Her Ladyship's Companion

by Joanna Bourne

  “No,” Jamie contradicted instantly. “He’ll just say you shouldn’t go. And then the master’ll give you orders. Besides, they’re all up on the cliffs. I’ll go with you.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t. Stay inside. I don’t want you lost, too.”

  He said with touchingly adult concern, “You need me to show you how to get across the bridge. It isn’t all that easy.”

  “I didn’t think it would be,” she said dryly. “Very well. You come with me and carry the light.” She resolved not to let him make the crossing himself.

  Maybe it would be best if the two of them went alone. He was right. Anyone who saw them would stop them. It was a mad errand.

  They took lanterns from the array prepared on the kitchen table and faded quietly out of the babble in the back courtyard. Then they went through the formal gardens, unrecognizable in the rain, their swinging lights casting strange shadows across the stone nymphs. Melissa, with only a thin wool cloak, was quickly wet and cold. She wondered how Robbie was keeping warm that night. Jamie slogged along behind her, ignoring discomfort, single-minded in his effort to find his friend.

  “This is the path here,” he said, directing her once they were in the woods.

  She lifted her lantern. The trees all looked alike to her at night. She had to follow his lead. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.” He proved correct, bringing them in short order to the edge of the little lake that lay at the heart of the wood.

  Melissa’s feet were in mud up to the ankle. “Robbie! Robbie! Where are you?” she called out toward the island that lay, barely visible, across the expanse of water. There was no reply but the sound of rain hitting the trees. She shivered. “Robbie!” she called again.

  “That’s the bridge over there.” Jamie guided her around the edge of the lake, slipping a little in the deep mud. The bridge arched over the water, still graceful. But Melissa knew it was treacherous, the boards rotted, the handrails only a snare for the unwary. She found it hard to believe that the youngsters had been using it regularly. Lady Dorothy was right. It should have been torn down long ago. What a pair of young fools. And she was just as bad. After all, here she was.

  Still, she’d made a promise. She handed her lantern to Jamie. “You follow behind me with both lights until I tell you to stop,” she instructed. “Then stay there and hand the lantern back to me. Don’t come an inch farther than I say.”

  She scraped the mud off her shoes on the first step of the bridge to make her footing less slick, rolled up her sleeves, and left her hampering cloak slung over what was left of the handrail. She couldn’t very well become any wetter than she already was without falling into the lake.

  This was no time for dignity. On her hands and knees, pounding the boards in her path soundly with her fist, she inched forward. Jamie showed the light over her shoulder.

  “Be careful,” she warned him. “Here’s a board missing.” She crawled across the opening. “Don’t touch the handrail. It isn’t safe.” That was an understatement. A whole section of the railing was about to fall down.

  They made slow progress until they reached the highest point of the arch in the middle of the lake. Melissa was just thinking that the bridge was not as bad as she’d thought. It was.

  “Jamie, look. This whole section is out,” she said with mingled disappointment and relief. “Nobody can convince me that Robbie made it across that. He can’t be on the island. This is why they didn’t look. We might as well go back.” Against all probability she had begun to hope that Jamie’s hunch was right. Now that was impossible.

  “You can get over this part,” Jamie insisted, practically pushing her forward, “The rail here is good, see, and you just go hand over hand along the side, sort of crablike. It’s easy.” He inspected the great gap critically. “There’s another piece come off in the rain. That’s what makes it look hard. But you can still make it, if you try. You’ve got to try, at least.” He held the two lanterns up, one in each hand, to light the railing for her.

  However adequate a footing it might look to a scatterbrained child, it was not going to support the weight of a grown woman. Melissa would have to tell him so. She faced him, assured and rational. “Jamie ...”

  In the lantern light Jamie’s face was dripping with more than rain. He was crying. “Oh, miss, you’ve just got to.”

  So much for assurance and rationality. “Damn,” she swore under her breath.

  She measured the space with her eye. Could she possibly jump it? No. It was much too wide, and slippery as well. Despite the handrail, she’d be sure to go into the cold water in the lake below and probably break her neck. And there were nasty jagged remnants of drowned trees sticking up to impale her if she fell. Not to mention boards with nails in them, fallen off the bridge.

