Quinton, too, had been unusually quiet since giving Penny permission to go to the Assembly. His mood seemed not the one of sobriety to which Eve was used, but rather more thoughtful and watchful. She felt his gaze on her several times during the week, yet when she looked toward him his attention was always elsewhere. In an attempt to lighten her mood, Eve sought to lose herself in Miss Austen's latest book, and succeeded for several hours until she found her eyelids heavy and her mind not following the plot.
"What say you to a trip to Colchester, Eve?" Quinton asked the next morning at breakfast.
"To Colchester, sir? Whyever for?" Eve answered, surprised at his suggestion.
"I have it in mind to attend the Assembly myself. And you have been wishing you could go, have you not?"
"Why, no, not really, sir," Eve said, truthfully, for she had no wish to attend the Assembly as a young gentleman.
"Then why the Devil have you been moping about here like you had lost your last friend? You haven't even ridden in three days. Damn it, Eve, it's not like you to be so quiet and mournful. If it's not the Assembly you want, what is it? I am sick of your mopes!" He slammed his cup into its saucer, slopping coffee onto his wrist. With a curse, he mopped at the liquid with his napkin, glaring at Eve all the while.
Eve stared at him, momentarily at a loss for words. What could she tell him? She thought quickly. "I had not realized my mood was so obvious to you, sir. Believe me, it had nothing to do with Penny's going to the Assembly. For several days I have not felt at all the thing. Food has not been agreeable to me and I have not slept well. But this morning I am feeling much better," she lied, "and regret that my indisposition has caused you distress."
"And that's another thing! Come off your high horse, Eve. Be done with this formality! I thought we were friends."
"And so I once thought, sir!" Eve flared. "But we cannot be, for you are my employer and have the right to dictate my moods. Friends do not!" Appalled at her own words, Eve gasped.
"But they do, lad." Quinton rose from his chair and came to stand behind Eve's. Putting both hands on her shoulders, he said softly, "Friends have that privilege as well. Nay, they have that responsibility. A friend must be concerned when he sees another's most obvious depression and must do what he can to alleviate it. A friend hurts when you do; an employer only deplores the loss of efficiency. Eve, can you not share the cause of your black mood with me? Perhaps I can help."
Wishing with all her heart that she could turn to him and tell him of her growing love for him, Eve shook her head. "I told you sir, I have been somewhat indisposed. Perhaps that has made it appear I was in a fit of depression, but I was not. And I am truly much better today."
"Well, if you wish me to believe that, Eve, I suppose I must," he said, releasing her and returning to his seat. "But I still think we should go to Colchester tonight. There's some moon. We could leave this afternoon and not stay so late that we could not return tonight. Has your 'indisposition' left you with enough energy to accompany me?"
"I think so, sir, and I thank you for the invitation," Eve said, pretending enthusiasm.
Although Eve had dreaded the two-hour trip to Colchester, alone in the carriage with Quinton, she found she enjoyed it considerably. He was obviously putting himself out to entertain her and so he did, with tales of some of his first ventures into trade. He told them in such a droll manner, always making himself out as the veriest innocent taken advantage of by more experienced men, that she soon lost the remnants of her depression.
And she was excited, after all, to be going to the Assembly, even in a coat and trousers. It was, after all, her first such experience and she was determined to enjoy it. But she wondered if her dancing skills, taught her by her father and unused since his death, would return so she would not make a complete cake of herself tonight.
Would she remember that she must take the gentleman's part in each dance? She hoped so.
Eve felt strange, asking young ladies to favor her with dances. As a result, she stood by the wall and watched more than she participated in the dancing. Miss Oatland, approached out of a sense of duty, fortunately had already pledged all her dances. Penny reluctantly granted Eve a round dance, but maintained a formal attitude throughout it. But there were other girls who were pleasantly cheerful and seemed to enjoy dancing with the golden haired young man who was Mr. James Quinton's secretary. One or two even went so far as to flirt with Eve, but she, not knowing how to respond gracefully, ignored their fluttering eyelashes and inviting smiles. It was somewhat of a relief when Quinton caught her at the refreshment table and suggested that they depart, even though the Assembly would continue for another hour.
