A Most Unusual Lady

by Janet Grace

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Louisa gradually drifted into a painful consciousness and shifted her position slightly. A terrible nausea gripped her, and her head throbbed unceasingly. Dully, she strove to make some sense of her situation, forcing her leaden thoughts.

  She must be feverish. The aching head and sickness argued a high temperature. Dim memories of having been delirious with measles as a child swam in her brain. With a slight sense of relief she clung to this logical explanation. The high fever must account for the nauseating swaying and lurching that was causing her such extreme discomfort. Almost what she could imagine must be the feelings of seasickness. She could even hear the waves and wind, she realised with an abrupt shock, as a shift nearer to full consciousness suddenly separated the roar of sounds around her from the pulsing of her sore head. Dizzy and unbelieving, she opened her eyes.

  She was in a small, confined space, wooden-walled, barely more than a cupboard. A very faint lighter patch showed a slit in the ceiling above her. She was lying on rolls of some coarse cloth, and by stretching out her arms could touch the imprisoning walls all around her. A fumbled exploration of the floor hinted at no more than the rolls of cloth, some coils of rope in varying thicknesses, and a wooden bucket.

  She had mistakenly sat up to assist her explorations. The boat, for such it had to be, gave another disastrous lurch and, pulling the bucket hastily towards her, Louisa discovered the full miseries of seasickness.

  It was some time before, totally exhausted, she rested her sweating forehead against the rough canvas. Pushing the loose wisps of hair off her face she discovered a great swollen bruise on the back of her head. Flinching, she felt it gently with her fingers, drearily concluded there was nothing she could do about it anyway, and huddled in abject misery on the bundle of sailcloth. She shivered in uncontrollable bouts, despite pulling her shawl tight around her.

  Nothing made sense. She could no longer believe this to be the hallucinations of fever, but how she should find herself in this situation was beyond anything that either her reason or her imagination could comprehend. Oblivion gradually swept over her exhaustion and pain, and she slept.

  It was the sound of voices that next woke Louisa, or more particularly one voice, that of a well-bred man speaking in tones of extreme outrage. His comments were interspersed with sulky mumbles.

  ‘You are seriously telling me, Ezra Gammidge, that we have a young woman on board? Well, I suppose this is one reason at least why I should be thankful you did cast off while I was still aboard. At least there is someone able to take responsibility in all this confusion.’

  The mutterings seemed indignant.

  ‘Oh, let me hear no more of your “Rendezvous” and your “tides that won’t wait”. Nor from you either, John. It has all been said before, and I cannot, in all honesty, deny having thoroughly enjoyed the trip. But this is beyond anything. Where is this poor creature? And how did she come here?’

  The mumbles were, if possible, even gruffer.

  ‘Good lord, man! You cannot justify randomly assaulting people in our ice-house, no matter what you have stored there. And you say she is a lady? How did you bring her? In the cart! Is she badly hurt? Where is she?’

  Footsteps moved overhead and the truculent voice was now audible.

  ‘Well, oi jus’ dropped ’er in there, yer lordship, sir.’

  ‘Damn you for a fool, Ezra. Mind away!’

  The trapdoor above Louisa flung back, thudding on to the deck, and framing a head and shoulders silhouetted black against a clear, star-pricked sky.

  ‘Fetch the lantern, man. Hurry!’

  Moments later a golden glow flooded the sail locker, and Louisa, shielding her dazed eyes and blinking against the sudden light, looked up to see the face of her rescuer.

  Like a sequence in a dream, his face swam above her in flickering light, so fantastically improbable that she could not be awake. The short-cropped hair, so dark that it seemed black, showed stark above the lines of concern across his forehead. His vivid blue eyes were wide with anxiety, and his mouth was a thin, angry line above a singularly determined chin.

  Louisa, rocked as she was between dream and nightmare, smiled uncertainly. ‘Good...er...evening,’ she said. She was suddenly aware of the foul air in her prison. ‘I apologise for the use I made of your bucket. I was indisposed. Exceedingly indisposed.’ The look on his face so alarmed her that she hastened to reassure him.

  ‘Please! I assure you, I now feel a great deal better.’

