A Marriageable Miss (26 page)

‘Good heavens, no! I’d really rather you didn’t!’ gasped Helena, her eyes wide with concern. ‘If you should slip—oh, do come back, Richard, please—I beg of you!’

At the sound of his name on her lips, Richard’s heart swelled and he vowed that he would retrieve the blasted hat for her, if it was the last thing he ever did!

As it happened, reaching the snagged object did not present him with much of a problem but, no sooner did he have it in his hands than he realised that returning to the footpath was going to prove a far more complicated matter. His downward progress had been helped to a large extent by the looseness of the muddy scree, which would be of little use in any upward scramble. Scanning the terrain both to his left and to his right, he could see that the same difficulty presented itself all along the riverbank, indicating that just one ill-judged foothold might easily be the means of pitching him into the rock-strewn river below.

Grinding his teeth, he muttered several violent imprecations. So much for his juvenile attempt at heroics! The last thing he needed was to have to ask Helena to run back to the Hall and fetch help. Looking up, he could see that she was now on her knees, peering down at him over the edge of the bank. In her hands she held a coil of rope.

‘I found this in one of your saddle bags,’ she called down to him. ‘If I throw one end to you, you could tie it around your waist. Then, if I tie the other end to Titan, perhaps I could get him to help to pull you up.’

Richard grimaced. ‘Great idea, in principle,’ he grunted.
‘Trouble is, Titan has a slightly obstinate streak and it’s doubtful whether he’ll let you anywhere near him.’

‘No harm in trying, anyhow,’ retorted Helena, as she disappeared from his view. ‘He didn’t kick up too much of a fuss when I took the rope out of the saddlebag.’

Several minutes passed, during which time Richard made numerous valiant but unsuccessful attempts to hoist himself up the slippery bank. Then, to his astonishment, he saw the end of the rope flipping down towards him and, although there was no sign of Helena at this point, he could not mistake the swish of Titan’s black tail as his rear end gradually began to appear at the top of the incline, indicating that she had, by some incredible means or another, managed to persuade the huge gelding to back up to the very edge of the riverbank.

‘Now, tie yourself on to the end of the rope,’ he heard her voice commanding him and, although he did not hold out a great deal of hope of her plan meeting with much success, he coiled the rope securely around his middle, carefully looping the bonnet’s ribbons into the finished knot.

‘Ready!’ he called, still slightly amazed by the fact that she had managed to persuade the rather self-willed Titan to comply with her wishes.

All at once, he felt a tug at his waist and, scarcely able to believe what was happening, he reached up and grabbed hold of the rope, only to find himself being pulled, surely but steadily, back up to the top of the incline.

With his feet back on terra firma once more, he turned thankfully towards the source of his rescue where he saw Helena hurriedly sliding down from his charger’s saddle! Quickly untying the rope from his middle, he grasped the bonnet in his hand and stepped forwards, holding it out towards her.

‘A little worse for wear, I fear,’ he said, giving her a slightly rueful grin before glancing down at his heavily soiled shirt and breeches and adding, ‘As, indeed, am I, it would appear!’

Ignoring both the bonnet and his mud-splattered garments, Helena, her eyes wide with incredulity, stared up at him for a long
moment, took one shuddering breath and then, to his utter dismay, dissolved into a flood of tears, before throwing herself at him and proceeding to pummel his chest with her clenched fists.

‘You stupid, stupid idiot!’ she cried. ‘You could have fallen into the river and been swept to your death on the rocks!’

‘Well, I didn’t and I wasn’t, so no more tears, if you please,’ he returned, forcing a light laugh as, capturing her hands between his own, he found himself filled with a sense of wild elation to learn that Helena had actually been concerned for his safety. ‘And all thanks to your quick thinking—although, how the devil you got Titan to allow you up on his back defeats me!’

‘It’s amazing what an apple and a pocket full of biscuits will do,’ replied Helena, somewhat self-consciously, as she tried, without success, to free herself from Richard’s hold. ‘I really brought them to give to your colts, but he seemed perfectly amenable to doing as I asked, once he discovered my store of goodies.’

‘Well, I’ll be—!’exploded the earl, casting the now peacefully cropping Titan a scornful look. ‘And, there’s me been deceived into thinking him a one-man horse all these years, when it seems that he’ll do anything for a piece of apple!’

‘Oh, no! I shouldn’t think so,’ she said, with a vehement shake of her head. ‘I’m sure that he only followed my commands because he sensed that you needed his help—horses have that sort of second sight, I’m told.’

