English Lord on Her Doorstep

by Marion Lennox

  Bryn would rescue her yet again.

  But she couldn’t count on it. She wouldn’t count on it.

  ‘Can we go?’ she asked, but Alice was already reaching for her jacket, grabbing a couple of pairs of wellies.

  ‘Of course,’ she said briskly. ‘Bryn won’t want Flossie up there while he’s trying to herd the cows. Come on, sweetheart, let’s go stop your dog being helpful.’

  * * *

  By the time Bryn reached the mine, Ewan and his son had already herded most of the cows to safety. A couple of younger cows were dodging them, though, maybe enjoying the excitement. Part of the fence was down, knocked by the cows?

  Bryn turned to Ewan’s son, a lad of about eighteen. ‘Can you head back to the farm and get some decent rope so we can pull this fence back together?’ Ewan’s car was parked at the far side of the mine. ‘Skirt right round,’ Bryn said brusquely. ‘No one falls down a shaft on my watch.’

  He and Ewan returned to cornering, backing the two reluctant cows, working with torches, taking care at each step.

  * * *

  Flossie couldn’t run as fast as the car but she kept it in her sights. By the time she reached the mine, though, the vehicle was parked, its lights off. There were men moving through the shadows with torches. There were cows.

  This was unfamiliar. None of the voices seemed right.

  And then, on the far side of the tailings, another vehicle... Tail lights.

  It started steadily down the hill.

  Flossie stared desperately across the tailings and knew what she had to do.

  She didn’t go around the tailings, though. She cut straight across. And halfway across...a shaft.

  * * *

  ‘What the hell...?’

  The scream cut the night. It wasn’t human, it was a high-pitched yelp, followed by the sound of shale falling. Something heavy falling with it.

  A dog.

  He and Ewan stilled and stared at each other.

  ‘One of your dogs?’ Ewan said, his eyes reflecting Bryn’s horror. ‘It must’ve followed...’

  ‘Flossie,’ Bryn said bleakly, instinctively guessing what had happened. They had the two young cows backed against the remainder of the fence. Their work was almost done. ‘You get these two out and I’ll check.’

  He hardly needed to check, though. He picked his way carefully across the tailings, towards the shaft where the howl had come from.

  He’d been through these tailings yesterday, checking on the work, worrying about the open shafts and kids who wanted a bit of adventure. He’d rung the head of the team doing the work. ‘I want those shafts covered, now.’

  It hadn’t happened.

  The shaft where the noise had come from was probably the deepest.

  Flossie...

  * * *

  Alice barrelled her beautiful sedan up the hill towards the tailings and Charlie was out of the door almost before the car stopped. Bryn’s Land Rover was in front of them. A stout, squat figure Charlie didn’t recognise was driving two cows forward. He made an urgent motion for them to stay back.

  Charlie did as ordered, but it almost killed her to stay still while the cows were encouraged past the parked cars to join the herd further down the hill. Finally, with its members intact, the herd started moving placidly away. They were free to talk.

  ‘This is Ewan,’ Alice told Charlie. ‘A neighbouring farmer. Ewan, have you seen...?’

  ‘The dog? Is that what you’re looking for?’

  ‘Yes,’ Charlie said thankfully. ‘Is she here?’

  ‘In a matter of speaking,’ Ewan told her. ‘There’s a dog just fallen down a shaft. His Lordship’s checking on her now. You ladies stay by the car. I need to find out what he’s doing.’

  * * *

  Only of course they didn’t stay by the car. Alice had torches in the trunk, a mother of a torch and a smaller one with a brilliant beam. ‘We often find stock on the road,’ Alice said, and the fluffy pink Baroness was suddenly a brisk and efficient farmer. ‘We’re used to dealing. Watch your feet, Charlie.’ She tossed her a pair of wellies. ‘You fall and Bryn will have my hide. You will not fall down a shaft.’

  A shaft... Flossie...

  Alice knew this land but was still ultra-cautious, picking her way between heaps of loose dirt. Charlie followed, feeling ill.

