Elisabeth Kidd (4 page)

She lay still at first, gazing at the window and forcing her eyes to focus normally. The curtains were red, she was able to discern at last, a kind of orange-red baize, and covered two tiny, high windows. She began moving her eyes slowly from one side of the room to the other. Objects—a red-glassed lantern, a single brass candlestick, a pair of dusty leather cushions—seemed to stand out in sharp relief, as if her vision had somehow become more acute than it was normally. The ceiling was very low, and the room was very narrow; a multitude of miniature cabinets lining both walls hemmed it in still more. Her bed was narrow, too, and it seemed to sway, like a child’s cradle.

Sabina closed her eyes again, and the swaying motion eased somewhat. Her head ached intolerably.

Some time later—it must have been several hours, for the light had moved—she woke again, startled by some tiny sound in the otherwise silent room. Somewhere outside, a thrush sang merrily, but that was not the sound she had heard. She moved her head a little and was grateful to find that it did not ache quite so much anymore.

It was then that she saw him. He was poised as if arrested in the act of soaking a sponge in the enamel basin that stood on the bedside table. One hand was wet; sunlight glinted on a signet ring on the other. It must have been the clink of the ring against the basin that she had heard.

But all this came to her only slowly, from somewhere to the side of her consciousness. Her gaze was fixed on his face, which was quite the handsomest she had ever seen. His skin was lightly browned by the sun, but not so much as to make him seem swarthy—indeed not so much as to hide a faint reddening of his cheeks under her scrutiny. His very fair hair, a little longer than was worn in fashionable circles, curled over the collar of his decidedly unfashionable nankeen shirt. His mouth was well-shaped, and his nose long but not very straight, as if it had been broken at one time.

But it was his eyes that held her fascination. They were a clear light blue, slightly upturned at the corners, and the look they gave her was both anxious and gentle—almost loving. She smiled.

“How do you feel?” he asked. His voice was low and soothing and held the same concern as his look.

Not certain how she felt, she frowned. Nothing hurt, but something seemed hollow inside her.

“Are you hungry?”

No, it wasn’t that. She looked around the room again.

“What is this place?”

“A narrowboat. You’re on the canal.”

“Why?”

He frowned. “You had an accident—don’t you remember?”

“No, I…” Sabina looked at the stranger as an idea formed in her mind. She remembered urging her horse down the path along the canal—but nothing after that. She supposed her memory would come back when her head ceased to ache, but that did not concern her at the moment. Somehow it seemed much more important to find out who this gentle stranger was—and not to recover so quickly that she would not have a chance to know him. He might ease her mind as well as her body and let her forget, for just a little while, why she had fled her home.

Impulsively, she cried out, “I don’t remember!” She put her hands to her temples and thought furiously. “Who are you?” she said, looking at him again. “Oh, no—
who am I?”

He said nothing, staring at her for a moment with an oddly intent expression in his blue eyes. Then he pressed her gently back down on the bed; she obeyed his touch, laying her head back and suppressing a sob.

Why had she said that?
She half rose again, to take back her words, but he had gone to the ladder leading, she supposed, to the deck of the boat. He called up to someone outside. Almost at once, an old woman came briskly down the ladder and shook her head sympathetically at Sabina, who lay still in the same position, staring up at the ceiling. The old woman bent down, lifted Sabina’s head up a little, and held a cup to her lips. Obediently, Sabina drank the warm, sweet liquid. A moment later, she was again fast asleep.

For some time thereafter—she no longer had any notion of time passing, or even of the changing light—Sabina drifted in and out of consciousness. When she woke briefly, the same handsome stranger would still be there, watching her. Sometimes he was just sitting there, his long legs fitting ill between the bed and the low chair in which he sat reading, and if he did not see that she had awakened, Sabina would watch him for a little, contemplatively.

Once she woke and it was dark in the room, with only a little light coming in between the high windows. It must be night, she thought, still feeling little concern about time. She stretched herself cautiously, one leg at a time. Nothing hurt, but she felt the end of the bed move. Feeling with her hands, she realized that the bed folded down from the wall, and a low table of some kind had been added to the end to extend it to accommodate her length.

