie came in first wearing a look of stern disapproval. She had not at all liked being kept from her lieveling. She was finally convinced that she was needed in Laura Place, but she would never believe that Mrs. Gleason, a mere Englishwoman, could care for her darling. She marched about the room, adding a coverlet and a shawl to Saskia’s already heavily draped form, and sniffing at every medicine bottle with a look of deep suspicion.
“Hah!” she exclaimed in triumph.
“What is it, Jannie?”
“Hertshooml Ik heb hertshoom nodig.” And she hurried away to confront
Mrs. Gleason about the missing hartshorn.
The twins entered on tiptoe, looking so grave and whispering so softly that Saskia had to laugh. She reassured them that she didn’t intend to die anytime soon and asked them, without much real hope, if they were being good for Mama.
“They are perfect angels, my love,” said Mama. “All my children are angels. But I am glad, darling, that you decided not to return to heaven just yet. We should miss you, you know.”
“And I should miss you, Mama,” answered her laughing daughter. “You and all your nonsense.”
“Nonsense? But, darling! You know I have ever had the most serious nature. I quite rue it sometimes. And why did you never tell me about this wonderful house? Did you know that Queen Elizabeth actually slept here? Zounds! Methinks I feel a Tudor novel in me struggling to get out.”
“Oh, dear,” laughed Saskia. “We shall have you in a farthingale soon.”
Her mother seemed to give the matter serious consideration. “I doubt I could find a proper one nowadays. But perhaps a red wig . . .” She hurried to the writing desk in the comer and began making rapid notes.
Saskia gave her sister a wry grin. “Mrs. Gleason must be in alt. She has finally met the famous Cornelia Crawley.”
“She was speechless for nearly a full minute,” said Trix, “which is quite an accomplishment for our Mrs. Gleason. But she finally came around.”
“And what did she have to say?”
Mina, in a perfect imitation of the lovable little housekeeper, rolled her big blue eyes toward heaven, clapped her hands, and breathed. “Why lawksl Mercy me! My, my, my. Cornelia Crawley herself in our house. Well! I jest hardly know what to say.”
“And won’t that Mary Manners be green!” added Trix as they went off into a fit of giggles.
When she sobered sufficiently, Saskia turned to Neil. “And how does our budding mathematical genius go on?”
“Well,” he demurred. “I thought perhaps I needed a break from my studies. Cousin Derek has offered to teach me to drive his curricle.”
“Well, that’s doing it in style, I must say.”
“I should think so! A bang-up team, he’s got. Sixteen- mile-an-hour goers. After I learn I might ask if I can drive round to call on Melly ... uh, Miss Durrant.”
Saskia twinkled in delight. Derek was turning Neil into a regular rounded gentleman. “Well, do give Melly . . . uh, Miss Durrant my best,” she teased. Neil had the sensitivity to blush.
Looking around at them all, Saskia told herself again what a wonderful family they were. She would plunge herself into their cares and find her contentment in them. They were all she had now.
In a few more days Saskia was allowed downstairs to sit in the library or, if the weather were fine, to stroll gently in the garden or recline in the shade of a tree. One bright morning found her outdoors. Beatrix, in a villager hat and blue ribbons and looking pretty as Grandmama’s portrait, was beside her.
“That hat becomes you, Trix,” said Saskia.
“Do you think so? I thought it might be too large, but
Cousin Derek likes it You know what good taste he has.”
Yes,” she sighed. “I know.”
“I wonder if he will call today.”
“It is very good of him to come so often,”
“Well, he is very good, of course,” mused Trix, her eyes dancing. “But in this case goodness has little to do with it I think. Something much stronger than mere goodness draws him to the Manor every day.”
Saskia understood well enough Derek’s reason for coming to see them so often, and if she hadn’t she could easily read it in Trix’s glowing face. She sighed.
The subject of this conversation interrupted it in person. Hearing the clip-clop of Pasha’s hooves on the drive, two pairs of eyes, one pansy-brown, the other a remarkable blue, followed Derek’s figure as he spurred the horse into a trot toward them. Beatrix cast a sidelong look at her sister to see abject despair. She was beginning to be just the tiniest bit worried about these two. Would they ever get around to admitting how much they loved each other?
“Good morning!” hailed Derek. Mr. Gleason ambled out of the stable to tug a forelock in greeting and take charge of Pasha. Derek dismounted lithely, said something to make the old man break into a toothy smile, then strode gracefully toward the sisters.
How handsome he is, thought Saskia. And how kind. How could I have ever thought him otherwise?
