by Regina Scott
Chimes heaved a martyred sigh, moving toward the back of the house with an exaggerated limp. “And me with the lumbago that comes with the cold. Serves me right for opening the door, I suppose."
From the nether regions of the house came a cry of alarm. Chimes’ limp disappeared as he hastened toward the sound. Gen raised her skirts to dash after him, heart pounding.
Mrs. Chimes was standing by the kitchen door, wringing her hands. Water pooled at her feet. At first Gen thought she must have dropped the tea kettle that lay in the puddle, then she saw that the water was seeping in under the door.
"By God, he must have been right,” Chimes cried, pulling his wife away from the widening pool.
Gen grabbed some of the cleaning rags off the table and threw them into the water. “Here, Mrs. Chimes, stuff these in the gap. Chimes, help me with this table. If we wedge it up against the door so, we narrow the gap and help keep the water out.” She strained to lift her end of the oak table but in the end was satisfied to scrape it across the flagstone floor until it caught under the door latch.
Chimes backed away from their handiwork, wiping sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand. “That will do it, Miss. Best you go see to your mum and sister. I'll check the door by the chapel."
Gen nodded, dusting off her hands. “I can't think of any place else it might get in. The Abbey's somewhat on high ground, and the stables and other outbuildings are even higher. I suppose most of it will head toward the Manor.” She started toward the corridor and froze. The Manor. Alan. She spun back and nearly collided with Chimes.
"Easy, Miss,” he cautioned, catching her arm to steady her. “We'll be fine, you'll see."
"It's not the Abbey I'm worrying about,” Gen cried. “Go check the chapel door and meet me in the entry. I'm going to the Manor."
Chimes raised an eyebrow but did as she bid without a word. She left Mrs. Chimes muttering about the mud on her kitchen floor and hurried to change into her hunting outfit.
She met her mother as she was returning to the entry. “There you are. What is going on?"
"The dam that held back the pond apparently burst,” Gen told her, bending to tighten the laces of her boots. “We have some flooding in the kitchen, but Mrs. Chimes is taking care of it, and Chimes is checking the chapel. I'm going to see if I can help the Pentercasts."
Even as she said the words, she knew she sounded belligerent. To her surprise, her mother nodded. “The water will run down the old channel, straight for the Manor. I imagine it could get rather high. They'll need all hands like the year the River Went flooded its banks and your father and I helped fill sandbags. I'll get my cloak."
Gen caught her arm. “There isn't time for the carriage, Mother, and the groomsmen are out. I'm going through the woods."
This time her mother did protest. “Nonsense. You can't go on foot, alone. It isn't proper!"
"I don't think propriety has much to do with a flood, Mother. And isn't it far more improper to ignore a neighbor in need, especially when we might be the cause of the problem?” She remembered the way the swan had startled at the dam the other day and cursed herself for not having had Chimes check the aging structure then.
Her mother frowned. “Our fault? How so?"
"There isn't time to explain now. I must go if I'm to be of any help with those sandbags."
Her mother shook her head in obvious capitulation. “Very well, but take Chimes with you. Allison and Mrs. Chimes and I will manage."
Gen gave her a quick hug, and her mother patted her awkwardly on the back. Then Gen hurried to find a lantern.
A few moments later, Chimes was leading the way through the dark woods, following the trail that led between the Abbey and the Manor. At some point in the evening, it had begun to rain, and the drops continued to pelt them as they paused long enough to peer behind the house and confirm that the pond was indeed in turmoil, the water tumbling through the gardens and sweeping down through the woods. They stayed to the higher path, well above the waters, moving as quickly as they could through the dark and the rainstorm. Animals fled from their path, upset by the change in the woods.
"This will only make it worse,” Chimes shouted as Gen pulled her hood closer about her face. The path beneath them grew slick. Gen slipped once, and Chimes caught her. When he went down a moment later, the best she could do was catch the lantern before the flame spilled.
Chimes struggled back to his feet. “Fool crazy idea! What can an old man and a girl do against a God Almighty flood anyway!"
