Amanda Scott (12 page)

“Doctor Fennaday, how good of you to come. You must know how dreadful this has been for me.”

“I’ll attend to you as soon as I’ve dealt with the boy,” the doctor called to her cheerfully. “Mr. Caldecourt, you must take your mother straight up to the house and order her a nice cup of tea.” All this was said over his shoulder as he walked straight toward Timothy. “Well, now, young fellow, me lad,” he said, effecting a broad Irish brogue, “what’s this ye’ve gone and done t’ yerself, might I ask?”

“I fell off my pony,” said Timothy, watching him warily despite his pain.

“A pony, eh? Dreadful beasts, ponies are. The scourge of mankind.” He glanced around at the numerous people standing about. “Do you think we might dispense with the audience, Farley?”

The bailiff gave a few brisk orders, and the yard cleared of all but the doctor, Margaret, Abberley, and himself. “Happen ye’ll need some’un t’ carry the lad, sir,” Farley said then.

Dr. Fennaday had put the blanket aside and was skillfully testing Timothy’s unbound limbs. Without a word, he then began carefully prodding at the boy’s midsection. Once Timothy let out a sharp yelp.

“Sorry, lad, did that hurt?”

“Tickled,” Timothy said with a pained smile.

The doctor nodded, turning his attention to Timothy’s right arm. A moment later, he stood up. His first words were for Farley. “You did a neat job there, man. We’ll take him into the house now.”

As the bailiff moved to pick Timothy up, Abberley stepped forward. “I’ll take him,” he said grimly. With the doctor’s help, he picked the boy up carefully, then waited until Fennaday had arranged the injured limb across Timothy’s stomach before leading the way back into the house and up to the nursery floor.

“If you’ll just ring for a maidservant, Miss Caldecourt, to help me undress him,” the doctor said then, “I’ll set the arm and bandage it. Then all the boy will need will be some rest.”

“I’ll help you, Doctor,” Margaret said firmly.

He looked at her measuringly but seemed to approve of what he saw. “Very well,” he said.

Undressing Timothy proved to be a painful thing for him, and after he had cried out for the second time, Abberley muttered, “You’ve no need for me. I’ll just go see if they’ve begun a search for the pony.”

Margaret glanced at him, but he had already turned away and her attention was quickly reclaimed by the doctor. He had tipped a dose of laudanum down Timothy’s throat as soon as Abberley had laid the boy down upon his bed, and by the time they had his shirt off him, Fennaday decided the opiate had begun to work sufficiently that he could start setting the arm. By the time he had finished, Margaret found herself wondering if the state of Lady Annis’s nerves might be contagious. She felt wrung out. The doctor looked her over again, this time with a twinkle in his gray-green eyes.

“I recommend a glass of Madeira, unless you’re partial to brandy, Miss Caldecourt.”

“Is he going to be all right?”

“He’ll be fine,” he assured her. “I want him to stay quietly in bed for a few days. The less he moves about, the better. I’ll leave you some medication for the pain. Give him a dose at bedtime and then as he seems to need it. Just don’t overdo it. The worst of the pain will disappear in a couple of days.”

When he had taken his leave, she looked for Abberley to tell him what the doctor had said, but the earl was nowhere to be found. In the stableyard, she was told he had ordered his horse and it was believed he had returned to the hall. She had no further chance to pursue the matter, however, for Lady Celeste had learned of Timothy’s accident and Lady Annis was annoyed that the doctor had forgotten to examine her.

“My nerves,” she whined. “I am persuaded he ought to have listened to my heart, which is quite leaping about in my breast. But no one cares that I am ill. Oh, no, even my son has deserted me. And I have missed my drive, which is essential for my health.”

“Good gracious, Annis,” said Lady Celeste in disgusted tones. “Have you no thought for anyone but yourself? That poor boy upstairs—”

“Well, of course I was worried about Timothy. It is no longer my duty to worry about him, however, and Margaret has said the doctor is unconcerned. He is scarcely like to die, Celeste, though I may tell you that when I saw him part company with that dreadful pony, I am certain my heart absolutely stopped beating. I felt so faint—”

“Fustian,” retorted the old lady. “You’ve never had room in your head for a thought about anyone but yourself, Annis, and don’t try to tell me you aren’t glad Margaret is here to take charge of the boy, for I shouldn’t believe you.” Before the younger woman could open her mouth to defend herself, Lady Celeste turned back to Margaret and asked. “Is the doctor quite certain Timothy will survive?”