‘So I believe,’ he said, smiling down at her flushed face. Gently releasing her hands, he pulled her towards him and held her close. ‘Nevertheless, I consider that you are the one to whom I owe the most thanks.’

Locked in the warmth of her husband’s caress, Helena would have been more than happy to remain there indefinitely had not the sound of Charles Standish’s voice, hailing them from the far side of the river, destroyed the harmony of the moment.

‘Enough of that, you pair of lovebirds!’ he called laughingly. ‘I was just about to come over and collect you, Helena. Your people are awaiting your instructions and I wasn’t sure what plans you had for them this morning.’

Mentally cursing his cousin for so untimely an interruption, Richard released Helena and bent down to retrieve his discarded jacket.

‘Back to work, then,’ he said, catching hold of Titan’s trailing reins and holding out his arm to her. ‘I’m really sorry about the bonnet—I trust it isn’t totally beyond repair?’

‘Oh, I dare say that it will serve for the present,’ replied Helena with a casual shrug, as she strove to regain her composure. Having made every effort to tug the now sadly misshapen article into a more recognisable shape, she crammed it on her head, and then attempted to tie the heavily begrimed ribbons into some semblance of a bow. At which, her lips began to twitch and, before she knew it, she was chuckling aloud.

‘What a sight, the pair of us are,’ she gurgled, looking down at the front of her bodice, where a good deal of the mud from Richard’s shirt had deposited itself during their recent close contact. ‘Lord and Lady Muck, to the very letter!’

Such unexpected levity when confronted with her decidedly bedraggled appearance only served to underline the earl’s growing admiration for his wife and, even though her hat was crooked, her hair was coming adrift from its pins and her nose and cheeks were liberally speckled with dirt, to him she had never looked more beautiful and desirable.

Grinning broadly, he stood back and swept her a highly theatrical bow, at the same time drawling in an extremely affected tone of voice, ‘To work, then, your ladyship—it appears there are estate matters that demand our attention—and to keep one’s workforce waiting is considered pretty bad form, don’t you know!’

With an answering smile, Helena tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and allowed him to escort her over the bridge to meet up with the clearly mystified Standish.

‘What on earth have you been up to?’ he exclaimed, after taking an astonished look at their highly dishevelled appearances.

‘Just a minor disagreement,’ replied the earl, as he shot a smiling glance at his wife.

‘Ending with a satisfactory conclusion, I trust?’ enquired his
cousin, looking from one to the other for some sort of confirmation. ‘You certainly did not look to be at odds with one another a few moments ago!’

‘Oh, we weren’t at odds with one another,’ the blushing Helena put in hurriedly. ‘It was just my bonnet!’

‘Yes, I can see how it might have brought about something of a difference of opinion,’ said Standish, as he eyed the offending article.

Helena could not help but burst out laughing at the expression on his face. ‘Let me assure you that it didn’t start out like this when I left home. The fact is that the wind swept it out of my hands and trapped it in the roots of a willow tree. His lordship was good enough to go to its rescue and I was simply—er—expressing my thanks, just as you arrived.’

‘Perhaps you would prefer to go back to Westpark and change, before you face your eager minions?’ he then suggested, but Helena shook her head.

‘Certainly not! I dare say I shall look a good deal worse than this by the time I’ve swept out a few rooms.’

Standish’s brow furrowed. ‘But, I thought that was what you brought that pack of “down-and-outs” here for? Surely you don’t intend to involve yourself personally in the clearing-up operation?’

‘But, of course I do!’ Helena stared at him in some surprise. ‘You cannot suppose that I will simply stand around dishing out orders, right and left, surely?’

After a short pause, during which the silent Standish eyed her with undisguised amazement, she added quietly, ‘And I would be grateful if you would refrain from referring to my people as “down-and-outs”. I’ll have you know that all of these men are displaced soldiers and the women, for the most part, are those who have been left widowed and destitute, as a result of their husbands having been killed while serving their king and country!’

With that, she swung away from the two men and marched off in the direction of the Hall, leaving a transfixed Richard staring after her, his heart swelling with a mixture of emotions that included awe, admiration and respect—but, most of all, an even
deeper love than he could ever have believed possible. Had they been allowed just a few minutes longer, before that magical spell had been broken by Charles’s intervention, he was almost certain that he and Helena might well have resolved their differences. Letting out a soft sigh, he wondered how long it would be before another such perfect moment would present itself.

