The Christmas Visit: Comfort and JoyLove at First StepA Christmas Secret

by Moore, Margaret

  Mr. Jones started leading one of the brown horses outside.

  “Stay to the road,” the earl called out. “Don’t put yourself in harm’s way. If it starts snowing harder, you’ll have to seek shelter at one of the farms. The boy will be in good hands until the doctor gets there.”

  Gwen hoped his compliment would prove justified and that Teddy’s injury was less severe than she feared.

  Mr. Jones nodded and, after touching his cap to her, continued on his way, while the earl led the big black gelding and the other horse, which had a dark muzzle, mane and tail, toward her.

  “Hold on to the saddle and step into my hands,” the earl ordered, lacing his gloved fingers.

  She did as he commanded and was hoisted high enough to get on the saddle. It took her a moment to get in position, and she had to force herself not to be afraid, for her perch was precarious and she seemed so very high. She hadn’t felt this way since she first set foot on the ship taking her to the Mediterranean.

  “You have sat on a horse before, haven’t you?” the earl demanded.

  “Yes,” she answered. “Once or twice. Well, once. At a fair. But the important thing is to get to Teddy.”

  “And all in one piece,” the earl muttered as he led her outside, where he mounted the huge black horse in one fast, fluid motion.

  Then, as the snow swirled around them, they rode out of the iron gates and headed up the mountain.

  Chapter Four

  The snow continued to fall heavily from lead-gray skies, but mercifully, the wind ceased gusting about the stone outcroppings. Every so often, there would be a break in the ground, where rivulets of water tumbled over rocks, moving too quickly to freeze. Otherwise, all around was silent save for the sound of the horses’ hooves on the snow, and Gwen’s own breathing. No other animal or bird stirred.

  She had no idea where she was, for they hadn’t taken the road. They were on a small path that ran parallel to the road, then veered to the right.

  It was a good thing she had the velvet cloak. Without it, she’d be much colder, wetter and more miserable.

  “Is it much farther?” Gwen called out to her guide as they continued up the narrow, rocky track through a small wood.

  “No,” the earl replied, his broad shoulders and beaver hat white with snow. His hips swayed from side to side with the gait of his horse, which sometimes pranced as if impatient with their slow pace.

  The beast couldn’t be any more impatient than she.

  She hoped she was in time to save Teddy from serious complications. She tried to remember everything she knew about compound fractures and their treatment. She should have asked Bill what medicines he had in the house, although she doubted, given his poverty, that he had any. It was fortunate that the earl had laudanum. The boy was probably in a great deal of pain.

  “There’s the farmhouse,” the earl announced after several more minutes had passed. He pointed to his left.

  She could barely make out the stone walls and slate-roofed cottage and small outbuildings through the snow-laden branches before the earl turned his horse and led hers toward a rickety wooden gate. He dismounted and undid the flimsy latch, then they proceeded into the small yard.

  The earl came beside her horse and, without a word, held out his arms to help her down. She put her hands on his shoulders and eased herself off the animal, while he seized her about the waist.

  Very aware of the pressure of his two strong hands and the proximity of his body, she slipped to the icy ground.

  She had hardly landed before he let go and turned away to rummage in his saddlebags. “Here’s the laudanum,” he said, handing her a bottle wrapped in a thick cloth. He gave her another bottle. “I brought some whiskey, too.”

  “Whiskey?”

  “For cleaning the wound.” He pulled out another small bundle of cloth.

  “What’s that?”

  “Bandages,” he said as he started to lead the horses toward the small stone barn to the right of the cottage.

  “Hurry.”

  The earl came to a halt, then turned on his heel to regard her. “I’m not going inside the house.”

  She frowned. “You can’t stay out in the cold. Nobody’s going to come through the snow and steal your horses.”

  “I’m not worried about a thief, and I’ll be warm enough in the barn.”

  She churned her way through the snow toward him, the large boots and the depth of the snow making it difficult to walk.