“Oh, yes, thank heaven. He was bruised and scraped up a bit, you know, but his worst injury is the broken arm. When I think how easily he might have been killed, I feel ill.”

“Then don’t think about it,” advised her ladyship with strong good sense.

But Margaret couldn’t avoid thinking about what a near miss Timothy had had. She had begun to care deeply for the boy, and consequently, she blamed herself for the accident. It was sheer luck he hadn’t been killed. By all rights, he should have been. Certainly, if she allowed herself to care too much for him, something dreadful would happen. Experience had shown her that. It didn’t do to love anyone, not if she didn’t want to lose him.

She didn’t see Abberley again until late the following morning, and she knew the moment she laid eyes upon him that he had been drinking heavily again. It didn’t show in his general appearance, for he was dressed neatly and precisely in buckskins, a snowy-white shirt and dark jacket, and shining, tasseled Hessian boots. Clearly, either he or his valet had taken pains with his dress. His hair was neatly combed, too, but his eyes were bleary and nearly hidden in dark pockets, and his complexion was pasty again. He also seemed to have the headache, she noticed, for he grimaced when Lady Celeste, sitting with Margaret and Lady Annis in the morning room, greeted him cheerfully.

“Did you see Farley’s cousin this morning, Abberley?”

“I did. Seems a fine chap. I’ve given him
carte blanche
.”

Margaret cocked her head. “Does that mean you don’t intend to take the reins in hand yourself, sir?”

“Can’t,” he returned brusquely. “I’m leaving for London first thing tomorrow. I’ve a number of engagements there I cannot put off.” He refused to meet her gaze. “Just stopped by to tell you I was going and to inquire after the boy.”

“Timothy will be fine, sir. Must you go?”

He nodded. “They find the pony?”

“Not yet,” she told him. “Farley thinks he must have wandered into the woods. There’s good grazing there and the weather’s warming quickly, so he must not be feeling a need for his stable. They’ll no doubt find him today.”

“Well, when they do, you tell Timothy I’ve said he’s not to ride him again. He’s not to ride at all until his arm is completely healed, but even then I don’t want him on that damned pony. Shouldn’t have bought him in the first place.”

Margaret began to protest, but he cut her off and took his departure soon afterward.

Lady Annis remarked indignantly that he seemed to take little interest in his ward. “Seems to me he might at least wait until the boy is recovered,” she said.

For once Margaret agreed with her. “I’m afraid he’s overreacting to Timothy’s accident, but I do wish he were not going away just now,” she said wistfully.

Lady Celeste said nothing at all. She merely pursed her lips, and her eyes narrowed slightly as she turned her attention to the pile of blue knitting in her lap. She was working a carriage robe, for she rarely did fancy work, saying she had little patience for such stuff. Still, she enjoyed having something to keep her hands busy and to which she did not have to pay a great deal of attention.

Soon afterward, Margaret went upstairs to visit Timothy and found the boy tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable because he was in pain again. She had given him a small dose of his medicine after his breakfast, but she had not given him quite as much as the doctor had said she might for fear of overdosing him. Now, she wished she had given him the full amount.

“Poor boy,” she said gently, ringing for Melanie to help her and change his bedding. Pouring the full amount into the glass this time from the bottle kept on a high shelf away from the bed, she held his head and ordered him to drink the stuff.

“It’s nasty,” Timothy muttered, but he swallowed obediently. Once they had made him as comfortable as possible, Margaret sat by the bed to read to him until he was able to sleep. After that she was careful to give him his medication as soon as he began to complain of the pain again, but she left strict orders that no one else was to give it to him. She was afraid that if two people began dosing him, the results might be disastrous.

The little black pony wasn’t found until the following day. One of the stableboys led him into the yard just as Margaret and Lady Celeste were leaving to drive over to Abberley’s estate so that Lady Celeste might inspect the progress being made there and to make certain that the new bailiff had indeed been given a free hand.

“I’m so glad they found Theodore,” Margaret said, leaning back against the squabs. “Timothy has been beside himself with worry.”

“Did you tell him Abberley said he wasn’t to ride the little beast again?”