But no, her guardian angel was tall, too—it must be his bed. She felt herself go warm at the thought that she was sleeping in his bed.

She could not let this go on. In the morning, she would have to come to her senses.

Yet…

What harm could it do?
she asked herself as she considered her little deception. She had done it, she realized now, because she could not remember being so fussed over since she was a child. And she hurt now, too, in a way not so easily remedied as childhood bumps and bruises. The simple concern in her rescuer’s eyes—for she supposed he must have rescued her from whatever accident had befallen her—warmed her heart, and she found herself not only more comfortable in this remarkably confined cabin but happier as well, as if her whole world had suddenly brightened. She knew she would have to go home soon and face the future she had temporarily escaped from, but a few hours’ respite could harm no one.

Besides, she wanted to know more about her handsome rescuer. She did not even know his name now, although she supposed he was the owner of the boat she was on. That was all the more reason to keep her own identity hidden for now—if he should learn that she was an earl’s daughter, all of this pleasantly warm comradeship would dissipate in the strain of the difference in their social stations.

For the first time in her life, Sabina found herself wondering how such people lived—people who worked with their hands and backs to made their living and had no servants to perform even more menial chores for them. Could their lives be so miserable as she had been taught, when there seemed to be so much satisfaction and affection in them? She must learn their secret.

When she woke next, the handsome stranger was gone, but the old woman was seated in his chair. She had a delicate face that had once been pretty, and her white hair was still plentiful and framed her face with a soft cloud. She was mending something that looked like a fine white linen shirt. How odd. Sabina frowned, then said clearly, “I should like to get up.”

The old woman put down her sewing and assessed her. “I’m sorry, deary, but you’d best not just yet. Can I fetch you anything—something to drink, mayhap?”

Sabina sat up. The movement made her dizzy. Then she caught a glimpse of herself in a small mirror hanging on a cabinet door. “Oh, dear, I look a fright.” She clutched her hair. “Please, may I have a comb?”

She looked at her hands, which were scraped but had been treated with some kind of salve. She had gone out without gloves, she remembered.

“I washed you as best I could,” said the old lady, “but I did not want to disturb you to tidy your hair. I’ll do it now, if you like.”

“Yes, please.”

The woman produced a set of tortoise-shell combs and a hairbrush. She gently combed the knots out of Sabina’s hair, then brushed it with long, smooth, soothing strokes. Sabina felt her body relax, the tension leaving it like water flowing down a stream.

“Where is—I don’t know his name, the fair-haired gentleman?”

The old woman smiled and put away her combs. Then she pushed Sabina gently back on the bed and pulled the cover up. “He’ll be back soon. Go to sleep again now, deary.”

This seemed an excellent suggestion. Sabina sighed and closed her eyes.

When at last she awoke more fully, clear-headed and with the realization that she was well again, she turned her head in search of her guardian. He was there, asleep himself now, his head on the floor on one of the leather cushions and his feet up on the first rung of the ladder that led to the deck. The chair in which he and then the old woman had sat earlier now hung from the wall above him.

Sabina raised herself a little and shifted to one side, crooking her elbow and resting her head on her hand. She could feel a large bump just behind her right ear, but it did not pain her, so she ignored it, being much more interested in the man on the floor.

Seeing him now more clearly, Sabina realized that it was not just the tiny room that made him seem so large—he
was
very tall, although very graceful too, even in sleep. His hand rested on the book he had been reading, which lay open on his broad chest; he no longer had on the signet ring Sabina had noticed earlier, but his unadorned hands were large and competent-looking, as if he did manual work with them, yet kept them scrubbed and presentable when he could.

She sat up a little more to be able to see him better and was almost disappointed when her slight movement woke him. His eyes met hers, and something seemed to pass between them in the moment before they spoke or moved, something that made Sabina feel that nothing that existed before this moment had any importance. Who he was or who she was—or said she was—was no longer of any consequence. Only the future mattered.

But that future was still uncertain.

