The Sanctuary (A Spencer Novel) (24 page)

Chapter 44

Anthony and Jason rode directly to the area they intended for sheep, traversing the bank of the estuary to view the damage done by the broken tiles.

“It’s a grand location, Anthony. Once the drainage system is repaired, the flat area near the Severn could hold a factory and the wide beach at the base of the cliff, a dock and boathouse.”

Anthony gazed at the expanse of land and water. “It has been years since I’ve ridden the entire parcel, but it hasn’t changed much. Wait until you see the Abbey.”

“What are your plans for the manor house?” Jason walked his gelding around a deep rut.

“I’m not certain. I will start by making any needed repairs.” Anthony turned his attention to the road ahead. “The lane leading to the Abbey is past the large yew on the left.”

“Word has it, Gerald’s not allowed in any of the reputable gaming houses until he settles up, and perhaps not even then. The dens and hells also shun him,” Jason offered.

“I’d best buy the Abbey before it goes to settle a debt, or Gerald loses it at the tables.”

“If the rumor mills are accurate, I’d do it now.” Jason swung his mount alongside Anthony’s. “I’ll wait outside with the horses.”

The sky appeared dark and foreboding. “I’d say the weather is worsening. I’ll make this quick and we’ll be on our way before the storm breaks.”

Jason tugged up his collar. “Didn’t think it snowed here.”

“It doesn’t, usually, at least not much more than a dusting. Heavy rain is another matter, and the clouds look ominous.” Anthony led the way to the door nearest the kitchens, one showing recent use. A horse stood tethered to an old rose arbor nearby.

“Gerald’s here.” Anthony swung from Copernicus’ back and the stallion flattened his ears and bared his teeth at the unfamiliar animal.

“Give him to me and I’ll walk him around.” Jason accepted the reins.

“Should it start to rain, wait for me in the stable.” Anthony moved toward the open door where Gerald now stood.

“Roxbury,” Jason gave a brief nod, one just short of an insult.

“Rutledge.” Gerald barely acknowledged the other man before he spun and disappeared within.

Anthony followed Gerald inside. The light from a small oil lamp kept him from tripping over debris littering the kitchen floor.

“God, Gerald. Do you care nothing for your ancestral home?” Anthony stepped over a pile of broken crockery.

“To me, this was a place I spent a number of tedious years, a prison of sorts, while you were away enjoying Eton and Oxford. You were the one who could sit and stare at this pile of stone as if it were the
Taj Mahal,
or some other place from one of your damned books.”

“Yes, I was away at school, all the while wishing it was safe for me to return home. You know what it was like for me here. Why so much anger?”

“I would have given anything to go with you, but my father would have none of it. Instead, he brought in tutors and instructors, whatever was needed to keep me here and under his thumb.”

“Your father loved you and wanted the best for you.”

“Love?” Gerald sneered. “He wanted to control me. He didn’t trust what I would do if he let me out of his sight.”

“Why?” Anthony asked, perplexed.

“Father listened to servants and others who told lies about me. He—” Gerald stopped abruptly and turned his back.

Frustration had Anthony demanding, “I asked for you when my mother died. Why didn’t you come? You were my best friend, and I needed you.”

Gerald swung around to stare at him. “You hadn’t needed me in a long time. You had all those other chaps for friends.” He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Besides, I was in London at the time.”

“No one mentioned you were away,” Anthony stated, fighting for calm.

“Well, I was.” Defensiveness colored Gerald’s tone.

“I want to thank you for helping when the old earl died. The scandal suicide brings to a family is hard to overcome.” Anthony hesitated, despising himself for asking. “Did he say anything before he shot himself?”

“He was blathering, and nothing he said made sense. Once I knew what he intended, I tried to stop him. He pulled the trigger before I could reach him.”

Anthony nodded. He’d hoped to hear the old man had voiced some remorse for the way he’d treated the boy who had once looked to him as a father.