  ‘They’ve made a right mess,’ Alice said grimly over her shoulder. ‘The shafts have been capped for over a hundred years. Our strategy was to fence it off more securely and reforest, until nature does the rest, but the conservation people said no, the capping has to be done properly. They’ve removed trees and dug out the old caps. Maybe they’re right long term, but, oh, Charlie, some of these shafts...’

  For the first time Charlie heard her voice falter. Alice had lost a husband and a daughter, Charlie thought. She was crossing loose tailings in the dark, heading towards her son who was...

  Where?

  Right over a shaft. Lying flat on his stomach so he could point his torch down. For an awful moment Charlie thought he was lying on loose shale but then she saw he’d hauled timber up to make himself a solid base. There were lanterns set up beside him. Ewan and Bryn were both farmers. They’d be used to calvings at night, caring for stock. They were equipped, competent.

  Safe? Not so much.

  Bryn heard them come. He rolled sideways to talk as they approached. The ground was damp and mud had clung. He was filthy.

  His face was grim under the dirt.

  ‘She’s down there. Hell, Charlie, I’m so sorry.’

  That made her feel how small? Of all the things, that his first thought was to apologise to her...

  ‘I let her out,’ she told him. She was walking towards him but Alice clutched her arm and Ewan made an involuntary step to ward her off.

  ‘Land’s not stable any closer,’ Ewan muttered, casting a worried look at Bryn. ‘His Lordship shouldn’t be there.’

  But from below came a faint whimper, of fear and of pain.

  Flossie...

  ‘How...how deep?’

  ‘Deep,’ Bryn said grimly. ‘But it goes deeper. She seems wedged on a ledge about twenty feet down. I can see her. She’s lying still. If she moves, though...’

  He stopped and Charlie saw a wash of anguish cross his face.

  ‘I’ll ring Davey and tell him to bring the gun.’ It was Ewan, speaking softly but matter-of-factly behind them. He was a farmer, facing facts.

  Dear God.

  ‘Isn’t there...? I could...’ She wasn’t even sure what she’d intended to say. Ring a rescue service, a fire department, what? If this were a child, maybe there’d be men and women prepared to risk their lives, she thought, but it would be risking lives. The shale was crumbly. These were ancient tailings and there’d been rain. Who knew what the state of the shaft would be?

  A gun. A blast downward. A fast end.

  Flossie.

  The failures of the last few weeks—or maybe even the last years—were all around her. She’d brought the dogs over here. She’d set this tragedy up.

  She couldn’t help it. Her knees crumpled and she buckled and clutched her stomach.

  ‘No gun,’ Bryn snapped, cutting through her anguish. ‘Charlie, don’t look like that. I’m going down. Ewan, ring Davey and tell him to collect the climbing gear from the Hall. It’s in the last stall of the stables. Tell him to wake John. He taught me to abseil as a lad. He’s too old to do this now, but he’ll make sure the gear’s right and he’ll supervise. Tell him to bring a couple more of the men. I’ll need strength to haul us up. Mum, can you ring the Carlisle vet—have her on standby? Get her out here if she will. Charlie, there are planks over the pile of rubble near the Land Rover. Haul them over to make a solid base around the top of the shaft, working from where you are and slowly into me. We’ll
set up a line across the top of the shaft and rig torches facing down so I can see. Let’s move, people. Go.’

  ‘You can’t!’ She was aghast, but Bryn was already facing down again, assessing what he could see, focussing on what lay ahead. Alice stooped to kneel beside her, hugging her close, and she turned to her. ‘Alice... Flossie...she’s a dog. I can’t ask...’

  ‘You don’t have to ask,’ Alice told her.

  Charlie thought wildly, this woman has lost so much, and here was her son, threatening to climb into an ancient shaft, threatening more grief? But...

  ‘Bryn’s not stupid,’ Alice said and her voice was assured, with hardly a hint of the fear she must be feeling. ‘He knows what he’s doing, love,’ she said. ‘He wouldn’t try this if he didn’t think he’d succeed. I trust him and I think you should, too.’

