To Walk in the Sun (Wiggons' School for Elegant Young Ladies - Book 1)

by Charles, Jane

  Miss Crawford blanched further. “Will I need stitches?”

  Vincent threw back his head and laughed. “Is that what has you frightened?”

  “I can’t stand the needle. When one comes at me, I faint dead away.”

  Something solid crashed against the side of the crypt and Vincent looked out. A tombstone had fallen over. The storm was getting worse. He put her back against the wall and curled his body around her as best as he could.

  “I’ve never seen a storm such as this,” she mumbled.

  “Not many witness a tempest.”

  “Tornados don’t happen in the fall, or in Cornwall, or at night.”

  Another large, heavy object crashed against the crypt. A shrill, eerie whistle pierced the whirling winds, sending a shiver of dread down his spine.

  It is here.

  He pulled her close as the worst of the storm hit the old cemetery.

  * * *

  Tess clung to Lord Atwood as the noise grew louder, and the air pressure grew so heavy she wasn’t sure she could take a breath. She was going to die. Tonight. In a crypt, with a rumored vampire.

  If the situation weren’t so dire, she would laugh. Instead, all she could do was cling to his solid torso and try to breathe.

  Could this be a tornado? She had only heard of them before and never experienced one. She hadn’t believed him at first, but there was no other explanation of what else it could be.

  Slowly, the pressure began to diminish and she no longer had to fight for breath. Crashes became distant as the storm moved on.

  Lord Atwood sat up. “You can let go of me now. It has passed.”

  Heat spread across her face. Tess let her arms drop and pulled away from his chest. Her arms were sore. How hard had she held onto him? This was most embarrassing.

  “You’re still bleeding.” He took the handkerchief from her hand and pressed it against her head once again.

  “Is it over?” She searched his gaze for the truth.

  Lord Atwood glanced at the door. “I believe so. However, we should wait a few more minutes, just to be sure.”

  She looked out the opening. Rain came down with such force she could not see beyond the entrance. Thank goodness Lord Atwood had been out tonight for surely she would have died had he not rescued her.

  The sheets of water continued and a puddle pooled just inside the door. She relaxed against the cold, damp stone wall, hoping the water would not reach them for she had no desire to climb onto a sarcophagus in order to remain dry.

  Lord Atwood settled beside her. “How is your head?”

  “Sore.”

  “Do you have a headache?”

  She hadn’t thought about it. Too much had happened for her to notice any discomfort, other than the stiffness of her arms earlier. The more she calmed, the more she became aware of the various aches in her body. It seemed like everything hurt, especially her head. She nodded in acknowledgement.

  Lord Atwood cursed under his breath and searched the room. He returned with an old lamp, which still contained oil and set it on the floor beside them. Tess wondered how much use the lamp would be as there was no means to light it. He then reached into the pocket of his great coat and withdrew a battered tin. “I carried this with me on the continent and it hasn’t failed me yet.” He withdrew the steel and flint and soon had the lamp lit.

  Tess wondered what else he had in those deep pockets, but didn’t ask.

  Though he kept the light far away from himself, he put it close to her eyes and studied them. After a moment he set the lamp aside. “You should be fine.”

  Tess was not sure what to make of his odd behavior and decided not to question him. After a good night’s sleep, of course she would be fine.

  “What possessed you to come out on a night like this?” he demanded after a short time.

  “I might ask you the same question,” Tess retorted. How dare he take that tone with her, as if he were an older brother, her father, or a husband?

  “Everyone knows why I am out here,” he snorted. “The question is, why were you?”

  Tess shrugged, unwilling to explain, especially to a complete stranger, even if he had saved her life. “I was restless.”

  “Brandy would have been safer,” Lord Atwood muttered and turned his attention to the door. “The rain appears to have ended.” He stood and offered her his hand.

  Tess was grateful for his assistance as she was not sure she could have risen on her own. Why were her legs so weak?

  On shaking legs Tess followed Lord Atwood toward the entrance and out into the cemetery. The clouds had moved on and the full moon shone down. Destruction lay everywhere. Some of the headstones were turned over, trees and branches littered the ground.

  Tess picked her way behind Lord Atwood as he maneuvered a path through the destruction in the cemetery toward the road. Some of the houses across the street had lost parts of their roofs, but they were all standing, thank goodness. Many of the residents were out in their yards, looking at their homes and the area. They were probably stunned, not unlike her. She had never seen anything like this before.

  They ambled into the lane and looked in both directions. There was a clear path of debris. One led from where she had come. “The girls,” she cried and set out in a dead run. Tess only stumbled once before regaining her balance. She had to make it back to the boarding school. Her heart raced with fear of what she would find.

  Their sole apprehension was lest aught should awaken

  them from a delirium which they prayed might continue

  for ever. Yet how vain is the wish that would arrest the

  decrees of destiny! as well might it seek to divert

  the circling planets from their eternal course.

  Wake Not the Dead

  Johann Ludwig Tieck

  Chapter 3

  Vincent was amazed at the speed with which Miss Crawford took off down the road. She lifted her skirts to her knees and her boots carried her rapidly through the debris littering the ground. More than a few times she jumped over branches without breaking stride. After a moment of watching, Vincent ran after her. With her head still bleeding Miss Crawford was liable to pass out before she made it home.

