by Karen Abbott
‘Really, sir! I think perhaps you are not as injured as you appear!’
Lord Rockhaven ground his teeth. ‘Do you, indeed? You think I would feign this undignified state? Have you no pity, woman?’
‘None where it is not needed,’ Lucy returned lightly, sensing that much of his anguish came from male pride. ‘But I do wish you would let me try to help you regain your chair.
He sighed heavily and sank back, releasing his hold on her. A shaft of pain low in his back made him close his eye again and he wondered why a faint vision of floating lemon silk seemed to dance in front of his closed lids. He opened his eye and refocused on the pretty face that hovered above him. He wondered who she was. She was too young to be the mother of the two children. Their sister, maybe? Or nursemaid? Did village children have nursemaids? He didn’t know and the pain that racked his body took precedence over such idle musings. The girl’s earnest concern caused him to speak more gently.
‘Look, my man will be back soon. He will see to me. Go … and take your charges with you. You have ascertained that I am still alive, even if somewhat incapacitated. You may consider your duty done.’
‘What if your man is delayed?’ Lucy asked reasonably. ‘Besides, if he is due back soon, then we may as well wait until he comes. Then at least we will know that you are once more in safe hands.’
‘The Lord preserve me from meddling females,’ Lord Rockhaven muttered, his tone not matching the piety of his words. ‘Very well, since I am to get no peace until you are satisfied that you have fulfilled your role as the Good Samaritan, go into the cottage and get my greatcoat. It is hanging on a hook behind the door. And you, boy, push that dish of rabbit stew to where my dogs can reach it and maybe they will stop that infernal din!’
Disentangling Arabella’s hold on her skirt, both Lucy and Bertie hastened to do as they were bidden, leaving Arabella standing nervously by herself, eyeing the fallen man warily, the tip of her thumb between her lips.
‘I won’t bite you, little miss,’ Lord Rockhaven was saying, as Lucy returned with the heavy army great coat.
‘Are you really a pirate?’ Arabella asked, emboldened by Lucy’s return.
‘Huh!’ Lord Rockhaven grunted. ‘I might be. Would that frighten you?’
‘No, though Bertie said it would. What’s your name?’
‘Mind your manners, Bella!’ Lucy reproved her, aware that none of them had accorded to his lordship the courtesy due to a man of his rank and title, but intuitively sensing that he preferred to remain incognito for the time being. He obviously didn’t remember her.
She leaned over him, beginning to lay the heavy coat over him. ‘Here, let me tuck—’ but her words were cut off by his answering Bella’s question, ‘My name’s Rocky.’
Lucy paused, her glance drawn sharply to his face, faintly blushing at the speculative gleam his single eye portrayed. ‘Isn’t that a childish name for a grown man?’ she snapped, attempting to cover her confusion.
Lord Rockhaven drew back his lips into what might have been intended as a grin but looked more like a wolf baring its teeth. ‘As a children’s nurse, you should be used to childish behaviour.’
‘I’m not—’ Lucy paused. So, he didn’t recognize her. That wasn’t surprising: he’d been too drunk to have been able to recognize his own face in a looking-glass! Well, if he wanted to play games of concealment, it was a game two could play. ‘I am not accustomed to childishness from adults,’ she amended her denial primly.
Lord Rockhaven shrugged as well as he was able in a prone position. ‘How else should I behave when I am as helpless as a babe? Your two charges are more able than I.’
‘You could try feeling less sorry for yourself!’ Lucy retorted tartly, sensing that sympathy was the last thing he needed. ‘What’s happened has happened. Bemoaning the fact won’t change it.’
‘Easy to say.’
It was Lucy’s turn to shrug. ‘Yes. Your grandmother would have said to look upon it as a test of character.’ Oh! She hadn’t meant to say that!
His glance sharpened. ‘You knew my grandmother?’
‘Briefly.’ Her voice was dismissive, but Lord Rockhaven persisted.
‘Then you …’ – he glanced at Arabella, but she was now more interested in watching the dogs lapping up the rabbit stew – ‘know who I am?’