  ‘Ma’am, I don’t know how to begin to apologise to you for all this. But let me help you out. Ezra! Bring clean water and brandy to the cabin at once.’

  She reached up to his outstretched arms and he gripped her firmly, but it was in an undignified scramble that Louisa was half lifted, half dragged up through the trapdoor and set gently on her feet. The rolling of the boat was too much for her. She reeled and fell, only to be caught up bodily with an ease and strength that caught her breath, and carried across the deck and down a hatchway into a small cabin.

  It was lit by a single lantern that swung crazily from the ceiling. There was a narrow bunk down either side, and on one of these Louisa was gently laid and provided with a worn but welcome blanket.

  The man—the man in the curricle, the man whose face she had buried deep in her memory and told herself to forget—sat on the edge of the opposite bunk and studied her anxiously.

  ‘I am Alnstrop, ma’am. And very much at your service to do anything I can to extricate you from this incredible misadventure.’

  A slight sound on the ladder of the hatchway heralded the entrance of a young man, who missed his footing with the lurch of the boat, cursed under his breath, saw Louisa regarding him and scowled self-consciously. The same brilliant blue eyes looked back at her, but this boy’s black hair was longer, and fell in an errant lock across his forehead.

  ‘This is my brother, John Ferdinand.’

  The ferocious frown Alnstrop gave did not bode well for his brother John, or for the luckless Ezra.

  ‘I am Louisa Stapely.’

  She held out her hand to him, some instinct making her feel that, if only she could observe the usual social niceties, then perhaps this chaos would resolve itself into a usual social situation, and she nodded and attempted a smile at his younger brother.

  ‘How do you do, ma’am?’ The boy’s eyes were wide with perplexed anxiety as he took in her gently bred voice and her appearance, despite the dirt, of social standing. ‘Truly, ma’am, I had no idea. It was all some foolish blunder of Ezra’s, the man who helps me with the boat—he and his son Ezekiel. I would never have allowed such a thing had I known...’

  He caught his brother’s eye, recoiled slightly, then, drawing breath, tilted up his chin and announced with dignity that he would be on deck with the men if required, as somebody needed to be in charge of the boat.

  His retreat left an unhappy emptiness in the cabin. It could not be called a silence, Louisa thought, for the creak and snap of the boat ceaselessly combined with the roar, slap and wash of the sea as the craft surged onward, and filled her head with sound. Louisa noticed that, although her head throbbed, she no longer felt nauseous, and knew she should feel glad at this relief.

  The man—the man in the curricle, the man whose face she had buried in her memory and ordered herself to forget while she planned a sensible course for her future—was staring at the floor.

  She realised with a start that now he had acquired a name. Alnstrop, he had said. And suddenly realisation flooded over her, and in her mind he acquired not only a name but a home, a history, a family. Vivid pictures rose before her eyes: the landlord at the Alnstrop Arms so loud in his praise, Mr. Tabbett speaking sadly of the boy inheriting his estates, the men’s voices she had heard from the Alnstrop stable-yard, reaching above the babble of Mrs. Tabbett’s endless chatter, and the sound of top boots approaching over the cobbles.

  He was still wearing the buckskins and top boots. He sat, legs
apart against the lurch of the boat, elbows on knees and head bent, staring at his long, interlaced fingers.

  As he still did not look up at her, a wave of resigned despair swept over Louisa. He is utterly disgusted by me, she thought. First Susannah, now this. It is himself he is hoping to extricate from this muddle. She pulled the blanket closer about her, more for comfort than against the cold.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the stumping arrival down the hatchway of a disreputable-looking individual who, glowering through his mat of hair and hearth-brush beard, could only be Ezra. He dumped a pail of water and a bottle of brandy on to the floor between them.

  ‘As yer lordship arst, sir,’ he muttered sulkily, keeping his back firmly towards Louisa, and made an ungracious retreat back into the blackness of the night.