"Well, Eve, did you enjoy yourself?" he asked as the coach bowled along the road toward Fallowfeld.
"I did, James, and I am glad you suggested that we go. I saw you dancing a waltz with Penny. Was she enjoying herself?"
He laughed. "Oh, she was in alt! It seems that she has made several new conquests. And she has decided that young Thompson is a self-important prig. For that I give thanks."
"As do I. Penny can do much better for herself than he. I thought if she had a chance to know him better, he would not long fool her with his self-importance."
"So you did. Perhaps my little sister is more up to snuff than I gave her credit for being. Now if she can just be convinced that the Oatland chit is not one to emulate."
Eve yawned. "I think you do not need to worry on that score, sir. Just get her to London and let her meet other young girls of her own class and she will see that Miss Oatland is sadly lacking in breeding and good taste." She yawned again.
"Good God, I forgot you said you had been sleeping poorly. Here, take this rug and curl up on the other seat. I'll wake you when we arrive."
Eve thanked him and did as he suggested. To her surprise, she slept soundly until he shook her awake at Fallowfeld nearly two hours later.
Chapter Ten
Eve took to riding in midafternoons after her friendship with Penny underwent its unfortunate alteration. She would have preferred company on her rides for she found that too much solitude allowed her to dwell upon her feelings toward Quinton. She took to pushing Raspberry, galloping her wildly over the countryside, jumping her at every opportunity, so that both were weary each afternoon when they returned to the stables. The horse showed no sign of strain from this treatment, and Eve found the exertion left her able to fall into sleep at night without thoughts of Quinton intruding upon her rest.
Penny continued to avoid Eve whenever possible. When she spoke to her brother's secretary, she adopted a polite, distant manner that reminded Eve of Quinton when she first met him. It distressed Eve that she and the girl were estranged, but she saw no help for it. Better this than Penny's infatuation with the young man she believed Eve to be.
One drizzly afternoon several days after the dinner party, Eve and Raspberry followed a faint track she had not before explored, since it was some distance from Fallowfeld. The silence was broken only by the soft thud of the horse's hooves on the grassy track and an occasional drip from the branches overhead.
Suddenly a loud whir sounded from under Raspberry's front feet as a dark object exploded from the ground and streaked into the woods. The horse reared and bucked. Eve, whose attention had been elsewhere, went hurtling through the air. When she hit the ground, stabbing pain shot through her arm and leg, then a sharp blow to her head stunned her. She tried to roll to one side, out of the muddy path and onto the verge.
The world seemed to spin before her eyes. She heard a horse's frightened whinny, felt the vibration as hooves struck the ground very close to her, then another blow to her head turned everything black.
* * * *
When Eve did not appear for dinner, James sent a footman to call her, thinking she might have fallen asleep in her chamber. The footman returned to report that the secretary's chamber was empty. James then sent for Mosely, who reported that he had not seen Eve since midafternoon when he had
passed her on the way to the stables.
The two men's eyes met in mutual apprehension, then Mosely ran from the drawing room. He soon returned, to inform James that neither Raspberry nor Eve had been seen since they rode out several hours earlier.
The quickly organized search party was hampered in its task by the rain, which had intensified toward evening, and by the gathering night. It was nearing midnight when one of the grooms, sent to inquire at all of the nearby farms and villages, rode in leading Raspberry.
A lad had found the mare near dusk, peacefully grazing alongside a path the other side of Oatlands. He took her home with him and did not tell his parents of his find. When his father discovered a horse in his cow barn, he had reported it to Sir William.
The groom, who had come from that same village, told James, "Randy's not got much in the brainbox. Never has. But he does love horses, and that's a fact."
James's stomach knotted in fear. "We'll start there, then. Perhaps we can backtrack." At last he could do something besides wait and worry.
Before he departed, he ordered that Mosely was to be located and sent to join him.
The prospect of Eve's having been injured worried him far more than it should. He could not deny that. Several times as they awaited word on the search, he had caught Ackroyd giving him a questioning glance.
