by Joan Vincent
Mallatt grimaced at Lord Tretain. He had spent the past ten years with the man and still could not say he understood him. While the valet shivered and prayed to be spared a broken neck, Tretain revelled in the cold and snow. He kept the teams at a pace few would dare in the prevailing conditions.
Quite like his lordship, thought Mallatt, who through long service had learned that my lord's usually conservative behaviour could be cast aside on the flick of an eyelash. There had been many incidents over the years that had caused Mallet to shake his head. Like the wager over the ducks crossing the road. That had proven a rare one by the time it ended. But Mallet, like many, believed the aristocracy were entitled and that certainly included Lord Tretain.
Most believed the earl spent his days in leisure travel. That he squandered the money his family had amassed. Mallatt was one of the few who knew the truth. His faith in the man was unshakeable.
Casting a look about, Mallatt thought to bespeak his lord to slow to a safer pace, but seeing the face next to his relaxed, a grin easing the harshness for the first time in many a month, he resigned himself simply to hanging on with the fond hope of preserving life and limb.
Lord Adrian controlled the two teams easily. He sensed their every move and was absorbed in handling them. For this reason and because he was seated to the right, he did not detect the movement to his left directed squarely into his path until it was too late.
By the time both he and the postilion from the coach realized the danger, there was no chance to escape the encounter. As skilfully as Tretain tried to manoeuvre his teams, there was no way to check their forward momentum quickly enough or to swerve them from the path of the other coach.
As the postilion's team became entangled between his pairs, Tretain's phaeton lurched wildly. The earl pulled hard on the reins. He attempted to control his horses as Mallatt lunged for a more secure hold.
Screams and shouts filled the air as those within the coach were thrown about by the frantic lunging and rearing of the entwined teams. For long seconds the phaeton hung in the air, settled to the ground, and again twisted into the air. Tretain stood to leap down just as teams plunged and thrashed wildly in their traces.
The earl realized as he fell that the phaeton was toppling over. He saw Mallatt tumble free in an awkward sprawl away from him. Then the earl's head struck the rising wheel of the overturning phaeton and all turned dark.
CHAPTER 3
During the first few seconds following the collision of the two vehicles, Lady Juliane's comprehension failed her. As she struggled to rise amidst the tangle of petticoats, arms, legs, cloaks, and coverings, her reason reasserted itself. The constant heave-ho action of the coach, which made sorting herself free from the other three bodies on the coach floor nigh impossible, bespoke a mishap of the adverse sort.
Above the caterwaul of Cora, the wail of the babe, and André's shrieks for whomever was atop him to remove herself. Julian also heard angry men's voices and the neighs and struggles of frightened horses.
Outside the coach in the midst of the snowfall the postilion and Mallatt soon got cold enough to realize that the shouting match they were engaged in would help no one. They abruptly snapped their mouths shut and turned to unhitch and untangle the teams.
With the coach finally at a standstill, Lady Juliane disengaged herself from the tangle. Climbing up from the tumbled mass she heard rending cloth to the discordant symphony already filling the coach.
Without pausing to check the nature of the damage, she yanked and pried Cora from her extraordinary position on the coach floor and back to her seat. This allowed André to scamper up with as piqued an expression as his youth allowed him to muster.
Juliane quickly examined him and the babe and found them angered and frightened in turn, but unharmed except for a few bruises. As far as she could ascertain, Cora also was unharmed, although babbling that they must turn back.
"Quiet yourself, Cora,” she admonished sternly. “We are unhurt. Comfort Leora while I see what caused this and what damage was done."
Stepping out of the right-hand side of the coach, Lady Juliane was shocked to see a phaeton on its side. As she trudged through the snow she saw that her postilion and another man had almost separated the entangled teams.
"Was anyone hurt in the phaeton?” she asked when she came up to them.
Mallatt threw a startled glance at her, then dropped his work. “My God, my lord!"
"What is it?” asked Juliane, somewhat startled by his reaction.