  The intensity of the thoughts of Robert, fourth Lord Alnstrop, confused him. It had perplexed him that the angry little face that had amused him as he had passed through that village ... where was it? ... Thesserton... had lingered so in his thoughts. Foolish plans to return there had kept coiling unbidden into his mind. Then he had seen her, by his own front door for God’s sake, and not believed his own eyes. His black brows pulled together. Stupid thoughts. Stupid chattering woman who had turned him aside. If only he had called to her then, he could have prevented all this. She would be safe at Alnstrop, warm by the morning-room fire. Instead she had been abducted, was injured, sick—and on his land, by his family. She would despise them all. Thoughts of what he would like to do to John tightened the clench of his fingers, but as Ezra clumped away he at last looked up at Louisa.

  ‘I hardly know where to begin to apologise and explain your situation. You were ashamed at your sister’s folly, but it was a mere social gaffe. For my brother’s dangerous stupidity I can find no excuse at all, and feel I must in part blame myself. But, before explanations, you will feel better for a glass of brandy and a wash.’ He glanced uncertainly around the cabin, then, delving into his coat pocket, he handed her his handkerchief. ‘Wash with this. I will ask John for a glass.’

  With a neat jump he vanished up the hatchway.

  She had washed her hands and face and, feeling much fresher, was gingerly wiping around the back of her neck when he returned. He did not see her flinch at the pain of her bruised head as she quickly rinsed out the handkerchief.

  ‘I am afraid John keeps no glasses aboard. Says they break too easily. Could you be unladylike enough to drink from this bottle? Just a sip at first, you will find it strong. ‘That’s my good girl!’ she heard him say with a smile as she took the bottle from him, but the smile she hazarded in return was interrupted by shouts from above.

  ‘Master John! Oi think we do ’ave company!’

  ‘Hell! Robert, it’s the Excise!’

  He straightened up.

  ‘I must help on deck. Stay here in the cabin.’

  He touched her cheek so lightly, it was barely more than a movement of the air, then leapt for the ladder, anxiety turned to dynamic energy at the prospect of action. But before he quite vanished he flashed a sudden, unexpected grin at her.

  ‘Look after that bottle!’

  And he was gone.

  Louisa’s plaintive query, ‘But what sort of trip am I actually on?’ was lost in the scramble of his departure. She regarded the brandy bottle still clutched, corkless, in her hand, and resolutely took another large gulp. Blinking, she recorked the bottle firmly.

  Distantly, Louisa could hear shouting over the water, then Robert’s urgent tones.

  ‘Get more sail up, ’Zekiel! We can outrun them! God’s sake, have you all been asleep up here?’

  Feet moved rapidly overhead, but, even with the rattle and snap of the extra sail and creak of the yacht as she caught the wind, Louisa could hear shouts, much closer now.

  ‘Heave to! In the name of His Majesty’s Customs and Excise! Heave to! We are going to board you!’

  ‘Loike ’ell they are. Keep to ut, lordship! Master John! We’re losin’ em.’

  The voice, presumably Ezekiel’s, was abrim with excitement. Suddenly a volley of shots rang out and Louisa jumped as a bullet smacked into the wood of the cabin wall. The yacht surged forward, cutting easily through the swell. Louisa discovered she was cowered on the bunk with the blanket over her head and her eyes tight shut.

  ‘They knows they can’t catch us now. We’ll lose ’em easy, that old tub they’re bobbin’ in!’

  Ezekiel was making his glee obvious with wild whoops and cat calls when a second spatter of shots raked the yacht. The lantern in the cabin swayed violently, and guttered as the boat juddered unhappily for a moment, then steadied.

  ‘Master John! You alroight, Master John?’Zekiel, you dumb looby, get you up ’ere and ’elp our John. ’E caught one o’ them bullets.’

  ‘Is he badly hurt?’ Robert’s voice was curt. ‘Get him below at once. I’ll keep the tiller.’

  Hardly thinking what she did, responding instinctively as she did to her own brothers’ needs, Louisa abandoned the dubious safety of her blanket, lurched across the tiny cabin, emerged blinking from the hatchway and spoke decisively to the four dark shapes around the tiller.

  ‘Bring Master John here. I’ll tend to him, then you three can concentrate on sailing this boat, and, it would appear, the faster the better!’

  ‘Yes, ma’am!’ came the startled but ready response, and, ignoring John’s protests through gritted teeth that there was no need whatsoever to fuss, they led him firmly down into the cabin.