  She reached out and shook the railing. It creaked ominously. If Robbie ever came back, she would have his head for daring to be on this bridge. She pushed her full weight against the railing and stopped suddenly. It was about to give way. If I use it for balancing, she thought, and don’t lean on it very much, it just might hold. Then again, it might not.

  She squeezed some of the water out of her skirts to make herself lighter on her feet. “Don’t you dare follow me, Jamie.” Cuddling the wood rail against her belly, her feet sliding sideways across the exposed struts of the bridge, she started out, inch by inch.

  What was that? Nails, pointed outward. She set her foot cautiously in another spot. Charming. Absolutely charming. What idiot ever put this summerhouse out in this damned lake anyway? Another step, then another, and her foot, feeling out blindly, found a solid board on the other side. She stepped down on it and let it sag beneath her. Ah, the relief.

  Jamie made as if to follow her. “No! Stop that,” she said, more sharply than she’d yet spoken to him. “Stay there. There’s no need for both of us over. here. I may need you to carry a message. Hand me the lantern and wait. I promise I’ll look carefully.”

  His pale face glimmered in the flickering light. He made a decision. He nodded. “Go ahead then, Miss Rivenwood. I trust you.”

  It took a minute to pry a pronged piece of wood from the rotted railing to reach the lantern across to her.

  Then she went on alone. The bridge was in better condition near the island. At the far end she glanced back. Jamie was a dim, patient figure in the middle of the lake, the light of his lantern reflecting off the rippling water.

  Back in the mud again, fighting for balance, Melissa cupped her hands to her mouth and lurched forward. “Robbie!” she screamed, not once but again and again. The wind whipped strands of wet hair across her face. This little spot of land wasn’t big, a hundred yards from end to end. At the center, dirt had been carried in to smooth a grassy hill. Everything was overgrown with impenetrable vines. She staggered along the rocky shoreline.

  “Robbie!” Her voice echoed back to her, weirdly distorted by the water. She’d come so far. Every possible spot had to be searched. She struggled onward. Once around the island. She was back to the bridge again. Jamie was still motionless. Some flower, hidden by the overgrowth, gave off a heavy scent through the rain as she crushed it underfoot. The rain clattered on the roof of the little summerhouse.

  “Robbie!” she called. She heard only the rustling in reply.

  She stopped to listen. What was that? There was a sound, distinct, but not repeated. There had once been a smooth lawn running up to the building, though now it was a mud field. The summerhouse was completely ruined, the roof caved in. Melissa directed her feeble light around the outside, then inside among the fallen timbers. There was no entry visible from this side.

  She circled the little wreck, trying not to trip on the straggling vines, shaking with cold. Yes. Bending down, one could enter from this side.

  Two walls were still standing beneath the collapsed roof. She flickered the light around inside, suppressing thoughts of bats, snakes, and other crawling things that no doubt sought sanctuary among the rotting timb
ers. She knelt on the ground, making great muddy patches on the front of her dress. There was nothing in the ruin of the summerhouse but wet tendrils of vegetation, wood strewn about every which way, dripping beams and a pile of rags.

  Melissa was about to leave when some trick of light caught the curve of a hand, there in the shadows, amid what she’d dismissed as a pile of rags.

  No. It was impossible. Heedless of the jagged wood sticking out in her path and the exposed nails, she bent almost double and crawled across the floor to reach him.

  It was Robbie. “Oh, my God,” she breathed, horrified. She rolled him over, turning his white face up to the light. For a moment she thought he was dead, so cold was his body to her touch. Then a slight movement of his eyelids, the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest convinced her that he lived. She held the lantern up over the still form. There was blood all over his soaked shirt. But the only wounds she could see were long, deep scratches on his forearm. His arms and legs lay at natural angles. She carefully lifted his head, cradled it in her lap, and pulled back the wet rags he’d wrapped around himself. His clothes were torn in a dozen places, ripped away from his shoulder with a jagged tear, but he wasn’t bleeding.

  Under her touch the boy stirred. His eyes opened and he focused foggily upon her face. “Nanny?” he croaked feebly.

  Unspeakably relieved that he had moved and spoken, she leaned over and pressed her forehead against his chest. “I’m here, love. It’s all right now.”