Having heard the sigh and taken note of the changing expressions on his cousin’s face, Standish, taking his elbow and urging him forwards, remarked gently, ‘Things still not working out between the pair of you, old chap? Could’ve sworn that you both looked quite—how shall I put it?—
besotted
with each other back then.’

‘Had it not been for your blasted interruption,’ grunted the earl, as he shrugged off his cousin’s hand and strode up the path in his wife’s wake, ‘we might well have been about to reach some sort of understanding.’

‘Oh, lor!’ groaned Standish, hurrying after him. ‘Sorry about that—I’ll try to be more careful in future.’

Richard halted and, with a rueful grin on his face, turned to face his cousin.

‘No offence, Charles,’ he said awkwardly, holding out his hand for the other to shake. ‘Fact is, I soaked up rather too much of the old grape juice yesterday and I’m now like the proverbial bear—with a very sore head. Forgive my lapse of manners?’

With a quick smile, Standish grasped the outstretched hand, exclaiming, ‘I only wish there was something I could do to help—I hate to see you looking so low.’

‘The fact that you are here at all is good enough for me,’ returned Richard gruffly. ‘Just two of us Standish boys left now, so we’re going to have to stick together!’

T
horoughly exhausted but highly pleased with the results achieved by her hotchpotch force in just a single day, Helena stood in the rear courtyard, smiling up at the Hall’s now gleaming windows. It was clear that Rueben Corrigan’s choice of workers had proved surprisingly beneficial to her cause.

It had transpired that several of the men, including Rueben himself, had been apprentice carpenters before an over-zealous sense of patriotism, along with a youthful craving for adventure and excitement, had prompted them to volunteer themselves for military service, some eight years earlier. Having then found themselves required to participate in some of the most savage acts of violence known to man, in the process of which they had lost many of their friends and comrades, these initially exuberant young countrymen had been forced to contend with the biting cold of the Spanish winters, along with the overpowering heat of its summers. They had endured unbelievable privations during eight long years of bitter campaigning, often subsisting on scavenged victuals for weeks on end, only to find themselves—following Napoleon’s final capitulation—cast adrift with callous indifference, with no thought or consideration as to their future welfare and even, in a great many cases, left to make their own way back to their homeland.

Totally disillusioned, huge numbers of these displaced ex-soldiers had been forced into a life of crime in order to survive; many of them had banded together and were presently engaged in terrorising whole communities throughout the land, instilling unrest among workers and inciting them to rise up against their employers.

Others, such as Rueben Corrigan, Ben Fuller and their like, had made every effort to find work and, despite continual setbacks, had succeeded in keeping themselves on the straight and narrow, their only succour often being the daily ration of bread and soup served out by the various soup kitchens set up by the many small charitable organisations throughout the kingdom.

‘A splendid day’s work, Mr Fuller,’ exclaimed Helena, beaming her appreciation at the wiry young man standing by her side. ‘If every day progresses as well as this one has done, we shall have the old house back on its feet in no time at all.’

‘It’s certainly a fine old building,’ nodded her companion, standing back to admire the newly repaired window-frame that he had just finished fitting. ‘That panelling in the great hall is quite magnificent. My old master, back in Leicestershire, would probably give his eye teeth just to get a peek at it—a great admirer of Gibbon’s work, was my Mr Tobias.’

Nodding absentmindedly, since her attention had been diverted by the sudden sight of her husband approaching from the stables, Helena’s heart executed a joyous leap but, upon observing that the earl had been diverted by a call from his cousin who, while leaning out of the window of the Hall’s morning room on the first floor, from where he had been directing various operations, was eagerly relating his part in the day’s activities, she took a deep breath and attempted to focus her mind on what her companion was telling her.

‘Did I hear you say that you were apprenticed to a Mr Tobias, Ben?’ she asked, her mind flitting back to a recent article that she had read on wood-carving. ‘That wouldn’t have been a Mr Hector Tobias, of Enderby, would it?’

‘Why, yes, indeed it would, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘Didn’t serve
my full time, of course—on account of my brothers persuading me to join up with them—both dead now, sadly—and precious little chance of him taking me back on again, at my age.’

‘Your old master is said to be somewhat of an expert, I believe?’

‘Oh, a proper wizard with the carving knives, he was, ma’am,’ returned the young man, with a wide grin. ‘The local folk used to say that he would have given that Gibbons fellow a run for his money, if he had still been around!’

Nodding thoughtfully, Helena studied Fuller’s enthusiastic expression for a moment or two then, making up her mind, she asked him, ‘Do you suppose he would be interested in coming down here to Surrey to take a look at our panels, with a view to replicating those that have suffered the worst damage?’