  ‘This is ridiculous, ma’am.’ John staggered dizzily as he spoke, the steady fall of blood from his upper arm drawing crazy patterns on the planking underfoot. ‘You should not be concerned in this.’

  ‘No, I should not! You are quite right, this is ridiculous. The entire situation is ridiculous!’

  Her sore head, exhaustion, the confusion of her own emotions and panic at the sight of John’s injury, suddenly sparked Louisa into a blaze of fury. How dared he involve her in such a business and expose them all to danger? There could have been other targets for those bullets. Fear and rage filled her. She drew a deep, steadying breath.

  ‘Sit down!’ She pushed him so firmly that his knees buckled and he almost collapsed on to the bunk. Taking advantage of his weakness, she angrily grabbed handfuls of his shirt and began to haul it over John’s head. Feebly, he attempted to clutch it about him.

  ‘Oh, don’t be more of a fool than you have been already, John Ferdinand!’ Louisa responded crossly. ‘Haven’t I stripped my brothers often enough and patched their wounds? Now, slide that good arm out, and we can bring the shirt gently off. Leave this thing near an open wound and you will doubtless be dead in a week.’ She removed the offending garment with a frown of distaste. ‘It’s fit only for the bonfire.’

  A look of relief passed over John’s grey sweat-beaded face as he examined his arm.

  ‘The bullet hasn’t lodged. It has passed clean through. Just a flesh wound. It only needs binding.’ He winced as the boat suddenly bucked, jolting him. ‘Robert could outrun the Devil himself in this boat. He always could sail better than I.’

  He hazarded a weak smile at his frowning nurse and, reaching for the brandy bottle, drank deeply.

  ‘Hold this tight against the wound to stem the blood,’ she commanded, removing the much depleted bottle from his hand and giving him Robert’s handkerchief. ‘Then shut your eyes!’

  His eyes flew wide open in alarm as he glanced from his arm to her face.

  ‘Just what do you intend to do?’ he queried.

  ‘I intend,’ she pronounced with dignity, ‘to remove my petticoat. Shut your eyes!’

  He grinned weakly, and dutifully closed them.

  Robert, who had left Ezra with the tiller while he looked into the cabin to help Louisa and assess John’s injuries, hastily withdrew, unnoticed, a highly appreciative grin on his face. As he resumed the tiller, the Gannet leapt yet faster through the waves.

  ‘I suspect, Miss Lo
uisa Stapely,’ said John, ‘that you are a very managing person. Uncommonly like Robert. I have every sympathy with your poor brothers. I am sure you bully them dreadfully. May I open my eyes?’

  ‘No!’ A hasty rustle of cloth followed this squeak. ‘Yes, now you may.’

  He opened them to see her struggling ineffectually to tear down the seam of a pretty white lawn petticoat. She tugged again and grunted crossly.

  ‘Why is it that every noble heroine of fiction can always reduce their clothing to a pile of bandages at the slightest hint of bloodshed? You will probably bleed to death before my eyes while I struggle here!’

  He chuckled.

  ‘Use my knife to cut through the hem.’ He nodded to a small knife hung on a lanyard from his belt. ‘Such a pretty petticoat! It’s a shame.’

  ‘You deserve,’ she said firmly, attacking the cloth with the blade, ‘to be left to your fate.’

  She ripped lengths of material vigorously, regretfully remembering that it was pretty, and the only undarned one she possessed.

  ‘Now, hold out your arm.’

  She bathed the injured arm as well as she was able from the pail of water, and bandaged it as tightly as she dared. His face looked alarmingly pale again when she had finished, and she wrapped the blanket carefully around him before offering more brandy. He drank, then lay awkwardly down on the bunk. He shivered convulsively.

  ‘Just a moment,’ he mumbled. ‘Be all right in a moment. Don’t worry.’ His eyes closed.

  He looked absurdly young lying there, reminding Louisa of Thomas when she had sat with him while Dr. Portman set the arm he had broken falling from the walnut tree.

  She took off her shawl and tucked it around the drowsing boy. He was very like his brother, she thought, her hand still resting on his shoulder. She paused, then shook her thoughts away briskly and climbed up on deck.

  Alnstrop was still at the tiller, his face tense with concentration, but it lightened with a smile as he saw her approach.