Gen held the lantern higher, checking to make sure he was unhurt. “We can be two more hands, Mr. Chimes. It doesn't take all that much strength to fill sandbags, or so I would imagine."
"Humph,” Chimes muttered, snatching the lantern from her grip. He turned and stumped off toward the Manor.
Moments later they broke from the woods near the side of the Manor to find that the tide had arrived before them. The house was bright with candlelight inside, and outside people were scurrying about with lanterns trying to salvage what they could. By the light, she could see that water was foaming a foot deep around the outbuildings. Someone had opened the barn and let the animals free; the dairy cows were milling about in a pasture that was already well underwater. At least one of the trees was down in the old orchard. She urged Chimes toward the house.
Someone caught her arm as she reached the front steps, and she turned to find Tom Harvey from the village beside her. “Come around back,” he told them. “We're filling the bags there."
She and Chimes followed him to the back of the house. Gen stopped at the sight before her. The water had returned to the old ornamental pond behind the house, but the amount of water was so much greater, having been held in the enlarged pond behind the Abbey for so long, that it was already lapping at the steps to the Manor's terrace. Several of the villagers had attempted to block its course with a wall of bags and rubble, but the water was seeping through and pooling even higher. Tom led Gen and Chimes up the side steps and across the terrace to where several more people were watching the approaching tide. Her heart quailed when she recognized the tallest as Alan.
"Is there nothing more that can be done?” she asked Tom Harvey. He shook his head, sending rivulets of water down his coat. “All we can do is wait. It's nearly spent now. If this rain will just let up, we might yet make it."
Gen surveyed the devastation below. “How could this have happened?"
"That's what I'd like to know,” Alan said beside her.
Gen glanced up, feeling guilty. “The dam broke—that's what Geoffrey told us."
"That's what I told you,” Geoffrey agreed, appearing at his brother's side. “But it was no accident. It had been hacked clean through."
"What do you mean?” Gen demanded. “Someone did this on purpose?"
"No time for that now,” Alan replied. “Looks like the rain's stopping. Let's just hope this subsides."
Gen turned back to the water below. The rain was indeed stopping, slowing until all that could be heard was the trickle of it draining off the Manor roof. In the distance, the church bells began chiming midnight. The clouds moved aside, and the moon came out, spilling light across what had been the Manor pasture, now a sheet of water several feet deep. Dark shapes glided across the moon to settle on the waters. Gen frowned, trying to make them out. Alan gave a bark of laughter.
"And I thought I'd failed. It seems luck is still with me, Miss Munroe. There are your seven swans a-swimming."
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Chapter Eleven
Verse Eight, Eight Maids a-Milking
Gen stared at Alan. “What ... what did you say?"
Alan waved his hand at the flooded pasture. “I always try to look on the bright side, Miss Munroe. I have to admit, this event is something of a challenge in that regard. However, it did bring me seven of your swans, and they do appear to be swimming."
Beside them, Tom Harvey guffawed. “Right you are, Squire. And just
as the seventh day of Christmas is ending."
"Well, I for one don't see the humor in it,” Geoffrey muttered. “This is one hell of a mess, if you ask me. I hope your people are up to fixing it, Miss Munroe."
"My people?” Gen turned on him.
"Yes of course your people,” Geoffrey said. “Who else caused this, I'd like to know?"
"Cut line, Geoff,” Alan warned. “I know you think you saw the dam cut through, but it was dark. We don't know what happened."
"And whatever happened, you may be assured my family had nothing to do with it,” Gen informed him heatedly.
"Oh, of course not,” Geoffrey sneered. “Quite innocent are all the young Misses Munroe, aren't they?"
"How dare you,” Gen began, feeling herself begin to tremble.
Alan cut in. “That's enough, Geoffrey. I suggest we spend our energies in finding a way out of this mess. Tom, I'm thankful you and the lads took me up on that offer to celebrate the New Year here, even if Geoffrey didn't think to join you. We'd have been lost without your help."
Tom, a large young man with thin sandy hair, shrugged. “The inn was likely a lot more boring than this. Looks like it's as high as it's going to get tonight. What else can we do for you?"