  “I can guess why you want to stay in the barn—the same reason you’ve imprisoned yourself in your manor. But this is no time to indulge your vanity, my lord. Even if you were as hideous as a gargoyle—which you’re not—I need your help with Teddy. He’ll have to be held down while I set his leg. Bill Mervyn’s younger son is only eight. He can’t do it alone.”

  The earl’s expression didn’t change and, for a moment, she feared he was going to refuse, until he gave a slight nod of his head. “Just let me get the horses inside.”

  “Good.” Turning her back to him, she struggled through the snow toward the door of the farmhouse. It flew open before she got to it, revealing the sturdy form of little William Mervyn.

  Like his father, he had curly black hair and a round, full face. He had obviously spent a sleepless night, for his cheeks were pale and he had dark circles under his bright blue eyes.

  “You remember me, don’t you, William?” she said as she reached him. “I’m Miss Davies from Saint Bridget’s. You and your father and brother come and help me sometimes.”

  “Where’s Da?” the lad asked anxiously, looking past her. “Did he fall and hurt himself, too?”

  With a reassuring smile, Gwen steered the boy inside and closed the door. “No, he’s fine. But he was very tired and wet, and I ordered him to stay at the earl’s. We don’t want him getting sick, and just before Christmas, do we?”

  The boy shook his head as she removed her wet cloak and hung it on a peg near the door that sported caps, a scarf and bits of harness.

  “Fortunately, I was at the earl’s, and so I was able to come. I’ve set lots of broken bones before.”

  “Who’s that other man?”

  “The Earl of Cwm Rhyss,” she answered as she quickly scanned the small interior. The whole lower floor of the cottage was only slightly larger than the earl’s kitchen. There was a loft above, where she supposed the boys slept. The mantel and the massive, ancient oak sideboard were decorated with pine and holly branches. Dirty dishes sat on the table.

  The injured Teddy lay on a small bed in a corner by the hearth, very pale, his eyes closed, among the pillows and threadbare woolen blankets. With his tousled black hair and long lashes fanning his flushed cheeks, he looked younger than his twelve years.

  Gwen quickly set down the laudanum and other items, then hurried to Teddy and put her hand on his forehead.

  As she’d feared, he was feverish.

  She gently lifted the blanket and started to remove the rough but clean bandage his father had put just below the boy’s knee.

  Teddy yelped and his eyes flew open, to stare at her with horror, his face twisting with pain.

  “I’m sorry if I’m hurting you, Teddy,” she said soothingly. “You remember me, don’t you? I’m Miss Davies, from Saint Bridget’s.”

  Gritting his teeth, the boy nodded.

  “I’ve got to look at the break, and then I’ll fix it.”

  It was indeed a bad break, one that would take all her skill and experience to deal with.

  She put her hand on the boy’s forehead again. This time, it wasn’t to feel for fever; it was to brush back his hair and offer a little comfort. “Close your eyes and rest a moment while I get you something that’s going to take away most of the pain.”

  He nodded.

  “That’s a brave boy,” she said as she rose.

  William watched her with wide, anxious eyes as she unwrapped the laudanum and whiskey.

  “Is there water to wash?” Gwen ask
ed.

  William pointed at a bucket near the fire. “Da got that from the well yesterday.”

  The door to the kitchen opened, letting in a gust of frigid air, and the earl. William started, then stared when the nobleman entered, his head grazing the lintel of the door.

  He didn’t come further inside, but stood uncertainly on the threshold, his face half-turned in an attempt to hide the scarred side of his face.

  He looked so vulnerable, as if the stares of a child could physically hurt him.

  She thought it was the rejection of his noble friends or people who had known him in his handsome youth that had embittered him and that he sought to avoid; now she realized he feared the rejection of anyone who saw him. For a moment, she regretted speaking harshly to him before.

  But pity was not the answer to his pain. Hiding himself away would only prolong and increase his dread. She would treat him like the vital, worthwhile man he still was.

  “Come in and close the door,” she said briskly. “You’re letting in the cold air. William, will you put some wood on the fire, please?”