  The boy closed his eyes, too weak to do more. But she thought he’d understood. “So cold. Fell,” he murmured.

  “Don’t move,” she told the unresponsive body. Stupidly she added, “Wait right here.” She left him and scrambled backward out of the little hidey-hole in the bottom of the ruin and ran to the foot of the bridge.

  “Jamie!” she yelled over the water. “Go back! Hurry! Get the men. I’ve found him. I’ve found Robbie, and he’s hurt. Bring help at once.”

  “Right away!” Jamie called triumphantly. The light bobbed rapidly up and down toward the shore, then vanished in the trees.

  In the shattered building Melissa gathered Robbie up in her arms, Without even a soggy cloak to wrap him in, sitting in the dripping water that found its way through the fallen roof, she pulled her damp skirt across him and hugged him tightly to her body, trying to infuse some of her warmth into him. In a very few, agonizingly long minutes she heard footsteps on the bridge.

  “Jamie?” a voice called. “Is that you? Come away from there at once. How dare you disobey my orders?”

  “It’s me, Melissa Rivenwood. I’ve found Robbie.”

  “Miss Rivenwood?” The response was incredulous. A light appeared at the entrance hole, illuminating the interior of the little ruin. Thunder crashed in the distance. She could see it was Harold. “I saw your lamp across the lake,” he said. “I thought it was that fool boy, Jamie.” His lanky frame was too large to squeeze between the boards blocking the little space beneath the summerhouse roof. “You’ve got him. Who would have dreamed it? How badly is he hurt?”

  “I can’t tell. I can’t see any bones broken. No bleeding. But he’s dreadfully cold. We’ve got to get him out of this rain at once.” Melissa, with Robbie’s weight a heavy burden, began to inch painfully toward the entrance.

  “How did you ever think of finding him here? I never thought ... I mean, how did he ever get here? And how did you?”

  “Jamie brought me. I’ve sent him to get help.” She had Robbie out now. Harold had reached out to take Robbie’s limp body from her. Now he drew back and instead began removing his coat. “Here,” he offered. “Wrap him up in that. There, that’s good. How badly off is he?”

  “He spoke a minute ago. But he’s so wet, so cold. He must have been here for hours.” Awkwardly Melissa wrapped Robbie in the coat.

  “Let me have him,” Harold ordered. “We’ll see if we can get him back across the bridge.” He lifted the boy up and waited until Melissa managed to regain her feet. Then he followed her toward the bridge, picking his way carefully through the mud. “How on earth did you ever get over here?”

  “It wasn’t easy,” Melissa admitted grimly. “I don’t even see how Robbie got across. I say! Take care there!” she snapped as Robbie’s head lolled loosely across Harold’s arm. “His back may be injured.”

  “Oh, very sorry.” Harold stood at the foot of the bridge irresolutely. “We’ll need someone to repair that central section of bridge. Can’t possibly get across as it is. Go on back, Miss Rivenwood. Tell them we need some lumber and a few men. I’ll wait here with the boy.”

  Melissa stepped onto the bridge. Harold, in the relative shelter of the pines at the edge of the lake, shifted the small, tightly wrapped bundle uneasily. “Hurry, Miss Rivenwood,” he urged.

  There were noises in the distance. “Listen. They’re coming.” She came back. “There. Look.” She pointed to where the lights were visible through the trees. Harold’s face worked with strong emotion as he watched the searchers approaching. Melissa thought he was about to burst into tears. It was that soft heart of his. He must care more for the boy than she ever knew.

  “You’ve got Robbie?” Giles called over the water.

  “Yes. He’s here!” she answered. “Be careful on the bridge. You’ll have to send some lumber. There are boards out.”

  “Damn it, I can see that.” The tall figure ran the length of the unsteady bridge and cleared the center, where the great gap yawned, in a single leap. Then he was with them.

  “Where is he?”

  “Here. I have him.” Harold was reluctant, somehow, to let the boy go into Giles’s arms. Unheeding, Giles took him. He stared intently into Robbie’s face.

  “He’s still alive. I’d almost ...”

  “I don’t think anything’s broken. For heaven’s sake,” Melissa pleaded, “be careful with him. He’s not a sack of meal.”