And well he should, for James himself did not understand his strong apprehension. Eve Dixon was, after all, merely one of his employees. "He is like a brother to me," he muttered, wiping the damp from his face. "A brother."
For so young a man, Eve was so wise, so competent. And sometimes so outspoken, to James' secret delight. Too many of his employees were apt to toad eat him. He much preferred the independence of mind shown by Mosely and his youthful secretary.
Really, he had developed a fondness for Eve that went beyond that of friendship; he loved the boy like a brother, and would grieve as at a brother's death if he were to be taken from him. No. He would not think of it. Eve might be hurt, he might be unable to make his way back to Fallowfeld, but he was not dead. James clung to that thought as he rode through the wet, miserable night.
It was a full half-hour before he and the groom reached the farm, even though they foolishly galloped their horses along the dark lanes. A sleepy, tousle-headed boy led James to the place where he had found Raspberry.
Telling the groom to return with the boy to the farm to direct Mosely when he arrived, James rode back along the narrow track whence the horse must have come. He went slowly, peering into the rainy darkness, lit only poorly by his inadequate lantern, for a flash of white that might be Eve's face or shirt, wondering how long the lad had been lying unprotected in the rain and cold. Several times, when the track widened, he dismounted to search about the ground.
It was Regal who found Eve, not James. The horse shied at something lying in the track and James, looking ahead, saw a sodden bundle, muddy and crumpled. He pulled Regal up, backed him away from the shape on the ground, and dismounted. Kneeling, he ascertained that Eve still breathed.
Before moving him, James carefully felt of Eve's arms and legs. The left arm seemed broken but his legs were apparently intact. In the lantern's inadequate light, Eve's half seen bloody face frightened him momentarily, until he saw that the blood came from a cut in the center of an ugly swelling high on his forehead.
One of Eve's hands was stretched out, as if he had been trying to crawl along the track. His effort was further evidenced by the mud that clung to his hands and the toes of his boots. He must have collapsed from the exertion, for now he lay prone, his face half-turned into the mud.
If he was able to crawl, surely he cannot be too badly injured.
Praying he would not further harm Eve, James gently turned him onto his back and loosened his cravat. There was blood on his coat, mixed with the mud picked up during his struggle to crawl along the path. Blood had soaked his shirt, as well.
Fearing that Eve was bleeding from unseen wounds, James opened his coat and tried to pull his shirt high enough to reveal the source of the blood. But the shirt was caught under the lad's body, so James was forced to slit the linen.
To his surprise, Eve wore a peculiar shirt-like garment beneath, one with lacing holding it snugly around the chest. As James tried to untangle the wet strings, Mosely arrived, carrying a larger, brighter lantern.
After a quick examination, Mosely pointed out that the blood on Eve's coat had not come from inside it. "All the same, Mr. Jamie, I'd like to see those lacings loosened. They're interfering with 'is breathing, it seems like." He pulled a knife from his boot. Quickly cutting the strings that held the undershirt tight to Eve's body, he pulled it open. His jaw fell.
James stared.
"Oh, my God!" Mosely whispered. "'E's a bloody lass!" He pulled the shirt together.
Stunned, James handed Mosely his cloak, never taking his eyes off Eve's slack-featured face. "Cover her. She's soaked and probably half frozen," he ordered.
Once the cloak was tucked protectively around Eve, the two men looked at one another.
"Well, here's a pretty coil. What are we to do now?" James was as furious as he had earlier been worried. "What the bloody devil could she have been thinking of?" He rose to his feet and stood looking down at the slim body covered with his cloak. Cold rain seeped through his light broadcloth coat.
Mosely, still squatting beside Eve, laid his palm on her forehead. "She's a mite feverish. We've got to get 'er warm and dry, first off, else the fever'll worsen. Did ye check for broken bones?"
"Yes, I'm sure her left arm is broken. Her right ankle is swollen and may be broken as well. I found no other injuries beyond that knot on her forehead." Kneeling again, he touched the swelling. "What worries me is the blood. Where did it come from?"