  He practically ran her over as he rounded the corner. She came to an abrupt stop, gazing ahead in horror. Vincent followed her line of vision. The four-story building that had been the school, which also housed the students and teachers, stood, barely. An oak tree had fallen into the south side, demolishing the corner of the house. He hoped no one had been in those rooms.

  Several students stood in the yard, most of them crying. Older women, and a few young teachers, comforted the girls. One called out names, probably to make sure everyone was accounted for. Given the devastation revealed by the full moon, he wouldn’t be surprised if a few of the inhabitants had been seriously injured, or killed.

  She stumbled toward the group and Vincent remained at a careful distance. Soon he could hear their comments.

  “What of Miss Crawford? Someone needs to rescue her,” a young woman cried.

  An older woman put and arm around the girl’s shoulder and drew her close. “We can’t get to her room, Eliza. We can only pray she is safe.”

  Eliza buried her face in the woman’s bosom. Her shoulders shook with her tears.

  “Miss Crawford, you are alive!” another girl cried out and ran toward her. Eliza lifted her head and also ran toward their teacher.

  Vincent took a step back, uncomfortable in the presence of so many young, emotional women.

  “We thought you were dead, perished in your room,” Eliza exclaimed once she pulled away from the embrace.

  “As you can see, I am very much whole and well.” Tess opened her arms wide as if to affirm her uninjured state.

  The two girls looked at each other, eyes narrowed with concern before they looked back at their teacher. “You are covered in blood,” one of them explained with slow deliberation.

  Covered in blood. H
e should have never let her run so far. Vincent strode forward and turned Miss Crawford toward him. The girls were correct. Blood streamed from the cut on her head, between her eyes and down the side of her face. It trailed to her neck and the modest dress absorbed the dark spreading stain.

  “Lord Atwood!” Eliza gasped and stepped back.

  He ignored her fear and searched his pockets. He had already given his handkerchief to Miss Crawford earlier and didn’t have another. He turned toward Eliza. “Go find bandages or cloth for your teacher.”

  The girl simply stood, staring at him. Her eyes wide with shock, face ashen.

  “Did you hear me?” he snapped. The girl came out of her stupor and darted toward an older woman.

  “You don’t look very well, Miss Crawford,” the remaining student muttered, her eyes fixed on Miss Crawford’s face.

  “I am fine, Sophia,” Miss Crawford answered, though she swayed on her feet.

  She was going to faint. Vincent stepped forward and placed his arm around her waist at the same moment she crumpled. Thankfully, he was close enough to keep her from falling to the ground.

  The elder woman came forward, bandages in her hand. Vincent scooped Miss Crawford up in his arms. “Is there somewhere I might place her?”

  “The front parlor is undamaged.”

  He followed the woman toward the house. The students and teachers parted like the Red Sea. A girl behind him stopped Sophia and whispered loudly, “Be sure to check her for marks.”

  * * *

  Tess opened her eyes to find Sophia very close to her face. “What are you doing?”

  Sophia glanced over her shoulder before she whispered, “I am checking for bite marks.”

  Bite marks? Oh dear, Lord Atwood must have followed her home. But, how had she gotten on the couch?

  “I was going to tell her that I restrained myself but I didn’t think she would have believed me.”

  Tess turned her head toward the voice. Lord Atwood stood at the end of the couch. A smiled pulled at her lips. For some reason, she was grateful to see him there. She was sure it was only because he saved her life. And for that, she would always be grateful.

  Why hadn’t I noticed how handsome he was in the crypt? Well, there were other concerns at the time and it was rather dark. Such was not the case now. The gentleman before her had dark as midnight eyes, black hair, chiseled, if not pale, features; high cheek bones, strong nose, perfect lips. Goodness, where had that thought come from? How hard did I hit my head?

  Mrs. Wiggons bustled into the room. “I just spoke with the doctor. He returned to the village to treat fractures and such. He said he’d be around to check on you as soon as possible.”

  “Miss Crawford’s injury should be stitched immediately,” Lord Atwood insisted.

  Tess’ stomach clenched at the idea and put her hand against her forehead. “I am sure it will be fine. I no longer feel any blood.”

  His lips quirked. “It is bandaged.”

  “Oh.” Tess let her hand drop.

  “Was anyone injured?” Tess struggled to sit up but a wave of dizziness rushed over her and she let her head fall back onto the pillow.

  “No, thank the heavens. Our more urgent concern at the moment is what do we do now? The back of the house is destroyed.” Mrs. Wiggons turned and studied the room. “I suppose we could move the girls down to these floors and keep them at the front of the house.”

  “All three dozen?” Tess raised her eyebrows at the absurd thought, but she quickly relaxed them due to the discomfort.

  “No, just a few.” Mrs. Wiggons waved a hand in dismissal. She tapped her foot and looked around the room as if trying to determine how she could make the temporary sleeping arrangements work.