  Giles pulled the coat closely around the boy. Rudely jerked around, Robbie struggled back to consciousness. “Nanny!” he cried again weakly, .trying to rise.

  “Lie quietly, son,” Giles said with surprising gentleness. “We’ll have you home in a minute.”

  Harold was saying something, but Giles brushed him aside rudely. With Robbie in his arms he turned back to the bridge.

  “Wait till we get it fixed,” Harold called after him. “You fool! You’ll both go over the side.”

  At the center of the bridge Giles held the boy against his chest with one arm, as if he were feather light. He grabbed the rail. Confidently he braced his foot on the edge of the strut work and swung out over empty air. The railing groaned and started to splinter. But it held long enough to get him to the other side. He made it look easy.

  Harold scuttled after him, making as clumsy and undignified a crossing as Melissa herself, had anyone stayed to see. But the crowd of grooms and farmers was milling through the woods and back to the house,

  All the lamps and shouting were gone. If possible, it began to rain even harder. Lightning struck close by, somewhere out at sea. As a last indignity Melissa’s lantern flickered and died. Melissa draped herself in her sodden cloak and squelched wearily back up the muddy path to the house.

  Chapter 15

  I’m so confused. Nothing that’s happened makes any sense. Or none that I’m willing to admit.

  Excerpt from the letter of Melissa Rivenwood to Cecilia Luffington, August 3, 1818

  “It was holding up when I went over. I’ve been across it a hundred times.” Robbie peered up at his uncle defensively. “I know you told me not to go over there, but it’s my land after all.”

  “We’ll discuss that aspect of the matter later,” Giles promised in a way that boded no good for future discussions. They all were gathered upstairs, anxiously monitoring Robbie’s recovery.

  Robbie hurried on with his story. “Honestly, it was safe. There’s a board in the very middle of the bridge that lies between the open spaces. It’s an easy jump. Just one, two ...
Then you’re across. It was steady when I went across this morning. It didn’t even wobble. If it had, I would have checked it over next time. But it was fine. Then, after the rain had started and I headed back to the house, it just went. I hit the board, and it flipped out from underneath me.”

  “The board broke, Robbie,” Harold said gently. “Half the boards in that bridge are rotted through. You haven’t been kept away from the island arbitrarily.” He leaned against the wall of Robbie’s bedroom, trying to look severe and not succeeding. “Next time listen to your guardian’s orders.”

  Robbie ignored that advice. “Anyway, the board slipped out when I stepped on it, and I couldn’t catch hold of the side of the bridge fast enough when I went over.” Several long, superficial gashes on his arm showed where he had clutched desperately for the wooden railing and had scraped against exposed nails. “So I fell. There’s a lot of sharp stuff under the water, old tree limbs and things, I guess. I’m always getting fishing line tangled up on it. I hit some of that, and it knocked the wind out of me. And when I was in the water, I couldn’t make out which way the shore was.”

  “The first thing we’ll do when you’re back on your feet is take you down to Ludden and teach you how to swim properly,” Giles said. “Then I’ll spend the next ten years keeping you out of the tide race along the coast here. Robbie, you’re going to drive me to an early grave.”

  Robbie grinned. The prospect pleased. He was little the worse for wear now that he was wrapped up warm and dry in his bedroom. Nanny had brought hot bricks for his feet, and everyone was fussing over him. The Providence that protects children and fools, into both of which categories Robbie fitted, had decreed that he escape nearly unhurt, but Melissa, listening to the husky rasp in his voice, feared a cold—or worse, pneumonia—from this wetting and wished a doctor would come.

  “I can swim already,” Robbie said loftily. Then his face clouded. “But it was awfully cold. That was why I had trouble swimming. And you can’t see where you’re going with the rain so bad. When I got out of the water, I was sick. And I didn’t know where I was. I don’t even remember going into the summerhouse. I was so cold that every time I tried to get up I got sick. I remember that. I kept thinking that I’d just wait a few more minutes and then I’d get up and go home. Then I fell asleep until you carne and got me.” He smiled confidently up at his uncle Giles. Melissa shuddered, knowing that with his exposure to cold and rain, it was a “sleep” from which he would never have awakened.