Fuller’s eyes widened. ‘I should think that sort of thing would be right up Mr Tobias’s street, your ladyship—I’ll get a letter off to him right away and thank you for thinking of him, ma’am! Now that the roof and the window frames are finished, we can get on with stripping off the panelling and sorting out the good from the bad.’

With another smile, he dipped his head and was on the point of turning away from her when, glancing upwards to feast his eyes on the now completed roofwork, the smile was instantly wiped from his face, to be replaced by a look of total dismay.

Uttering a violent
‘Look out, sir!’
, he flung himself across the courtyard towards the earl.

Hearing the warning shout, Richard spun round and took a step forwards. Seconds later, at the very moment that Fuller cannoned into him, hurling them both to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs, a huge shower of roof slates shattered all around the pair of them, sending a myriad of splintering shards in all directions, as the heavy slate made violent contact with the courtyard’s paving-stones.

For almost a full minute, there was a heavy pall of silence as those who had witnessed the accident endeavoured to make sense of what had happened but then, as realisation dawned, all hell broke loose as, first, Helena and then a score or more of the other
workers dashed over to remove the debris that had descended upon the pair.

Ignoring the cuts and scratches to her hands, Helena frantically thrust aside the broken bits of slate, only to reveal the terrifying sight of her husband’s face, his features totally obliterated by a mixture of blood and dirt!

‘Gently, gently!’ she beseeched, as the anxious band of willing helpers strove to extricate the seemingly lifeless pair from beneath the pile of rubble.
Don’t let him be dead
, she prayed silently,
please don’t let him be dead! Dear God, I love him so much!

Catching hold of Richard’s hand, she held it to her lips, as the men, having lifted the earl free, carried him across to the other side of the courtyard and laid him reverently down on the lawn. Scarcely able to breathe for fear of what she might learn, she knelt down and pressed her head against his chest. As the blessed sound of a racing heartbeat thundered into her ear, she let out a wild sob of exultation and threw her arms around him.
He was alive
!

All at once, Richard’s eyes flicked open and, lifting his hand, he swiped the congealing blood away from his nose and mouth and stared up at her.

‘What the hell happened?’ he asked hoarsely, as he gradually became aware that he was no longer trapped beneath the man who had thrown himself at him and that the arms that were pinioning him to the ground, were in fact, Helena’s!

‘There was an accident,’ she said breathlessly, making a valiant attempt to straighten herself up, only to find that her husband had wrapped his arms across her back and was intent upon keeping her where she was. ‘A pile of slates fell from the roof—Mr Fuller tried to—!’

‘Yes, I remember now,’ he replied testily, hurriedly letting go of her and struggling to rise to his feet. ‘The young fellow who pushed me to one side—where is he—was he hurt?’

His eyes travelled across the grass, to the spot where the men had laid Ben Fuller. He, unlike, his master, lay unmoving, a weeping Cissie Pritchard doing her best to suppress the flow of blood that was seeping from the ugly gash on the side of his head.

Although he was not aware of any pain, the blood that he could see on his hands seemed to suggest to Richard that he, too, had suffered some sort of damage. Reaching up, his fingers probed every part of his head and face and found nothing. It was not his blood! As realisation dawned, he strode quickly across to his injured rescuer and knelt beside him on the grass, motioning Cissie to one side and, extracting his own handkerchief from his pocket, he pressed it firmly against the jagged injury.

‘It needs to be held tightly, to prevent further loss of blood,’ he explained, to the curious onlookers, beckoning to Helena to assist him in the removal of his neckcloth, prior to binding it securely around the injured man’s head. ‘I have had some experience of sabre slashes and I would say that this cut is in need of being stitched as quickly as possible—I assume that someone has had the forethought to send for a doctor?’

‘Mr Standish rode off for one, just as soon as he saw what had happened,’ volunteered one of the bystanders.

A sudden hush fell as Fuller’s eyes drifted slowly open and a strangled moan emitted from his lips. ‘Set up,’ he whispered, fixing his gaze on Richard. ‘S-set up.’

‘Not advisable to sit up just yet, old chap,’ returned the earl softly. ‘Best to stay on your back until the doctor has dealt with that cut—you’ve lost quite enough blood already. Just lie still, until we can get help, there’s a good fellow.’

Lifting a shaky hand, Fuller clutched at Richard’s sleeve. ‘S-saw—ro…’ he slurred breathily. ‘S-saw…’ Then his hand fell, his eyes closed and he lay silent once more.