  Both did as she asked, although William kept glancing at the earl as he shrugged off his coat.

  “I see you’ve noticed the earl’s scars,” Gwen remarked. “He was very badly hurt a few years ago.”

  “You’re really an earl?” William asked, his fear giving way to awed curiosity.

  “Yes, I really am,” the nobleman answered gravely.

  “Were you hurt in a battle?”

  “No,” he said gruffly. Then he went on, his tone less abrupt. “There was a fire and I was injured.”

  “Oh.” William sounded disappointed.

  Gwen picked up the bottle of laudanum. “Is there a spoon, William?”

  He nodded and went to fetch a handmade wooden spoon.

  “I’m going to give Teddy some medicine to help him sleep,” she explained to the boy. “Then I’m going to need your help and the earl’s, too.”

  She sat on Teddy’s cot and helped him to sit up. “Drink this, Teddy, the whole thing.”

  She tipped the spoon. The boy gasped and spluttered when he tasted the liquid, but he managed to swallow most of it. After she wiped his chin with the edge of a blanket, she gently laid him back down.

  “We’ll have to pull the bed away from the wall,” she said to the earl. “Then if you’ll hold Teddy’s shoulders, William can hold his other leg for me.” She looked down at the injured boy. “They’re going to help you, Teddy, because you must stay perfectly still.”

  Although his eyes were already taking on the faraway look laudanum produced, Teddy nodded his understanding.

  Gwen went to the head of the bed, and the earl went to the foot. “Gently now,” she said, nodding, and together they eased the cot far enough away that William could get between it and the wall, on the side of Teddy’s uninjured leg.

  “All right, now, take your positions,” Gwen ordered as she rolled up her sleeves and prepared to do her job.

  The earl pulled something that looked like a pockmarked wooden spindle out of his jacket pocket and gave it to Teddy. “Put this between your teeth and bite down hard.”

  The nobleman met her questioning gaze. “It was given to me by the doctor who first tended me when I was hurt,” he said as he prepared to help.

  Shaking and pale, Teddy put the spindle in his mouth. Looking white as the snow outside, William took his place. The earl placed his large, strong hands on Teddy’s shoulders and nodded that he was ready.

  And then Gwen did what she had to do, gently but inexorably easing the bone beneath the torn skin and back into place.

  “Scream if you want, boy,” the earl said softly. “Nobody can hear you but us, and we won’t tell. God knows I did often enough when the doctors worked on me, and I was years older than you.”

  His advice came too late, for Teddy had fainted. The spindle fell from his slack lips.

  “Just as well,” the earl muttered.

  “Teddy’s asleep now—that’s good, isn’t it?” William asked anxiously.

  “He needs to rest,” Gwen assured him as she felt to see if she’d succeeded getting the bone back into position. “You can let go of him.”

  “You must be strong as a bull, you held him so still,” the earl said to William as he let go of Teddy. “I myself had a terrible time.”

  The boy gave him a shy smile as he moved away from the bed, followed by the earl.

  “Now, is there tea?” the nobleman asked. “And bread? I’m sure Miss Davies needs something to eat.”

  “Da left some soup,” the boy said, nodding at a pot far back in the fire. “He’s a good cook,” he added proudly.

  “I’ve not had a lot of practice making tea. Do you know how to do it?”

  “I’ve watched my Da.”

  “And I’ve watched my housekeeper. Well, let’s hope between the two of us, we don’t disgrace ourselves. Surely if girls can make tea, two clever fellows like us should be able to manage.”

  The little boy giggled. “My Da makes good tea.”

  Satisfied that she had done the best she could, her dress sticking to her back with perspiration, Gwen drew in a deep, shuddering breath and slowly straightened.

  To find the earl at her elbow, holding out a damp cloth. “Here.”

  She gratefully took it and wiped her sweat-slicked face. “Thank you.”

  “Tea?”

  “Not yet. I have to clean the wound first, then bandage it.”

  “It’ll be ready when you are,” he said.