“I had his body placed in the icehouse, the study locked, and instructed the staff to say nothing about the incident. I knew a doctor who, for the right amount of money, would swear Uncle Melville died of an apoplexy.” Gerald tugged at his collar. “My father was ailing. At the news of his brother’s death, he went into a decline. He passed not long afterward.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I cared for your father and . . . I loved you like a brother,” Anthony asserted.

Gerald blinked at him a few times. “It was a long time ago. I asked you here to see if you were serious about buying Roxbury Abbey.”

“I am. Have you thought this through carefully? You will be left with a title and no land.”

“What do I care for a worthless piece of property and a meaningless title? It’s always been a means to gain entry to places which would otherwise have been closed to me,” Gerald snapped.

Anthony winced, a cold chill running up his spine. “Name your price. I took the liberty of bringing a cheque with me.”

The amount Gerald named was outrageous, and they both knew it. But it wasn’t about money, and they knew that, too.

“Did you bring the deed?”

Gerald withdrew a yellowed parchment from an inside pocket and quickly signed his name. Leaning against a heavy sideboard, he waited while Anthony filled out the bank draft.

“So you married the chit. I’m surprised. You could’ve had her without going to such an extreme.”

Anthony gritted his teeth. “I’ll overlook your remark this one time, Gerald. However, should you say anything of the sort again, I’ll thrash you. She is my wife, and as such, deserves respect.”

Gerald held up his hand in a conciliatory gesture. “What’s going on, anyway? You leave London and turn Sanctuary into a bloody fortress.”

“Someone believes Clairece can identify him in a crime which occurred a few years ago. Ironically, she cannot.”

Gerald pushed away from the sideboard. “What?”

“We identified a man with a scar on his cheek as one of the guards at the museum where the incident took place, and presumably, the one trying to harm Clairece.”

“Presumably?”

“We now feel there are two. It is only a matter of time before they are apprehended.”

Gerald folded the cheque and stuffed it in his pocket. “There’s nothing here I want, so do with it what you will. I plan to buy a place in Town and furnish it to my own tastes.”

“If you invest some of the money, it will see you comfortably settled for life.”

“Always so practical,
Cousin
,” Gerald sneered.

Anthony studied the man who’d been his best friend and confidant for the better part of his young life. “I will always look to you as more a brother than a cousin, Gerald, and wish you only the best.”

Gerald stiffened. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

Rain beat against the window, and Anthony moved to peer out. “If this keeps up, the roads will soon be awash.” He glanced over his shoulder at Gerald. “You are always welcome in my home, I hope you know that.”

“You are far too sentimental.”

With a sigh, Anthony stepped through the door and pulled it shut behind him. The closeness between them was lost many years ago, but he had always hoped it could be regained. Now, he knew for a certainty, it could not. A gaping hole existed where Gerald had once been.

Jason appeared, leading Copernicus. Anthony swung up on the horse and tugged his hat lower on his forehead. “There’s a shortcut across the fields. We’ll be home a lot sooner if we take it.”

“Lead the way.” Jason secured his own hat on his head. “I think you should know someone’s bedded down in the stable. I looked around and didn’t see anyone.”

Anthony glanced at the stone building that once housed prime stock. “Not here. We’ll talk later.”

Within minutes, the field had turned to a quagmire. Not willing to risk the horses, they slowed to a walk. Copernicus snorted and blew through his nostrils, the whites of his eyes showing as his hooves sank deeper into the sludge. Anthony patted the stallion’s neck, speaking softly to the terrified mount.

He stood in the stirrups, shielding his eyes with his hand. “There’s a crossing this side of the line of trees. I haven’t utilized it for many years, but the structure was always sound.”

“Pray it still is,” Jason shouted over the sound of rushing water.

“There’s the bridge.” Anthony urged his mount forward.

“Damnation, where’s all this water coming from?”

“It’s runoff from higher ground. The drainage ditches have collapsed and there’s nothing to control the rush of water down to the estuary,” Anthony yelled.