Mosely ran his fingers through Eve's mud-coated hair. "'Ere," he said after a careful inspection. "A good-sized cut, but not deep, I think. And it's not bleeding no more."
Conscious of a vast relief, James said, "Well then, let's take care of what we can and worry about the other problem later."
Mosely nodded. "Do ye cut me some stout sticks, and I'll splint her arm and leg so's we can carry 'er without making the breaks worse." He handed James his knife.
All three cravats were needed to splint Eve's arm and leg. Although she moaned softly when Mosely pulled her forearm straight, she did not regain consciousness.
After gently poking and prodding at her ankle, Mosely offered the opinion that it was a severe sprain, rather than a break, but he splinted it anyway. While Mosely was binding the ankle, James used his handkerchief to wipe the blood from Eve's face. Her cheeks were pale and hot to his shaking hands.
Regal was obviously the better horse to carry a double load, so James mounted and received Eve's body, securely wrapped in his cloak, into his arms. Mosely led the slow way along the track, back the way they had come. At the edge of the woods, he pulled up.
"Before we go any farther, Jamie, we'd better decide how we'll go on. We can't let everybody know she's a lass."
"Good God, no!" James agreed. "I have been thinking about it. You will have to nurse her, Mosely, for we cannot allow even a doctor to see her. We'd have no assurance of his being able to hold his tongue. Can you imagine the scandal? And we'll have to keep this from Penny and Miss Comstock, as well, for you know how Penny babbles. Can you manage?"
"Me? I ain't no nurse!"
"Nonsense. You told me yourself you'd assisted the surgeon that time half the crew came down with dysentery. If you can nurse a dozen shitting sailors, you can certainly tend a young woman through a bout of fever."
"Put that way, I s'pose I can. After all, there's not that much different 'tween a lad and a lass, not when they're sickly." He chewed his lip. "Of course, if she 'as a concussion, or if 'er fever gets real bad, we may 'ave to call in the doctor."
"Only if we must. I will help you, Mosely, as much as I am able. But it would look strange indeed for me to be nursing a sick employee."
Mosely nodded. "Still, I don't like it, Jamie. It just don't seem right, the two of us taking care of a lass."
"It isn't. But we haven't much choice, not unless we want to ruin her life. She's been living in the London house without even a housekeeper as chaperone. She wouldn't have a shred of reputation left."
"I'd give a pretty penny to know what put 'er up to such a skimble-skamble stunt," Mosely said, shaking his head. He nudged his horse into a walk. "I got me a feeling this ain't going to be the smartest caper we ever pulled."
"Just remember, Eve is still a lad, so far as anyone else knows. It would not do for one of us to make a slip."
"That it wouldn't. I'll keep a close guard on my tongue, never you fear."
James had sent a groom ahead with news that Eve had been found. So when they reached Fallowfeld after an hour's slow travel, most of the servants were still awake and about. Mosely took the responsibility of reassuring them that Mr. Quinton's secretary was injured, but not seriously, and urged them to find their beds.
Penny woke from her uncomfortable sleep in a chair in the drawing room when James carried Eve through the front door. She rushed into the hall and stopped, her expression stricken as she saw the pale, bruised face protruding from the wet bundle in James' arms.
"Oh, is he dead?" she cried in distress.
"No, nor is he seriously injured, I hope," her brother replied. "Just cold and wet. Get yourself to bed, Penny. Mosely and I will take care of Eve."
"May I help, sir?" Miss Comstock asked from the landing. "I have had some experience at nursing the sick."
"No, I think not. Mosely, here, is a fair jackleg doctor and he says he feels confident that he can do all that is needed. You can assist us most by getting my sister tucked into bed and keeping her amused for the next few days."
"Of course, sir," Miss Comstock replied somewhat frostily.
James was aware that he must have hurt her feelings, but at the moment all he cared for was getting Eve into a warm, dry bed. He sent Ackroyd, who looked not one whit less immaculate than if it had been midmorning instead of the middle of the night, to see that hot water and hot, wrapped bricks were immediately sent to Eve's chamber.
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