“What is your name?” she said first.

He hesitated for a moment before answering, “James Owen.”

She savored the sound of it for a moment, then asked, “Where are we?”

“Tied up on the Welford Arm, not far from the junction. It was quieter here.”

“How long have we been here?” Sabina said “we,” but felt as if she were an observer of some little drama playing itself out on the Welford Arm of the Grand Union Canal, “not far from the junction.” She knew she was the cause of any interruption of their quiet life that this man and the old woman might have suffered. She ought to make amends for that.

“What happened to me?”

He moved to a sitting position on the floor, folding his long legs over a rag rug and resting his elbows on his knees, from which posture he looked thoughtfully up at her.

“You had an accident Tuesday afternoon,” he said finally. “You were standing on the deck when the boat was moving and looked back for a moment, so that you didn’t see a low branch coming up. It knocked you into the water.”

Sabina sat up, astonished. She remembered nothing beyond riding her horse along the canal bank. How had she come to be on board the boat in order to fall off it? It seemed incredible that she had done so.

“What is today?”

“Thursday.”

It must be late morning now—nearly two days later! She must have suffered a severe blow to have rendered her insensible for so long. Of course, the old woman had given her something—a sleeping draught of some kind—which must have prolonged her rest to allow her to recover fully. She felt recovered now—if not precisely her old self. She wished she could see what she looked like, but James Owen had uncoiled himself from the rug and stood up, obscuring the little mirror.

“Who—?” she began.

“Not now,” he interrupted her. “You must be hungry after your long rest. Come outside for some breakfast, and I’ll tell you more while you eat.”

Hungry. Sabina suddenly realized that she was ravenous. Three days! What must her family be thinking! She must find some way to get word to them without revealing that she knew who she was. But she could not concern herself with that yet. She must learn what had brought her to this pass before she could decide on her next course of action.

Furthermore, she could happily devour breakfast, dinner, supper, and quarts of lemonade all at one sitting!

James Owen reached out a hand to help her up, stooping a little under the low ceiling as he did so. She wobbled on unsteady limbs as she rose from the bed, leaning against him to regain her balance. His arm was strong and comforting. She had to raise her eyes to look at him, a highly unusual—but most delightful—sensation. Then she felt the rag rug on the floor against her bare feet. She looked down, noting as she did so that someone had dressed her in a loose-fitting white smock that was too short for her. She giggled.

“Your own clothes are dry and cleaned,” he said. “You can put them on, if you like. But you do look charming in that smock.”

He grinned at her, and she laughed as she held her skirts out to her sides to admire them. She felt like a young girl and liked the feeling. “I’ll keep this for now, thank you.”

“You go up first,” he said, indicating the ladder. “I’ll follow in case you lose your balance.”

Sabina climbed slowly, but the dizziness did not return. When she stepped outside, however, the bright sunlight dazzled her for a moment. She put her hand up to shield her eyes and heard, before she saw her, the old woman call out to them.

“This is Rose,” James said, when the woman approached and Sabina had become more accustomed to the light. Rose, who barely came to Sabina’s shoulder, dropped her a deferential curtsy, but Sabina reached out to put her arms around her and give her a less formal but warmer embrace.

“Oh, my deary, I’m so glad to see you up and about!” Rose said, flustered but pleased. “Are you feeling better? Would you like to bathe?”

“I think she’d like something to eat, Rose,” James offered.

“I’ve no doubt she would, but I’ll take her off to tidy up first, Rob—James.
You
, meantime, may get some eggs and bacon out of the larder and start cooking them.”

Tiny little Rose then pushed very tall James off in the direction of the galley and pulled Sabina along to the stern of the boat, where she helped her out of her shift and into the cool water of the canal to bathe.

The water was deliciously refreshing, and Sabina, who had been taught to swim at an early age by her brothers, paddled about contentedly for several minutes. She had not forgotten that she was supposed to be not quite recovered and literally not herself yet. But the sensations of the moment—the cool water, the fresh, fragrant air—were so keenly, immediately agreeable, that she almost did not want to have to set them aside.