"Begging your pardon, but my lord, the Earl of Tretain—he isn't about and I forgot him in the confusion.” Leaving the teams to the postilion, he trudged round the fallen phaeton.
Lifting her skirts to make it easier to trudge through the snow, Juliane followed in his path.
As they rounded the back of the phaeton before them a splash of black stretched out across the snow. It was fast becoming white itself in the continuing snowfall.
Nearing the prone figure, Juliane saw a rose-red splotch slowly spreading beneath the head.
Mallatt knelt and tenderly turned the earl onto his back.
"He must have struck his head in the fall.” The valet pushed a hand through the greatcoat and beneath his waistcoat. “He's breathing still."
"I will get something to bind the wound. Check for broken bones while I do,” Lady Juliane commanded.
The care he held for his lord pressed Mallatt to obedience, riled though he was by orders from someone other than the earl. He finished as Lady Juliane returned.
She knelt at the earl's side, folding a white cloth. “Press this to the wound tightly."
Mallatt did so with a frown; did the woman think him an idiot?
His eyes were diverted from the earl by the screech of ripping cloth. He stared as Lady Juliane finished tearing a strip from the bottom of one of her petticoats.
"What is wrong with you? Hold his head up—how am I to bind it if you do not?"
He watched with reluctant admiration as she deftly bound Lord Tretain's head wound with skilled ease.
Finished, Juliane observed the earl. She shook her head. “It is too bad of me, but I have neither vinaigrette nor smelling salts. Do you..."
The man's disbelieving look convinced her to forego the remainder of the question. Evidently the Earl of Tretain was not subject to fainting spells.
"We must get the earl out of the snow as soon as possible. Cover him with this.” She reached back for the fur she had dropped before kneeling. “Let us see if my coach was damaged."
Returning to the opposite side, she was taken aback by the sight of the postilion trying to turn his team and coach around to the direction from which they had travelled.
"What are you doing?” she demanded sharply.
"I be heading back to sure lodging, that's what I be doing. If it's to your mislike, you can stay here,” the postilion snorted angrily. “The blunt you promise will do me naught if I lose my means of livelihood gettin’ it."
Cora, who had leaned her head out of the coach to hear, hurried out of the coach to add her pleas to the postilion's words.
"Yes, my lady, let us turn back. No good will come of going further. This be a sign for certain!"
Lady Juliane faced them angrily. “Are both of you fools? We have come more than a half-day's journey already. It is idiocy to turn back,” she flared in dismay.
"Call it what you like. I turn back now.” His point made, the postilion grabbed the reins of his team and moved to guide them in the turn.
Realizing the hopelessness of it, Lady Juliane stifled further protest. What was she to do? If she went back, she would not have enough money to travel the entire way. As she pondered, a hand touched her arm.
"Excuse me, my lady,” bowed Mallatt. “How far is it to the posting inn the coachman intends to return to?"
"Over two hours travel—longer with the snow getting worse,” she answered bitterly.
"Too far,” murmured Mallatt to himself.
&
nbsp; "Yes. I have told him so but he cannot get the notion out of his head. Do you know the lay of the land here?” she asked, a faint hope rising.
Mallatt frowned and rubbed his hands together seeking some warmth. “I have not come this way frequently with my lord. Seldom do we stop when we travel this way, but reason says an inn or some shelter must lie ahead. I think I recall some sort of buildings we pass going this way."
"Perhaps you could persuade the postilion to change his mind."
"I doubt it—hirelings of his sort have little pride."
"What will you do?"
"Heave my lord atop a horse and make for warmth."
Lady Juliane surveyed the two pair of horses and the postilion who had almost completed turning his coach. “Could we come with you?"
Mallatt looked at her askance. “Meaning no disrespect, my lady, but that is impossible."
"Why?” she asked boldly.
"Because there is no coach, no saddles for the cattle. No, it is out of the question!"
"I think not. André can ride the horse with the lame foot. You must ride with the earl to hold him. That leaves one for my maid and me and one for the necessary baggage,” she finished decisively.