  She got the whiskey and a clean cloth William found in the drawer of the sideboard and began.

  As she worked, she heard the sound of water being poured into the kettle. Then the earl’s deep voice. “I see somebody’s been getting ready for Christmas.”

  “Teddy and me did that. We always bring in the boughs and the holly and the mistletoe. My Da does the cooking. He was going to…” The boy’s voice caught, but he continued. “He was going to start the Christmas pudding today, but then Teddy hurt himself.”

  “I’ll see to it that you have your Christmas pudding. What else do you have at Christmas?”

  “Last year, I had an orange!”

  “Really? A whole one, all to yourself?”

  “Yes, and oh, it was good! Have you ever had an orange?”

  “One or two.”

  “What did you get for a present last Christmas?”

  “I think we should be quiet, William, so Miss Davies can concentrate on her task and your brother can rest.”

  Gwen finished wrapping a clean bandage around Teddy’s leg. She’d done everything she knew to do, as well as she could. Only time, and the doctor, would tell if she’d been successful.

  Her hand on the small of her back, she rose and stretched. Her back ached and so did her neck. Her legs were sore, too, from the riding, she suspected.

  She turned around to find a brown teapot and heavy white mugs on the table, William seated and the earl cutting thick pieces from a loaf of brown bread.

  “How long before the doctor arrives?” she asked.

  The earl glanced out the small window near the door. Then he set down the knife and went to the door. He opened it and peered outside. “I don’t think the doctor will be getting here today. Nor will we be leaving. It’s snowing worse than before.”

  Dismayed, Gwen hurried to stand beside him and discovered the earl was right. She could barely see three feet beyond the door. The wind had risen again.

  Wrapping her arms about herself and shivering, she chewed her lip as he shoved the door closed. They looked at each other, and she saw that he was as worried as she. “How bad is this for the boy?” he asked in a low whisper.

  “I’ve seen worse breaks,” she answered, “and I’ve set several broken bones when the doctors were busy with more serious wounds, but I really don’t know.”

  “You looked to me like you knew exactly what you were doing, and doing it better than some doctors I could
name,” the earl replied.

  “I’m not a doctor.”

  “You should have been,” he said as he limped back to the table and cut another piece of bread for William.

  How many times had she thought that she and some of her fellow nurses could tend to wounds better than some of the doctors sent out with the troops? More than she could count, but the one time she’d mentioned it to a doctor, he’d regarded her as if she’d uttered heresy and condemned her to washing bedpans for a week.

  She sat at the table and gave both William and the earl a smile. “Let’s see if you two gentlemen can make a decent cup of tea.”

  It turned out they could, and if she hadn’t been so anxious about Teddy, she might even have enjoyed herself. William was clearly excited to have visitors, especially one as exalted as an earl. He asked all sorts of questions that indicated he thought British peers spent all day every day in chain mail and armor, saving damsels in distress, or hunting with hawks. It took some effort on the part of the earl to make it clear that he didn’t.

  Unfortunately, his cause wasn’t helped by his admission that he actually owned armor, several swords and shields, and a mace or two.

  Nevertheless, he was unexpectedly patient with the boy’s barrage of questions and, by the end of the discussion, seemed quite at ease, especially when the conversation turned to famous Welsh victories in the Middle Ages. Here was the earl’s obvious area of expertise.

  “You make it sound as if you were there,” Gwen remarked, making no secret of her admiration, for he didn’t describe those days in the dry, unfeeling tones of the academic. “Doesn’t he, William?”

  “I wish I’d been there,” the boy said, hopping down from the bench and pretending to slash the air with his sword.

  “Real battles are far from pleasant,” the earl said gravely. He nodded at Gwen. “Just ask Miss Davies about that.”

  The boy frowned. “Girls don’t fight in battles.”

  “No, girls have to take care of the wounded afterward, which is more difficult,” the earl replied as he hoisted himself to his feet. “Now, how would you like to help me check on the horses and see that they’ve got water and something to eat?”