Reaching the stream, they found the water level with the banks, and the tributary now a raging torrent. Anthony dismounted and surveyed the crossing. “I’ll lead Copernicus over,” he called back to Jason. “I’d cover his eyes, but I doubt it’ll do any good. He’s wild with fear.”

Anthony advanced slowly, urging Copernicus to follow. The large steed’s hooves beat a sharp tattoo on the planks as they inched forward. Fully committed, Anthony heard Jason’s shout at the same time the bridge gave a heaving lurch and a downed tree careened into the side of the wooden structure.

The stallion screamed and reared, pulling loose from Anthony’s grip. He flung his arms up and sent the horse racing back off the bridge, praying the animal would not be hurt in his headlong rush to the stables.

A loud snap, and the timber beneath his feet ripped apart. Anthony lunged forward, grabbing for an ancient pylon; all that remained of the bridge. Pain pierced his shoulders and arms as his muscles strained against the pull of the fast moving water. His cape filled, threatening to drag him under.

A hand grabbed his wrist, a blade flashed, and the cape fell away, carried downstream by the rushing current. He glanced up and met Jason’s horrified gaze.

“Don’t risk your life, Jason,” Anthony shouted. “If you start to slide, let me go.”

“Shut up and hang on,” Jason yelled.

Icy water swirled around him, rising to cover his head. Anthony held his breath and searched for a foothold with the toe of one boot. Something slammed into his side, knocking what remained of the air from his lungs. A hard tug on his wrist, and his head rose above the frigid torrent. Shards of pain shot through his chest as he fought to breathe.

Soon, his legs would go numb. He would become lethargic as the freezing water drew the life from his body. Soon, he would let go.

“Jason, tell Clairece—”

“Tell her yourself.” Jason tightened his grip.

“You’re a good friend. Take care of her for me.”

“Dammit, just hang on.”

A hand slid past Jason’s shoulder and grabbed Anthony’s other wrist. “On my count, dig your toes in and pull,” the man shouted over the roar of the river.

Anthony felt his body slide slowly upward out of the water and over the edge of the bank, to lay flat on his belly. The other two men knelt on hands and knees, chests heaving while they gulped in air.

Anthony turned his head and met Gerald’s gaze.

Chapter 45

At the sound of men’s raised voices, Clairece rushed to the foyer. Philippe stood in conversation with Hodges while a group of footmen waited nearby.

“What’s happened?” she demanded.

“His lordship’s horse returned without him, my lady, and there is no sign of Mr. Rutledge.”

“Philippe?” Clairece grabbed the Spaniard’s arm.

“We will find them,
niña
, and bring them home.” He fastened his cape.

The door burst open and a footman rushed in. “Two men comin’ up the drive. They’re ridin’ double. One looks to be hurt.”

Philippe surged through the open entry with Hodges and Farris following suit. Footmen spilled out onto the steps and stood waiting.

Clairece spun to Mrs. Stedman. “See his lordship’s valet is notified and his bed made ready. Ask Cook to heat some bricks, should they be needed.” The housekeeper dashed to the kitchens.

Clairece rushed forward as two footmen half carried, half-walked Anthony inside. His head hung forward, black hair plastered to his forehead. “Anthony, can you hear me?”

Anthony lifted his head. “Beauty,” he whispered. His eyes closed, his legs buckled, and his head lolled to the side. For one frightening moment, Clairece thought he was gone.

Farris felt for a pulse. “Carry him to his room, but be careful. He may have broken ribs.” Two additional footmen advanced, each taking a leg, bearing Anthony upstairs.

Jason held onto the banister, his body shaking. Hodges wrapped a blanket around the man’s shoulders and eased him down onto a step.

“What happened,
señor
?” Philippe urged.

“When we left Roxbury Abbey, the sky opened up. I’ve never seen so much water. Anthony thought we’d save time by cutting across the fields. There was this bridge . . .” Jason broke off and visibly swallowed.