  “If you don’t mind,” Lord Atwood interrupted, causing both women to turn toward him. “Until the damage can be thoroughly assessed, in the light of day, I don’t believe it is safe for anyone to stay anywhere in the house. I am not at all comfortable even being in this parlor.”

  Mrs. Wiggons sighed and sank into a chair. “I suppose you’re right. The neighbors have offered to take some of the girls and teachers in for the night.”

  “Then your problem is solved.” Tess was thankful for the solution. She did not relish the idea of trying to sleep in a room with three dozen young girls. Nobody would get any sleep.

  Mrs. Wiggons turned her eyes on Tess. “Not entirely. I still need to find a place for you and the last three students. I’ve made sure there is a teacher with each group of girls. They are in our care, after all, and I would hate to have to answer to a parent as to why their daughter was not properly chaperoned overnight.”

  “Surely it would be safe for the four of us to sleep in the parlor. Don’t worry yourself Mrs. Wiggons.”

  “You can stay in my home,” Lord Atwood offered from where he stood.

  Tess glanced back over to him and in the process witnessed Rosemary’s face drain of all color before she looked at Lord Atwood. “You don’t even know if you own home stands, my lord. But I thank you for the offer.”

  “Oh goodness, I completely forgot.” Mrs. Wiggons hit the top of her head with the palm of her hand, a habit of hers when she was reminded of her forgetfulness. “Lord Atwood, your valet is in the yard. I assured him you were here and unharmed. He did not want to come inside though.”

  “Thank you.” He bowed toward the ladies and then exited the room.

  “Miss Crawford, we can’t stay there,” Sophia begged.

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Wiggons argued. “It is not safe here and there is no place else.”

  “The barn still stands,” the young lady suggested with hope.

  “I am not sleeping in a barn,” Tess hissed, no longer in possession of patience where the girls and their irrational fears were concerned.

  Lord Atwood returned to the parlor a moment later. “It appears my home suffered little damage, if any. Therefore, I have enough room for as many of your charges as you wish to send.”

  Mrs. Wiggons stood. “Oh, thank you, Lord Atwood. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your generosity.”

  He smiled. Straight white teeth. Tess’ toes curled. Perhaps being in his home was an unwise decision, and the barn did have warm hay. Before she offered an objection however, he scooped her up off the couch.

  “I can walk,” Tess protested.

  “Only to faint during the walk and suffer another injury. I don’t think so, Miss Crawford.”

  Their sole apprehension was lest aught should awaken

  them from a delirium which they prayed might continue

  for ever. Yet how vain is the wish that would arrest the

  decrees of destiny! as well might it seek to divert

  the circling planets from their eternal course.

  Wake Not the Dead

  Johann Ludwig Tieck

  Chapter 4

  Vincent strode out of the house with Miss Crawford in his arms. What had possessed him to invite her, and the girls into his home? He was a man of quiet solitude. That would cease to exist with these females under his roof.

  He walked down the stairs and stopped. Wesley, his valet approached.

  “Where is the carriage?”

  “I did not bring the carriage, Lord Atwood.”

  “Why not?” He shifted Miss Crawford in his arms, though she weighed very little.

  “There was a tree in the lane.” Wesley took off his cap and twisted it in his hands. “I only came out to search for you. Someone said you were chasing a young lady toward the school.”

  Vincent groaned. “What else did they say?” He could probably guess.

  “They feared for her life. I tried to reassure them. . .”

  Vincent shook his head. “Never mind. I am sure you did your best.”

  “Lord Atwood?” Miss Crawford interrupted.

  He glanced down at the bandaged woman in his arms. “Yes?”

  “You may put me down. I am sure I can walk on my own.” Her authoritati
ve tone made him want to straighten his spine, much like the voice of his governess from years ago.

  He was not so sure. The bleeding had stopped, or at least slowed because the bandage remained white. But, she had fainted earlier and head injuries were unpredictable.

  “This is ridiculous, Lord Atwood. If I tire or feel faint, I will tell you.”

  The firm line of her lips and raised right eyebrow were evidence of her stubbornness.

  He looked around for a place to set her first and located a sitting area on the porch. “Very well.” He marched over and set her gingerly in a chair. “We will leave when your charges are ready.”

  She sighed and leaned back. “I don’t suppose I could take anything from my room with me?”

  Good, something he could do. He hated to stand idle, waiting. “Which room is yours and I will gladly retrieve what you wish.”

  A blush crept across her cheeks. “What I would require is a change of clothing, which I would prefer to gather myself.”

  Vincent cleared his throat. Of course, it would be too personal for him to go to her private rooms, but he needed something to do. “I’ll be happy to escort and assist. I’ll wait in the hall if you wish.”

  A smile creased her lips. “That is very kind of you, but I fear it is impossible.”

  His spine stiffened. “Are you too weak, dizzy? Are you are going to faint?” He certainly hoped not. She fainted once and that about ceased his heart, given the amount of blood. How many soldiers had he seen in the same condition, never to awaken? Then there was the addition of the girls.

  “I am afraid it is not that simple. Did you see where the tree landed, destroying the corner of the house?”

  “Yes.” His stomach dropped.

  “That was my room. I’ll be lucky if anything survived in tact.” She bit her bottom lip.