He looked at her with concern. “You look tired, Saskia. Perhaps you should have stayed upstairs.”
“Not at all, Derek,” she answered lightly. She tried to recall just when they had dropped the formal title of “Cousin”. Their first naming each other seemed so natural. “I feel ever so much better. I am only a little homesick, I expect. I am not used to so much quiet”
“Well you shan’t feel homesick today. They are all coming out to see you. And I do mean all!”
“Opa too?” asked Beatrix.
“Opa too,” he affirmed.
“Oh, famous! The poor darling is probably wasting away without me to bully him into eating his dinner. I’ll go see if Mrs. Gleason has any strawberries. He’ll like that.” Having thus dexterously managed to throw them together alone, she flitted off.
Derek watched her go with a smile. “What a constant delight she is, Saskia.”
“Yes. My life will be far duller without her.”
“Without her? But she isn’t going away, surely?”
“Well, marriage does have a way of splitting up a family.”
“Marriage? But . . .” His smile vanished. He knew that Beatrix had no thought of marrying anytime soon. She was enjoying her success as a Reigning Beauty too much to give up her crown yet awhile. So Saskia could only mean ... “I saw Captain Dun-ant this morning,” he said sadly. “He asked after you and sent good wishes for your recovery.”
“How kind he is,” she replied, thankful for this seeming change of subject. “He has sent ever so many flowers and books and such to keep me from dying of boredom.”
“I know,” he replied. How her face brightened at mention of Dunant, he was thinking. What I wouldn’t give to see that sparkle in her eyes for me.
This unpromising conversation was brought to an end by the rumble of coaches. Aunt Hester’s lozenge coach emerged from a cloud of dust followed by Mama’s barouche. Seated proudly on the box, one each side of the coachman, were Willem and Mina.
The cavalcade pulled to a stop, and Willem jumped down with a whoop.
“Well, Mina,” said Derek, assisting her from her perch. “You’re looking smart as a parrot new-scraped ” She giggled and curtsied. She had indeed taken pains with her appearance. Every tangle had been brushed out of her comsilk hair, and her sprig muslin showed not a single grass stain.
Trix fluttered out of the house as the rest of the horde descended from the carriages. Mrs. Jansen, carrying an
enormous hamper, accosted Mrs. Gleason over the question of luncheon. Aunt Hester surveyed the house dreamily, recalling her childhood here, and Mr. Wed- dington stood leaning on his cane until Beatrix took his arm and led him inside.
Apparently Mama had not given over The Tudor Idea inspired by the house. Her search for a farthingale had luckily been unsuccessful, but she had come up with a wide neckruff which kept her from lowering her chin and a bright red wig dressed in a tolerable imitation of the heart-shaped style of Queen Bess.
“Forsooth!” quoth Mama. “It doth appear unto mine eyes thou art not well, daughter.” Saskia’s eyes twinkled with suppressed merriment “Have I got it right, do you think?”
“I am quite well. Mama, and you have it precisely right, I think,” Saskia replied, brimming with amusement.
“Well, it is difficult, you know. Such a lot of ‘doths’ and quoths’. But now I am here, I daresay it will come easily enough. I shall go and dance a gavotte in the Great Hall.” And Mama gavotted off. Derek and Saskia caught each other’s eyes and broke into giggles.
“Yes, yes, children,” said their Aunt Hester. “But I should like to go into the house now. Give me your arm, Rowbridge.”
Soon they were all gathered in the library, the one room that had been made really comfortable, for a cup of tea.
It was Mr. Weddington’s first view in over forty years of the Gainsborough portrait of his daughter. He gazed at it a long time, but oddly enough, he was moved a good deal less than he might have been. With Beatrix at hand, it was as though he had never lost Susannah. Trix sat him down in the comfortable wing chair and turned him to face the fire—his old bones felt the cold even on such a bright day—and plied him with strawberries and cakes.
Aunt Hester sat near them recounting one of her more
outrageous adventures. Something about a camel, a fakir, and a traveling tent maker ...
The twins were behaving remarkably well, quietly bent over a chess board, while Neil offered quiet advice and instructions. Mama sat at the big desk, her spectacles at an angle over her nose, scribbling madly on any slip of paper she could find.
And side by side on the sofa sat Derek and Saskia— neither was quite sure how they came to be there together-chatting companionably. For a moment Saskia almost forgot her unhappiness in the pleasure of his company. They were now able to go anywhere in the house without looking into every comer and cupboard for some clue. Saskia assumed that Derek had already found the answer. He, in his concern for her health, had all but forgotten the matter. It would wait until she was better.