Lucy didn’t want to admit to their one meeting, just in case he did have faint memory of it. ‘Your family resemblance is well known in these parts,’ she said evading the personal question. Thankfully, it satisfied Lord Rockhaven.
‘Exactly! Then you can understand why I do not wish it to be known that I am here.’ His face twisted, though whether in actual or mental pain, Lucy wasn’t sure. ‘I have a great deal to work through. I cannot bear to do it under public gaze. I don’t want anyone to know I am here. Do you understand?’ He grasped her wrist again, his grip harder than he possibly realized.
Lucy winced but the intensity of his grip didn’t lessen.
‘Yes,’ she acknowledged quietly. She did understand. Even the pity that was probably evident in her own eyes was more than likely obnoxious to him. ‘I won’t tell anyone, but the children might accidentally refer to meeting you.’
His eye held her gaze for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and sank back upon the cobblestones again, releasing his hold of her. Lucy immediately busied herself by tucking the ends of his coat under his body, twisting a sleeve into a pillow of sorts. Even in his injured state he exuded a feral power she knew little of, but she sensed a physical reaction surging through her body. She could readily believe that the rumours of his youthful exploits were based on fact. And didn’t her own brief experience of him declare the same?
Lord Rockhaven twisted his head around to see the children watching the dogs devour their meal.
‘Bertie, come here!’
Bertie turned at his name. ‘Can I come and feed them again, sir?’ he asked eagerly, as he ran over. ‘I like dogs. I can help you train them and exercise them.’
‘That’s not a good idea at present, but I do need your help in another matter.’
‘What sort of help?’ Bertie demanded, intrigued by the request.
‘Can you keep a secret?’
‘Of course I can!’ Bertie boasted. ‘But I bet Bella can’t. Girls are no good at secrets.’
‘Yes, I can!’ Arabella protested indignantly.
‘What is the secret, sir?’ Lucy asked, placing a restraining hand on Arabella’s shoulder.
‘It’s very important that no one knows I am here,’ he said simply, with disarming honesty.
‘Gosh! Are you in hiding?’ Bertie breathed eagerly. ‘Are you really a pirate? Have you done something bad?’
Lord Rockhaven shook his head. ‘I promise you I haven’t done anything bad. I just want to stay here for a while until I get better. I don’t want lots of do-gooders dropping in with their calves’ foot jellies and sympathy.’
‘Ugh!’ Bertie agreed. ‘I hate calves’ foot jelly, too. We had to have it when we had chicken pox last year. We won’t tell anyone, Rocky! Will we, Bella? Let’s link little fingers and swear our promise.’
Lucy watched with amusement as Lord Rockhaven solemnly linked a finger with Bertie.
‘And you, too, Aunt Lucy,’ Bertie commanded. ‘You can link with Bella and Rocky.’
Lucy wasn’t sure it was wise to touch any part of Lord Rockhaven in such an intimate way, but it seemed churlish to refuse, so, with her cheeks blushing bright pink, she bent down and obligingly curled her little finger around the one Lord Rockhaven extended towards her.
He grinned wolfishly at her discomfort.
‘So, Aunt Lucy? Will you keep my secret, too?’
‘Of course … since that is what you wish,’ she said a little stiffly.
The ceremony complete, she withdrew her finger from his grasp and straightened up, smoothing out the front of her skirt. She realized afresh that they were all dressed in old clothes. Lord Rockhaven probably thought t
hey were local peasants from the village. Well, that suited her.
The sound of a horse’s hoofs upon the cobbles drew their attention to the corner of the cottage and Lucy was relieved to see a dog-cart swing into the yard. The swarthy man on the driving seat was somewhat alarmed to see them and leaped down from his seat as Wellington strained at his leash to investigate the newcomer.
After an initial series of barks, Lord Rockhaven’s dogs had calmed down and were now wagging their tails, which told Lucy that the man was Lord Rockhaven’s companion. Bertie wasn’t so easily appeased. He bravely jumped up and placed himself in front of Lord Rockhaven’s prone figure, appointing himself as chief bodyguard, only relaxing seconds later. ‘Oh, it’s all right. It’s your friend,’ he announced over his shoulder, as the man hurried over, demanding, ‘Now, now, what’s happened ’ere?’