What could they do indeed, Gen wondered as she gazed out over the new lake while Tom, Geoffrey, and Alan conferred for a moment. From what she could see in the obliging moonlight, Alan's pasture land was flooded, and his spring wheat crop was destroyed. At least some of the outbuildings had to have been damaged. She couldn't imagine how the water had been released, unless the dam had simply been too old to hold the weight behind it. If so, it was her own negligence that had caused this mess. She would have to see how she could help put it back to rights.
Beside her, Tom Harvey touched his forelock and strolled down the side of the terrace. Alan turned to her and she straightened, ready to hear how she might help.
"I'm afraid I'm not up to company just now, Miss Munroe. I take it you and your man can find your way home?"
His gruffness annoyed her, even though she knew he had good reason. “I hardly expect you to entertain me, Squire. I had been hoping Chimes and I might be of service."
"I appreciate the thought, but I don't know how you could help right now. I promise we'll talk in the morning. You'll understand that I cannot escort you home."
Why was he so set on formalities when his entire farm was underwater? “We'll be fine,” she snapped. Then, to soften her words, she added, “I hope you know I was speaking the truth a moment ago. Despite our differences, we Munroes would never intentionally cause you Pentercasts harm."
"No, of course not,” he replied, but without his usual warmth. “Now, if you'll excuse me."
Gen frowned as he brushed past her. “Is there nothing we can do to help?"
He stopped, turning to eye her. “Nothing, Miss Munroe. Just go home."
Snubbed, she yanked her hood back over her damp curls and stamped past Chimes toward the steps from the terrace. With a sigh, he turned to follow her.
This is what she deserved for trying to help a Pentercast, she supposed as she trudged back around the house. The proverb of casting pearls before swine came to mind. It was somehow satisfying. As they had reached the front of the manor, however, a call pulled her up short. Turning, she saw Alan hurrying after them. Her head came up and she allowed herself a smile. About time the man came to his senses. He'd need every hand he could find to set things to rights. She promised herself she wouldn't even make him ask her forgiveness.
"Where do you think you're going?” he demanded.
Startled, she frowned. “Home. At your command, Squire."
He threw up his hands. “I thought you had a carriage. I can't let you walk through the dark woods like this."
"How do you think we got here?” Gen demanded, hands on hips, all thoughts of forgiveness gone. “I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Mr. Pentercast. Now, if you'll excuse me."
Alan caught her arm. “I'll do nothing of the sort. I don't have time to deal with this. You'll stay at the Manor tonight, and I'll see you home in the morning."
"Thank you for such a lovely invitation,” Gen said, “but I'd rather eat mud. Come along, Chimes."
Chimes cleared his throat. “Might be a good idea, Miss Gen. Moon's clear now, but them rain clouds could be back any minute. And it's getting colder too. Even in your fancy huntin’ togs, you'll be catchin’ the influenza for sure. You stay here with the Pentercasts, and I'll tell your mum to come get you in the morning."
Gen glared at him. “I've had enough of your interference, Chimes. Give me that lantern. I'll light the way myself."
"Of all the stubborn, willful,” Alan muttered. Before she could open her mouth to protest, he swung her up in his arms. “All my life I've heard stories about how spoiled the Munroe women are, and now I've finally seen it for myself. Tell her mother I'll bring her home tomorrow, Chimes. Take care of yourself."
"Put me down this instant!” Gen demanded, kicking with both feet.
Alan grunted as she hit his hip. “If I do, you'll get your wish about eating mud."
"Right you are, Squire.” Chimes chortled, backing away. “Good night, Miss Gen."
"Traitor!” Gen shrieked after him.
Alan hefted her higher on his chest, bringing her face on a level with his own, and she snapped her mouth shut. His brown eyes glared at her, brows a dark thatch gathered in a scowl. A muscle worked in his lean jaw, which was peppered with stubble. It dawned on her that this was the first time she'd ever seen him angry. She licked her lips.
"If I apologize,” she tried, “will you put me down?"
His frown eased. “No. Now lay still and be quiet."