“No, for I don’t want to upset him before he is entirely well. He still suffers from pain much of the time, you know. I gave him a full dose of his medicine before we left the house, or I shouldn’t feel right about leaving him to his own devices just now.”

“Nonsense, you don’t want to coddle that young man,” said Lady Celeste crisply. “He’d be better served if you were to ride over to the vicarage later this afternoon and ask Mr. Maitland if he would consider visiting here to give the boy his lessons.”

“Lessons! He’s scarcely well enough for lessons.”

“Fustian. He’s merely broken his arm. It will do him good to have something to take his mind off it. He’ll turn out to be the sort of complainer Annis is if you don’t mind your step.”

Margaret gurgled with laughter. “You don’t believe that for a moment,” she said. “I’m more worried about him deciding to ride before his arm is healed than I am about turning him into a hypochondriac.”

Lady Celeste nodded. “Very true. You’d best relay those orders as soon as we get back. I’ve a notion he won’t flout Abberley’s authority.”

“What authority? The man’s gone to London, and he’s done very little to make Timothy aware of any authority. He leaves him to me.”

Lady Celeste shook her head with a sad grimace. “I’ve known that rascal Abberley since the day he was born, and I’ve always had more cause to complain of his arrogance than of his being shy to take a lead. Until now,” she added. “Now he don’t seem to wish to take hold of anything.”

“I thought he was beginning to,” Margaret said slowly, marshaling her thoughts, “but I think now he blames himself for the accident and can’t face up to anything else because of that. Absurd, of course, that he should think himself a poor guardian just because Timmy’s pony gave him a toss. Abberley had nothing to do with it. It just happened.”

Though Lady Celeste said nothing, there was a penetrating look in the bright-blue eyes that brought a rush of color to Margaret’s cheeks. Had she been asked to explain the cause of her discomfort, however, she would have been hard-pressed to do so.

When they returned to the manor an hour and a half later, Lady Celeste was beaming with satisfaction, well pleased with the progress they had seen. In place of weeds, rundown shacks, and other signs of neglect, there were trim yards, new thatch, neatly mended fences, and newly plowed fields. They had also encountered a gratifying number of smiling faces.

“Your Mr. Clayton seems to be quite as capable as Farley,” Margaret said as they drove around to the front of the house.

“Indeed, I was particularly pleased to note that work has already begun on the Mustons’ second cottage,” said her ladyship complacently. “Old Mrs. Muston always preferred her own place.”

But Margaret’s attention had been distracted by the sight of Farley himself coming around the corner of the house. Seeing that he had caught her eye, he motioned subtly to her, his attitude causing her to insist that Lady Celeste go into the house without her.

“I shall be along directly, ma’am,” she said, “but I see Farley, and now is as good a time as any to be certain that Abberley explained the rules he laid down for Timothy’s riding.”

“An excellent notion,” said her ladyship approvingly. “I shall order us some tea.”

But moments later, Margaret wasn’t by any means certain she had an appetite for tea. Farley, after drawing her to one side and glancing around as though to be sure they could not be overheard, said succinctly, “Happen mischief’s afoot, Miss Margaret.”

M
ARGARET STARED AT THE
bailiff, a knot of fear making her voice shake when she demanded to know what he was talking about.

“This, miss,” he replied tersely, opening his big hand to reveal a long, sharp thorn of the type commonly found in the beech wood resting in the palm. “Trimby found it thrust through the pony’s saddle blanket. When the lad leapt up as he did, his weight fair shot the thorn into the little beast. Don’t wonder he carried on so. Some’un meant mischief, miss.”

“Couldn’t the thorn have got there by accident?” Margaret asked hopefully.

“Not in my stables, miss.” He was offended, and she apologized quickly, but she still hoped he might be wrong. Who would want to play such a dangerous prank on Timothy? She considered the matter as she went into the house and up to join Lady Celeste in the drawing room. If it had been Jordan, now, who had taken a toss, she would know immediately where to lay the blame. That thought gave rise to another. Timothy still made little attempt to disguise his contempt for his cousin. Indeed, since Margaret had forbidden Jordan to thrash him, that contempt had been, if anything, more openly displayed. Was it possible that Jordan might have chosen such a method to wreak his vengeance upon the boy?