‘He fell out of his chair,’ Bertie informed him, ‘and we can’t lift him, but I ’spect you can.’
He was a large man, his body hard and muscular. He made as if to stoop over his master, ready to scoop him up into his arms, but Lord Rockhaven halted his progress with a one-eyed glare.
‘My friend, Staines,’ he introduced him somewhat abruptly. ‘You may now leave me safely in his care.’
There was dismissal in his tone and Lucy knew that Lord Rockhaven did not wish them to witness the indignity of his helplessness as he was lifted back into his chair.
‘I’m happy to meet you, Mr Staines,’ she acknowledged the introduction. ‘I’m sure we can leave … Rocky … in your care. Come along, children. It’s time we went home.’
‘Can we come to see you again?’ Arabella, asked as she took hold of Lucy’s hand.
‘It’s not advisable at the moment, little miss. It really is important that no one knows I am here. Remember your promise. We’ve sworn a solemn oath,’ Lord Rockhaven reminded them. ‘Now, leave me with my … friend.’
The children didn’t argue and Lucy ushered them ahead of her, with Wellington reluctantly leaving the tempting aroma of the rabbit stew. When they reached the corner of the cottage, she couldn’t help glancing back over her shoulder. Lord Rockhaven was seated in his chair with his coat draped over him. His face seemed drenched in pain and she marvelled that he had been able to conceal most of his discomfort in their presence. Maybe he had more strength of character than she had given him credit for. It would be interesting to find out.
In the meantime, she hoped his presence in the cottage remained a secret. Her sister wouldn’t be overjoyed to hear they had visited an injured man in the gamekeeper’s cottage even if she knew who he actually was.
Lucy grinned to herself. Maybe that should be especially if Marissa knew who he was, considering his past wild reputation.
Theodore Montcliffe, slumped uncomfortably in the wheelchair as Staines, his former batman, trundled him carefully into the dim interior of the humble cottage that was his present abode.
Drat the girl and her young charges. And that undisciplined dog. Wellington, indeed! His former commander was hardly honoured by the naming of the cur after him. He hoped the trio did indeed stand by their promise to keep his presence there a secret. His life might well depend on it.
‘Arrgh!’
The cry had slipped involuntarily from his lips as the chair jerked against the door jamb. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead as he clenched his teeth together to suppress more grunts of pain. Hell! It hadn’t hurt like this in all the time since the bullet had smashed into his back when he was carrying Con from the battlefield. Had his undignified tumble in the yard done some further damage? Drat the woman and those pesky children. The villagers had no business trespassing on his property. He’d have Staines put up some notices. ‘Trespassers will be Prosecuted, Hanged, Drawn and Quartered!’ That would keep out unwelcome intruders – if they could read, that is.
Back in the recesses of his mind, he knew he was being unfair, but the pain was excruciating.
‘Sorry, Cap’n!’ Staines apologized at once. ‘Not quite got the hang of this contraption yet.’
Theo grunted a response. He hadn’t got used to it either. He never would! He hated the thing. Yet it enabled him to get around to some extent. Anything was better than being entombed within the musty interior of the old cottage. However had Quilter put up with the cold dampness of the cottage for all those years? Huh, it was probably why he had had to be retired on a pension when his rheumatism made his life intolerable. He and Staines would be following suit if he were forced to live here much longer.
Why couldn’t he just get up and walk, avenge his brother’s death and get his life back to normal?
He had a restless night and awakened the next morning feeling as though a thousand fiery darts were being fired into him – into his back, his legs and his head. It was intolerable! He almost snatched the mug of amber liquid from Staines’s hand and, by the time his former batman had assisted him in washing and dressing, he felt in control of the pain.
Unseasonal rain lashed against the cottage window, matching Theo’s morose mood as he ate the food Staines brought to him. The man was no accomplished cook but he had learned how to put together whatever could be foraged from the Peninsular countryside and it kept body and soul together – just.
And body and soul needed to be brought together; that was why he was here, suffering this degradation, wasn’t it? Determination was etched on his face as he wheeled himself across the cobbled yard and into a former pigsty in order to begin a series of self-imposed exercises, most of which, at the moment, involved the strengthening of the muscles in his arms and trying to establish some co-ordination between his one eye and a pistol in his right hand.