He made it sound as if it were difficult holding her like this. From the strength of those arms she sincerely doubted it. She swung one booted foot experimentally. His frown returned. She stopped. “You needn't glare so. I really can take care of myself. Though it was thoughtful of you to be concerned."
The frown deepened. “Are you trying to turn me up sweet?"
She couldn't resist grinning at him. “Is it working?"
"No."
He started across the lawn at such a fast clip that Gen bit back a squeal of surprise. Her grip on his neck tightened as he took the steps to the Manor two at a time. He bumped open the door with his broad shoulder and swung her down to deposit her unceremoniously on the marble floor. She tried to catch her balance, but her wet feet slipped out from under her and she landed with a thud on her backside in a pile of sodden skirt. She glared up at him.
Alan sighed, offering her his hand. “I really can't afford this, Miss Munroe. I have cows to see to."
"Cows?” she fairly shouted, clambering to her feet alone. “Cows! First you tell me I'm too dim-witted to find my way home in the dark, then you carry me here as if I'm too frail to walk, and now you can't be bothered to find me a room! You may have grown up hearing about the spoiled Munroe women, sir, but the stories can't possibly compare to those I've heard about the arrogance of the Pentercast men! And you, I'm quite certain, are the prize of the lot!"
"Mother!” he shouted, the angry word echoing up to the high ceilings. “We have a guest.” Lowering his voice, he offered her an ironic bow. “Good night, Miss Munroe. Always a pleasure."
He turned on his heel and strode back out the door, leaving Gen wanting to throw something after him.
She had barely had a chance to calm before Mrs. Pentercast appeared puffing from the back of the house. “Alan? What's this about a guest? Oh, hello, Genevieve. Whatever are you doing here?"
Gen sighed. “I came to help with the flood, Mrs. Pentercast. But Alan doesn't seem to think I'll be of much use."
"Silly man,” Mrs. Pentercast tisked, linking an arm in hers. “You look done in, child. Do you truly want to help, or would you like to just lie down?"
Gen found it impossible not to smile down at the little woman beside her. Mrs. Pentercast's round
face was puckered with kindness, her tiny brown eyes warm. All fifty-some inches of her trembled with motherly concern. In every way, she was a direct contrast to the mother Gen had grown up knowing. “I really would like to help,” Gen told her.
She nodded. “Good girl. Let's get you into dry clothes first, then we'll put you to work. Come this way.” Keeping one arm linked with Gen's, she led her up the sweeping stair, chatting all the way. “You know, I always wanted daughters. They're so much easier to talk to than sons. And so much more helpful. Although, mind you, Alan can be a dear when he chooses. But girls, now, you can pamper and fuss over. And they'll be by you in a time of crisis. Yes, I always wanted girls. Your mother beat me there as well, I suppose."
Gen frowned, allowing herself to be led down a carpeted corridor past portraits of Pentercasts to a small bedroom in the corner of the Manor. There, Mrs. Pentercast pulled some clothes from a wardrobe and held them up to Gen.
"I was never as wonderfully thin as you are, my dear,” she said with a sigh as she tossed several dresses onto the canopied bed behind her. “Although like you, my figure was all the more noticeable because I was so short. Here, this ought to do.” She held up an old-fashioned long-waisted gown of cobalt blue wool. With its long sleeves and high neck, it looked warm and cozy to Gen. She shivered as she reached for it, and Mrs. Pentercast clucked.
"You slip into this, and we'll get some hot tea into you. You'll feel much more the thing, you see if you don't. I'm sorry I can't send you one of the servants, but they're all a bit busy just now. I'll be right back with a towel for your hair.” She bustled out of the room.
By the time she returned, Gen had stripped off the sodden hunting dress and pulled the cobalt gown over her head. Mrs. Pentercast helped her fasten the many tiny hooks up the back, nodding approval as she tugged it into place. It fit well enough although it was a little short for Gen; her wet boots showed to their tops. Mrs. Pentercast insisted that she slip them off as well, bringing her a pair of leather slippers that were a bit big, but with an extra pair of wool stockings that felt good against her cold skin, they did well enough. Then Mrs. Pentercast led her down to the kitchen of the great house, where a team of servants was busy preparing some kind of meal.