"My lady, I am certain the earl would not approve."
"He is not able to approve or disapprove."
"My lady,” pleaded Cora. “Do not do this—it is ... would be most unseemly. There is no way to ride we can ride these huge beasts. You cannot mean to do it."
"Of course I shall. We have little choice. Do not be missish."
"I will not go,” bawled Cora.
Baby Leora squirmed in the abigail's arms and began to cry.
Juliane took Leora. She ached from cold and fatigue and was rapidly tiring of Cora's constant tears and fretting. “Then return with the postilion!"
She handed Leora to a startled Mallatt and strode to the coach. Calling André, she asked him to hand out her reticule and then atop the window. When he had done so Juliane reached up and lifted him down. She pulled out some coins as she tramped up to the postilion. When she reached him Juliane slapped some in his hand; the remainder she handed to Cora.
Taking Leora back from Mallatt, she ordered, “Remove our baggage from the coach."
"My lady, I cannot. Without your maid it is even more disastrous to attempt coming with us,” the valet insisted.
"Do as I say, or I will.” She started to hand Leora back to him once again.
Muttering under his breath, Mallatt stepped back and bumped into André.
"Why don't you do as ma mère tells you?” asked André.
Mallatt looked from the small lad to the defiant Juliane. His face twisted with resignation and displeasure. The valet surrendered and went to remove the luggage.
Blubbering, Cora caught at Juliane's cloak. “My lady, don't do this. You must come with us!"
Lady Juliane looked down at her coldly but said nothing.
"What happens you bring on yourself,” Cora flung over her shoulder as she rushed back to the coach lest she be left behind.
The postilion urged his team off as Mallatt clambered down with the last bag. He stood watching it out of sight, then shook himself and set Lady Juliane's and the children's baggage beside the overturned phaeton.
Before he finished, Lady Juliane joined him. She sorted out two valises. Opening one of her larger bags, she withdrew necessities for herself and added those to the contents of the children's valises. The remainder she bid Mallatt to place under the phaeton. She prayed that she would be able to reclaim then later.
Then she ordered the valet to ready a bag for the earl and himself and than to get their baggage secured to one of the horses.
Mallatt seethed under this flurry of orders. The woman was above him in station, but a female nonetheless. Rather than be impudent and assume authority she should have collapsed into hysterics long ago. Her control was not proper in the least, he decided; but stealing looks at her while doing as she bid, he softened toward her.
She was younger than he had first thought, and her bearing and manner bespoke the best of the gentility. She had, after all, been addressed as “my lady” by the blubbering female of a maid. There was also an obvious fatigue about her, an air of strain. He could not but admire that, despite this she seemed to have not a thought for herself, but patiently attended to the children and the earl while she waited for him to finish.
Baggage secured, he paused, uncertain as how to best get everyone mounted. Gazing at the prone figure of the earl with the children huddled against him and Lady Juliane beside him, Mallatt was struck by the image of his lord as a family man. The idea startled him. He shook himself. The earl would not be pleased by such a thought, bit Mallatt privately thought a family was just what the man needed.
Juliane glanced up and perceived the uncertainty in Mallatt's face. There was something else, but she was too tired to pursue it. Rising, she approached him. “Before we continue, I feel we should introduce ourselves. I cannot address you if I do not know your name.” She blushed, hoping he would not mistake her for a snob.
"Indeed, my lady. As I mentioned earlier, yon gentleman is the Earl of Tretain, Adrian Tarrant. I am Mallatt, his valet."
"I am Lady Juliane—that is Master André and Miss Leora.” She opened her mouth as if to add something, then hesitated, biting her lower lip. With a slight shrug she continued, “I had better help you get Lord Tretain astride first.” She hoped Mallatt had noticed she had not given her family name.
Shocked by her final statement Mallatt disagreed. “No, my lady. I will mount you and the children first."
"No."