A few days ago Staines had constructed a pair of parallel bars set at the exact height to fit neatly under his former captain’s armpits. Theo’s first effort at traversing them had ended in ignominious defeat. His useless legs had defied his mental urging and the only progress forward had been when Staines had forced each leg to drag its way along the ground.
Theo now eyed the bars with a thunderous look that would have sent a shiver of fear through any human adversary.
‘Set me on my feet, Staines!’ he barked.
Staines did so. Theo waited until the wave of nausea caused by the action had passed away. Beads of sweat ran down his face as he mentally urged each leg in turn to move, but neither leg obeyed.
‘Move, damn you!’ he grunted to his legs. For a fleeting moment he felt as though the miracle had happened. He thought he felt the lower part of his body respond to his urging and take the weight from under his arms, but, the next instant, he sagged down again and no amount of urging brought the sensation back again.
‘Come on, Cap’n,’ Staines urged, forcing Theo’s left leg forward. ‘Put yer weight on that ’un. Now the other.’
With his help, Theo slowly worked his way along the bars but was then too exhausted to attempt to return in the same manner. He slumped his weight on the bars whilst Staines hurried to bring the wheelchair into position behind him. He had to face it, he was as helpless as a babe.
Seven
HEAVY RAIN FELL over the next two days and the afternoons were spent in the old nursery, now Arabella’s schoolroom. Lucy hoped the children would forget about their friend Rocky.
Bertie knelt on the window-seat with his nose pressed up against the window as he watched the droplets chase each other down the pane.
‘I can see two of each drops when my nose is pressed up against the window!’ he announced with some satisfaction.
‘That’s because you are making yourself go cross-eyed,’ Lucy reproved him patiently. ‘Do come and play this game, Bertie. Your nose will be quite flattened if you keep it pressed up so … and your eyes may stay crossed.’
‘Like this?’ Bertie asked, turning round, his eyes almost meeting at the point where his finger was pressing against the tip of his nose.
‘Exactly like that.’
‘You look like a pig.’ Arabella d
eclared.
Bertie gleefully snorted in response, not caring that it made the back of his throat and nose feel uncomfortable. ‘I wish I was a pig. Then I could go out in the rain and get as dirty as I like.’
‘You wish you were a pig,’ Lucy corrected him carefully. ‘But little pigs don’t get raspberries and cream for tea and so, if I were you, I would change back into being a boy again. And, at the end of this game, I intend take any nice children down to the kitchen to see if Cook will let us bake some biscuits. However, if you don’t wish to come…?’
She allowed her voice to trail away at the end of the sentence. Bertie immediately jumped down from the window-seat, his face brightening.
‘Biscuits? Butter shortbreads? Or oaty ones with lots of sugar in them?’
‘I’m sure Cook will let you choose.’
‘Right!’
Thankfully, by the third day, the clouds were higher in the sky and markedly lighter in colour. Lucy scanned the sky hopefully.
‘Yes, do take them out, Lucy,’ Marissa instructed her. ‘I couldn’t rest yesterday afternoon with all the noise the children were making. It sounded as though they were charging up and down above my room like a herd of wild animals.’
Lucy suppressed a grin. That was exactly what the children had been playing at – Bertie was pretending to be Wellington chasing Arabella who, he said, was a frightened pony.
‘But don’t let them play in the stream,’ Marissa continued. ‘It will be flooding its banks after all that rain … and do try not to bring the children home looking like two ragamuffins from the village. Nurse Harvey has many misgivings about letting you have a free hand with them. She says Bertie is becoming quite wild.’
‘Nonsense! He is just being a boy. Anyway, we won’t go to the stream. We’ll find other things to do. Maybe hide and seek in the wood? That should be fun.’
Marissa’s ‘humph’ fell into empty space as Lucy had already made her escape and was on her way to tell the children to change into their old clothes as they were to go to play in the wood that afternoon. With a small feast of fruit and biscuits and bottles of Cook’s homemade lemonade wrapped up in a small basket, they ran across the meadow and into the wood.