‘Out of luck, I’m afraid!’

Hearing Standish’s voice, the crowd stood back and allowed him through. ‘Both local doctors are out on calls,’ he informed his cousin, as he sought to regain his breath. ‘I sent a lad over to Hilverton to see if their fellow is available, but I don’t hold out much hope—if we can’t stop that bleeding…’ His voice tailed off and he turned away in distress. ‘I can only thank God that he stopped you getting the brunt of it, Richard.’

‘All the more reason to do our best to save the poor fellow,’ said
Richard. Then, although he knew that it was a forlorn hope, he looked up and called out, ‘Is there no one amongst you who knows how to set stitches?’

‘I have a little experience,’ came a soft voice at his elbow.

Spinning round, Richard stared at his wife in astonishment.

‘You cannot possibly—’ he began, only to have her hold up her hand to silence him.

‘I saw many such procedures during my visits to St George’s, when Jason was first brought home,’ she assured him quietly. ‘In addition, both Charlotte and I were often called in to assist Doctor Redfern at the Swallow Inn, when he was unable to manage a young patient on his own. I am willing to try.’

‘But, such a wound as this! I cannot possibly allow it!’

He gestured to the figure lying comatose at his feet.

‘Would you rather stand by and watch the poor fellow bleed to death, then?’ she pressed him urgently. ‘I am well aware that you consider my experience limited, but what other choice do we have?’

Following a low murmur of approval from the crowd of workers, Rueben Corrigan stepped forwards.

‘I know it ain’t for me to say, sir,’ he blurted out, twisting his cap nervously in his hands, ‘but I guess young Ben here would be willing to take whatever chance he could get—t’would be a right shame to see him die like this after surviving eight years on the battlefield. I say let her ladyship have a go—we know that she’ll do whatever is in her power to save him and, should she fail in her endeavours, sir, I can assure you that there’s not one amongst us who would hold her to blame.’

Stepping back, he then added, ‘’Sides which, I’ve always been inclined to believe that it’s the Almighty who makes the final decision in matters such as this.’

‘Not a lot of point in us interfering then, is there?’ muttered Standish under his breath, but Richard, having caught his words, shot him such a condemnatory look that his cheeks flamed and he turned away, looking decidedly abashed.

Realising that there was little time to lose, Richard found himself obliged to make an instant decision.

‘Do we have suitable facilities for such a procedure?’ he asked Corrigan, knowing that it would be pointless to try to transport the injured man back to Westpark, where ideal conditions would prevail.

But it was Bet Mooney who stepped forwards this time. ‘Kitchen’s as clean as a whistle,’ she informed him, as she sniffed back her tears. ‘Table’s been scrubbed many times over and, thanks to young Ben here, we’ve no shortage of hot water.’

‘Right—four of you sort out a stretcher—rip out one of the doors, if need be, and let’s get this lad down to the kitchen!’

Turning to Helena, the earl reached out and took her hands in his, frowning as he discovered how cold they were. ‘Are you sure that you feel up to this, my dear?’ he asked softly. ‘No one will think any worse of you if you decide that you can’t go through with it.’

‘He saved your life,’ she replied shakily, unable to prevent the tears that sprang into her eyes as she recalled the total desolation that had swept over her when she feared that she had lost him. ‘There is nothing in the world that I would not do for the poor man, after that.’

Another indication that she felt some real affection for him, thought Richard, hope flaring in his eyes as he looked down at her. There had been several moments lately when he had almost believed…

But then, realising that this was hardly the time for such speculation, he heaved back a sigh and, tucking her hand into his arm, he led her towards the house in the wake of the stretcher party, with the words, ‘Tell me what you need, my dear. I can send off to Westpark for anything you think you might require.’

Helena paused for a moment, thinking hard. Then, with a decisive nod, she replied, ‘Whisky or brandy. As much as you can spare—for both cleansing and patient-numbing purposes—needles and thread my women will have here, of course—basilicum powder, if Mrs Wainwright has any, sheets for tearing into bandages and—oh, yes, of course—some more oil lamps. We will need as much light as possible!’

‘I’ll get on to it right away’ he returned and, lifting her hand
to his lips, he kissed the tips of her fingers. ‘Sadly, whilst I know that this is hardly the time to mention it, I just wanted you to know how much I—’

‘We’re ready now, if you please, ma’am,’ interrupted a tentative voice at his elbow. ‘We’ve managed to get Ben on the kitchen table, but he’s thrashing about something awful, ma’am—you’d best come at once, if you would.’