  Trust, Charlie thought wildly. How could she trust? He’d kill himself. Of all the—

  ‘Charlie, don’t make this a big deal.’ Bryn’s voice cut across her thoughts. He’d rolled again so he could face her across the tailings. ‘I can see the sides of the shaft and they’re looking stable. We can plank the top and run ropes from far back where we have solid ground. Flossie seems to have the sense not to struggle. If this was stupid I wouldn’t be doing it. And Charlie...you might have let her out but this is not your call. Flossie officially belongs to me. She’s my dog on my land. My decision. Tell her, Mum.’

  And Alice even managed a smile. ‘This is Bryn Morgan,’ she said, a trace of laughter in her voice. ‘He’s Twelfth Baron Carlisle of Ballystone Hall, and what he says goes. We’re mere minions, my dear. All we can do is trust.’

  There was that word again. Was she kidding? Trust... How could she do that?

  It seemed she had no choice.

  * * *

  Suddenly they had a team. Tenant farmers, workers at the Hall, the vet from the local village. They’d been summoned by Lord Carlisle but there was not a hint of resentment. Nor was there a murmur that what he was doing was stupid.

  His lordship’s dog was down the shaft. His dog. That was the story. Lord Carlisle was doing what he must to recover his own, and as Charlie worked she had a weird, almost ghostly sensation of centuries past, of the Barons Carlisle of Ballystone Hall through the ages expecting their wishes to be fulfilled.

  There was respect here, though, and there was the trust that Bryn had asked from her. Respect and trust weren’t things that could be inherited.

  There was also concern. He was putting himself in harm’s way and they cared.

  As she cared?

  How could anyone care as much as she did?

  Bryn had given her a task and she was pathetically grateful. Instead of standing by, watching in fear, she was lugging timbers, working from far back, making the ground as stable as she could. As more people arrived they helped, and she was part of a team.

  Bryn was organising ropes, working with Ewan and John. John was a grizzled guy in his seventies. She’d been introduced to him a couple of days earlier, Bryn’s farm manager, a man of few words but reeking of common sense. His presence reassured her—a bit.

  Not so much to stop the fear.

  Alice was hauling timbers, too. They’d been dressed for dinner. Charlie had been wearing soft grey trousers and a turquoise blouse. Alice had been wearing a pale pink dress, beautifully tailored.

  They were both now wearing a liberal coating of mud. Neither of them cared. They were working side by side, grimly intent and Charlie knew that, despite her reassuring façade, Alice’s fear was the same as hers.

  Halfway through manoeuvring a plank into place she felt the fear hit in full force, a fear so great it immobilised her. She closed her eyes and went to say something, but Alice was beside her, firm and sure. Guessing what she was about to say out loud.

  ‘Don’t say it,’ she said urgently. ‘He won’t listen.’ And then, softly, speaking only to her, ‘Charlie, this isn’t all about the dog. He needs to get Flossie out of this shaft for himself. And for me.’ She hesitated a moment and then added. ‘And for you.’

  ‘Alice, he can’t.’

  ‘He has to,’ Alice said grimly. ‘Ever since the tragedy... He blames himself for that day. He’d bought the petrol pump and shown his dad how to use it. He never...we never dreamed his father would use it underground.’ She shook her head, as if shaking off a nightmare. ‘Enough. That’s past but now... Bryn struggles. He needs to learn to trust himself again.’

  Bryn? Needing trust? The concept felt like turning the world on its head. She pushed it back, focussing on the closer thought. ‘How can you bear it?’ she whispered. ‘If you lose him...’

  ‘I won’t lose him,’ Alice retorted. And suddenly the grip on her shoulders tightened. ‘But you...will you lose him? He’s yours if you want him, Charlie Foster, but it takes courage.’ She hesitated and glanced over to where Bryn was edging towards the shaft. ‘It takes trust from both of you. Over and over again. You love and you love and you love and...’

  Enough. Her voice broke. She let Charlie go and swiped angry tears from her face. ‘You just do,’ she said. ‘Bryn’s trusting us to keep this ground stable so are we going to stay here quibbling or are we going to cart more timber?’