“A bridge?”

“Yes.” Jason cleared his throat. “Water was already to the horses’ knees. Anthony dismounted and had Copernicus fully on the wooden planks when a downed tree crashed into it.” Jason’s gaze met Clairece’s. “Anthony managed to save his horse before the bridge broke apart beneath his feet. At first, I thought he was gone, but he hung from a pylon.” Jason ran both hands through his wet hair, the terror he’d experienced evident on his face.

“I grabbed his wrist and tried to pull him out. I gave it all I had, but he’s a big man.” Jason bowed his head.

Clairece dashed away tears. “You saved him.”

Jason shook his head. “I don’t think I could have done so alone, but Roxbury appeared. Together, we pulled Anthony out.”

“Roxbury was there?” Philippe queried.

“Yes. He had the deed to the Abbey with him. In our rush to leave, Anthony left it behind. Apparently, he’d watched us ride off and knew what direction we would take. I cannot say I like the bloke, but I thank God he appeared when he did. If he hadn’t . . .” Jason’s entire frame shuddered. “He was in the damned, frigid river a long time. I tried to keep his head above water, but the current kept sucking him under.”

Hodges approached. “May I suggest a hot bath and some soup, sir?”

Jason nodded, his teeth chattering.

Clairece left Jason in Hodges’ care and raced upstairs. She needed to be with her husband.

Upon entering the bedchamber, she found Anthony’s inert form barely discernible for the people surrounding the large bed. The few allowed to stay, fell silent as Farris moved the stethoscope over Anthony’s chest and sides. Anthony’s sodden clothes had been replaced with a nightshirt.

“His lungs are surprisingly clear of fluid.” Farris removed the ear tips and let the metal tubing close around his neck. “With luck, he won’t develop pneumonia.”

“Praise be.” Mrs. Dobbins clutched her hands together.

Farris ran his fingers down Anthony’s sides. “Good,” he said more to himself than to the others. The doctor stepped back to allow the heated and wrapped bricks to be placed along Anthony’s body.

Clairece took a deep breath and eased past the others to lay her hand on his forehead. “He’s so cold.”

“The prolonged submersion in the icy water, and the ride home in wet clothing, has lowered Lord Anthony’s body temperature to a dangerous level. We must bring it back up,” Farris said, studying Anthony.

Clairece followed Farris’ gaze. “Tell me how.”

“The heated bricks will help, but we need to warm more than just his extremities. His chest, neck, and groin must be warmed first to avoid his going into shock.”

Clairece thought a moment. “Can we heat towels and lay them on his chest?”

“To maintain their heat, they would have to be changed constantly.” Farris met her gaze. “Body to body contact would be best.”

Clairece flushed as the implication registered. She turned to Hodges. “Move the broth where I can reach it, and heat a few towels to wrap around his neck.”

Hodges ordered the bedside table moved nearer the bed, and sent a maid for the towels.

“I’ll be in the next room should you need anything, Lady Harding,” Farris bowed over her hand. “You understand I will need to check on my patient regularly?”

“Yes, of course.” She refused to feel embarrassment.

The others filed quietly from the bedchamber, leaving only Clairece’s maid to unfasten the long row of buttons down the back of her morning dress. After the maid left, Clairece shed the rest of her clothing. She slid her arms through the sleeves of her dressing gown, and circled the large four-poster bed. Raising the heavy comforter, she opened the front of her robe and crawled beneath the counterpane to cover his chilled body with hers.

Anthony muttered a soft, “Mmm.”

Clairece pressed her belly and breasts to his torso and grasped the towels to hold them firmly in place around his neck. She snuggled closer and laid her cheek against his.

After a few minutes, she rose up on her elbows and reached for the soup. Anthony moved his head as if searching for her. “I’m here, dearest.” Clairece caressed his cheek until he settled once more. “I’m going to feed you some of Cook’s wonderful broth and you must swallow it.”