He saw that Lady Juliane clearly wore the look of one accustomed to being obeyed. Mallatt shrugged inwardly. Let her have her way now. He would have his in the end regardless. “Yes, my lady,” he said with a bow.
Together they lifted, shoved, then pushed and pulled Lord Tretain astride. No easy task with his size and weight. Adding to the difficulty the steed, unaccustomed to the commotion and the condition of the rider, constantly shifted away from them. Both Juliane and Mallatt were panting by the time they had the earl settled on the horse. Much to his benefit, he had remained unconscious.
"Master André,” Mallatt asked, “are you frightened of horses?"
"Non. I have ridden often with ma mère and mon père at home."
"Come, hold the horse then, stroke him,” the valet instructed as he led the mount beside one of the upturned wheels.
"You, my lady, must hold the earl in place while I get in position behind him."
Juliane was glad of her height and strength as she held the earl's arm while Mallatt scrambled up the carriage front and atop the wheel. It threatened to turn as he stepped across it, but he was able to plop aboard the startled horse before the wheel did so. “Excellent, Master André. You must be an excellent horseman,” praised Mallatt as Lady Juliane took the reins from André and handed them to him.
As he prepared to give his best “now what will you do?” grimace to Lady Juliane, she turned and untied the horse with the baggage and the lame one.
Leading them up to him, she handed over the reins without even pausing to look at Mallatt. Picking up André, she put him atop the lame horse.
Mallatt was sure she would now be at an impasse. How could she mount without a saddle of any sort, let alone with the babe to handle.
Juliane, however, was oblivious to the fact that she should be at loggerheads as to what to do. She merely looked about and decided on a course of action. Picking up Leora, she placed her atop the upturned wheel that Mallatt had used to mount. She handed the fur piece to Mallatt for the earl. One of the other coverings she put around André, tucking it under the harness as best she could. The last she laid beside Leora.
Satisfied that everything was ready, she went to the phaeton and pulled out a small trunk. Untying the reins of the last horse, she stepped upon the trunk. She turned to look at Mallatt, who watched with intense interest. “Would you b
e so good as to close your eyes?” she asked.
Mallatt struggled valiantly, if somewhat ineffectively, to suppress a broad grin and did as she asked.
Juliane turned back to the horse, lifted her skirt and petticoats waist high, and then flung a leg over the horse. With a struggle she squirmed about until she managed to get astride. After endeavouring unavailingly to lower her petticoats and skirt to a more modest level, she laughed.
Mallatt opened his eyes at the sound. He looked admiringly at the exposed trim, hosed ankle and calf.
"In truth, Mallatt,” Lady Juliane tossed at him, “I do not know whether to blush for want of modesty or to curse for want of warmth."
He laughed in reply. “Since you will evidently have to suffer from both, I suggest we find shelter."
Juliane urged her mount alongside the wheel and snatched up Leora and the cover. Bundling the babe as best she could, she settled the babe in the crook of one arm and placed her mount's reins in that hand. Reining the horse alongside Mallatt, she took the reins of André's horse from him.
"I best lead, my lady. Stay close behind,” Mallatt told her. An hour later he halted.
Lady Juliane came alongside. “Do you see anything?” she asked through teeth clacking with cold.
"Only the snow, I fear, my lady. Are you all right?"
"Trying to manage her frozen face into a reassuring smile, she nodded.
"Master André, how are you?” worried Mallatt as he tried to check the figure of the small boy.
"Froid,” came the clear reply.
"Keep your hands covered and hold on tightly. When you think you cannot—call out,” he instructed the boy.
"Do you understand?” shouted Juliane.
"Oui ... ‘mama.’”
Wordlessly Mallatt urged his horse forward.
Juliane lost track of time after that. The arm which cradled Leora grow more numb by the minute. “Will I ever be able to move it again?” she wondered aloud. Close to exhaustion, she grew very sleepy. Even the cold no longer seemed so terrible. Juliane became unaware of Mallatt ahead or that her horse followed the first two from instinct, not from her guidance. It grew increasingly harder to keep her eyes open.