  And there was only one response.

  They carted more timber.

  * * *

  Was he a complete idiot, risking his life for a dog?

  This wasn’t a dog, though. This was Flossie. Charlie’s dog.

  Would he do it for his own?

  Yes, he would, he conceded, as he tightened his harness, letting John check and recheck. He’d do it because he loved Sadie. And his mother’s dogs? Okay, they were useless but he loved them, too. And come to think of it...unless a dog was a stray...but then even if it was a stray... Could he point a gun when there was a real possibility of rescue?

  He couldn’t and that was something to remember. It was something to focus on other than the vision of the gaping shaft, the crumbling walls, oozing water, totally unstable.

  They were rigging a rope ladder so he had something to keep his feet on, because finding footholds in shale walls reeked of stupidity and he wasn’t stupid. Or not completely stupid. The plan was for two groups to lower him, one group controlling the ladder, the other the harness.

  Every movement he made would be controlled from above. All he could do was trust. But these were people he’d known all his life. His mother. His people.

  Charlie?

  He glanced across at her anguished face. For a moment, their gazes met and held.

  Locked.

  A silent promise.

  ‘I will come back to you,’ his gaze said and he was sure she got it. And his next thought was an almost a primeval response to her look of anguish. ‘I will come back and claim.’

  How feudal was that? Feudal and sexist and totally inappropriate, he thought. Just lucky he didn’t say it out loud. But then... Had she sensed what he was thinking? The way her lips curved... Was that a smile?

  Maybe he wouldn’t have to claim his feudal rights, he thought. Maybe the maiden would come willingly.

  It was a good thought. No, it was a great thought, inappropriate or not. It was a thought to carry him over the lip of the shaft and into the blackness of the void below.

  * * *

  It was the longest wait of Charlie’s life. The team holding the ropes worked by inches. They were acutely aware of the crumbling structure of the shaft, that one false move, one solid bump if Bryn swung and hit the sides, could cave the whole thing in. They worked in almost total silence. Apart from the curt orders of the two in charge of ladder and harness, and the muffled words from the man being lowered, there was nothing.

  They were dropping the ladder, the harness, the man, in measured steps. The two in charge set a beat to work to. One, two, down, one, two, down. Every downbeat meant t
he ropes were eked out a couple of inches at a time.

  It was infinitely, agonisingly slow. For those in the background it was killingly slow.

  Charlie was clutching Alice and Alice was clutching Charlie. Who knew what Alice was thinking? All Charlie knew was that they were almost conjoined, linked by their love of the man being lowered down the shaft.

  Love. There was a huge concept.

  Or maybe it wasn’t. How many songs were there in the world about love? How many forms did love take?

  The first flurry of romantic love? The hormonal rush that blinded to a lover’s flaws? The love she’d thought she’d had for the man she’d once so disastrously married?

  Or this, she thought, the idea embedding and growing as time stretched on? A love that was deep and abiding. A love that transcended romantic.

  A love that said trust was bone deep.

  She stood and watched Ewan, lying at the top of the shaft, pointing his torch downward, directing operations. Both teams were well back, lowering their ropes secured with planking. Only the ropes inching downward denoted anything was below.

  Her whole world was below. It was a man descending into the blackness to save a dog that, whatever he said, wasn’t his. Flossie was her dog.

  But it didn’t matter. She knew at some deep, instinctive level that he’d be doing the same if it weren’t her dog. She looked at the people around her, the tenant farmers, the workers from the Hall, even his mother, and she saw fear but she also saw total trust.

  This man was...their man. Their trust and their love was absolute.

  And what she was feeling right now bought into that. It was nothing to do with fear, she thought. It was so much more. It was as if something had washed through and left her completely, irreversibly changed.

  ‘Bryn,’ she whispered and it was so much more than a word.

  It was a vow.

  And then there was a sharp, muffled command from below. Both teams stilled and the whole world seemed to hold its breath. The silence went on and on. No one moved. No one spoke.