She spooned a little of the liquid into his mouth and watched his throat work as he swallowed. Encouraged, she repeated the action until he’d taken a good bit of the soup. She set the bowl aside and burrowed her face into the crook of his neck.

She must have fallen asleep, for when she opened her eyes she could see only darkness through the windows. She eased up to observe Anthony’s face, brushing his hair back.

And gaped.

Blue eyes met hers.

“Doctor Farris,” she shouted, rolling from atop Anthony to pull the sides of the robe together. “Come quickly.”

The door flew open and Farris strode forward, placing the stethoscope tips in his ears as he neared the bed. He bent to his patient.

Anthony frowned. “Do you make a habit of barging into another man’s bedchamber when he’s in bed with his wife?” he rasped.

“Only if said wife summons me,” Farris quipped. “Now be quiet and let me listen.” He pressed the scope to Anthony’s chest and held it in place briefly, before he straightened and removed a thermometer from his black case. “Open your mouth,” he ordered.

“Cannot say much for your bedside manner,” Anthony muttered around the piece of glass stuck under his tongue.

Farris’ lips quirked. After a few minutes he withdrew the thermometer and studied it. “Not perfect, but much better. More warm broth and some rest and you’ll be right as rain.”

“Don’t mention rain to me,” Anthony grumbled.

“What should I do now?” Clairece asked.

“I’m still a little cold,” Anthony interjected. “Perhaps she ought to lie back down for a while.”

Farris chuckled and she felt her face flush.

“Let’s give it a day or so. Your heartbeat has evened out, but I wouldn’t suggest stressing it.” Farris dropped the stethoscope back into his case and wrapped the thermometer in cloth, slipping it into a small compartment at one side.

Clairece padded to the bedchamber door and opened it to find a group of servants waiting.

“My lady?” Hodges glanced toward the bed and flashed a seldom seen smile.

She stepped to the side. “As you can see, my husband is much better. Would it be possible to get more soup?”

“And some bread . . . perhaps some meat, and if there’s any lemon tarts around—” Anthony began.

“If Dr. Farris agrees, perhaps some bread and cheese?” Her gaze fell on Farris who grinned and nodded.

“And a lemon tart?” Anthony urged from the bed.

“And a lemon tart,” Farris agreed.

Hodges motioned to Farris. “Mrs. Stedman has a room prepared for you, and Mr. Beetleworth has offered his services should you have need of them.”

“A bed and some sleep sounds wonderful,” Farris agreed, stifling a yawn.

Hodges bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

“Just Doctor, Hodges. I don’t use my title.”

“As you wish.” Hodges signaled a waiting footman. “Please see Doctor Farris to his room.” Hodges glanced at Farris. “Perhaps a small libation?”

“A bit of brandy would be most welcome.” Farris bent to retrieve his black bag and nodded toward Anthony. “I’ll check in on you later.”

Anthony jerked the towel from around his neck and began to tug at the nightshirt. “What in bloody hell am I wearing?”

“A nightshirt, my lord,” Hodges said. “We thought you might wish it since you had a room full of people.”

Anthony glared at the offending garment.

“Would you like Hodges to help you to the water closet?” Clairece queried.

“I can manage on my own,” Anthony sputtered. “I’ve been proficient at that particular task since I was three years old.”

“Is he always this irritable when he doesn’t feel well?” she asked Hodges.

“He can be much worse, my lady.”

“I’m still in the room, you know,” Anthony grumbled, attempting to rise. His body tilted precariously to one side. Hodges swooped, sliding an arm around Anthony’s waist to help him to his feet.

“Lean on me, my lord. It will be our little secret.”

Anthony let loose a string of expletives, rendering Clairece speechless.

“As you say, my lord, but perhaps it’s best left unvoiced until your lady wife is not present?”

Flushing at the gentle rebuke, he let Hodges walk him into the adjoining water closet.

Clairece could only speculate—and be thankful for—the relationship between the two.