A Poor Relation (16 page)

“Is it not odd that Miss Caxton has not yet returned?” he suggested.

Lady Grove glanced worriedly at the window, then at the clock, and clasped her plump hands. “Oh dear, yes. I am certain she did not mean to be gone so long. Whatever can have become of the child?”

“When did she go out?”

“I am not sure. One of the servants saw her leave. I have not seen her since breakfast.”

“Since breakfast!”

“We breakfasted very late after the ball,” Millicent pointed out. “And Rowena often takes lengthy walks.”

“Have you any idea which way she went, ma’am?” Inside Chris a hollow bubble of worry expanded. “Surely she mentioned to you where she was going, Miss Grove?”

“No, the silly creature tells me nothing.”

“I daresay Miss Anne would know,” Bernard suggested.

Anne was sent for at once. “She left right after breakfast,” she announced. “I thought she had returned long since and was down here.”

“Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, I did not realize she had been gone so long,” wailed her ladyship.

“Did she say where she was going?” Chris demanded.

“Into Down Stanton, to make some purchase.”

“I daresay she lingered to look about the shop,” Millicent said airily, but even she appeared concerned.

“You can see everything in that shop in five minutes,” Anne pointed out. “She has been gone for hours.”

The bubble was threatening to choke Chris. “She would have taken the shortest way, I suppose,” he managed to say.

“Yes,” Anne was positive. “Down the lane then over the stile and through your orchards. Shall you look for her?”

“Yes, and we shall leave at once. Pray excuse us, ladies. Come, Bernard.” Without another word Chris strode from the room, calling for his overcoat.

The wind had settled to a steady blow from the west, where gathering clouds hid the setting sun. It would have been possible to go home in the curricle, but Chris had no intention of deviating from the path Rowena had probably taken. Even driving down to the orchard gate they might miss her in the dusk. He set a brisk pace.

Bernard fell behind before they reached the park gates. Impatient, and angry with himself for his impatience, Chris waited. The girl had probably called on an acquaintance and forgotten the time, setting everyone by the ears for nothing.

“Go on without me,” urged Bernard. “I could go faster but I don’t want to be laid up for a week. Don’t let me hold you back, Chris.”

“It’s ridiculous of me, but I have a dreadful feeling something has happened to her. She is such a reliable young woman in general, and she knew I was coming.”

“Go on.”

Chris strode ahead down the lane, his gaze searching the hedgerows, though what he expected to see he had no idea.

He waited again at the stile until Bernard came round the bend and within hailing distance.

“You
know where the path to the village branches off from the path to the Grange,” he called. “You go on home and I will carry on from there.”

Bernard nodded and waved. He was walking at a steady pace, with only a hint of a limp. Chris vaulted the stile and went on.

It was gloomy between the unpruned trees and a couple of times he tripped over fallen branches strewn across the path. Bernard, going slower, should be able to avoid them. Perhaps Rowena had twisted her ankle and was hobbling painfully homeward. She would be surprised, delighted, to see him. He would pick her up and carry her to the gate, while Bernard sent the carriage to take her home. Or perhaps it would be better to take her straight to the Grange for a reviving cup of tea before...

A dark bulk sprawled on the path some fifty yards ahead of him. He broke into a run, crashing through the debris, his heart pounding.

Beneath a deadwood branch she lay on her side, twisted, one forearm protecting her face. Her eyes were closed and a jagged gash showed on her white temple. Her hair was loose and full of bits of stick and leaves, he noted irrelevantly.

“Bernard!” he roared as he exerted all his strength to lift the heavy branch. “Bernard!”

The branch shifted, and now he moved with more care lest some part of it strike her. At last she was free and he dropped to his knees beside her, reaching for her slender wrist as Bernard stumbled up to them.

“Her pulse is weak. I dare not carry her for fear of doing more harm.” Though he yearned to lift her slight body in his arms, he had seen too many wounded men crippled by being moved carelessly. “Can you make it to the house? Send Potter and some others back with a hurdle, and someone must ride for the doctor. Go as quick as you can, Bernard.”

“Of course.” The captain hurried off, his limp more pronounced now.

Chris ran his hands along Rowena’s limbs, trying to discover whether any bones were broken. It seemed not, so with the utmost gentleness he straightened her crumpled form. He took off his coat and spread it over her. Powerless to help her further, he sat on the ground beside her and picked a few scraps of bark out of her tangled curls, then took her hand in his. It felt very small and fragile.

He loved her. It was impossible to deny the overwhelming need for her that shook his body. If she would only open her eyes he would pour out his feelings, tell her she must live for his sake. Somehow his unready tongue would find the words to express all the sweet, confused emotions he had tried so long to avoid acknowledging.

She did not stir. It seemed forever he sat there in the deepening dusk holding her hand before he saw lanterns winking between the trees.

“Major, sir?”

“Potter! Over here. Thank heaven you’ve come.”

“Quick as we could, sir. Bad, is she?”

“All I can find is a blow to the head, but there may be broken bones. Ned, Jemmy, set the hurdle here, close as you can, and hold the lanterns. Help me move her, Potter. Take her shoulders. Careful now.”

“Easy does it, Major.” The ex-corporal gently laid the unconscious girl on the hurdle then stooped, smoothing back her hair to look at the wound on her forehead. “A nasty bruise she’ll have, but it’s nought but a scratch. Bit of concussion, likely as not.”

Rowena moaned and opened her eyes.

“Potter?” she murmured in puzzlement.

“Major, she’s come round! Now don’t you worry, miss, we’ll have you home in a twinkling.”

Chris instantly took his servant’s place and bent over her. Her eyes were already closed, but a faint frown suggested that she had not swooned again.

“Rowena, I’m taking you to the Grange. You were hit on the head by a branch, and there may be other injuries. Keep as still as you can.”

“Yes, Major,” she whispered, the merest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

She roused once more as the little procession made its way to the house. Chris saw the bewilderment in her green eyes as she glanced from one to another of the dark figures surrounding her. He held the lantern he carried so that the light fell on his face. Though she did not speak and he was not certain that she recognized him, the sight of him seemed to soothe her before she lapsed back into unconsciousness.

By the time they reached the Grange he was desperately worried about that prolonged insensibility. Diggory stood on the marble flight of steps to the front door, peering with unbutlerlike anxiety into the darkness. The two footmen flanking him ran down to relieve the grooms of their burden. They carried the hurdle into a vestibule that seemed unusually full of servants, who scurried out of sight as the butler reappeared.

“Mrs. Diggory has prepared the rose chamber for Miss Grove, my lord,” he announced. “Oh, it is not Miss Grove. I understood it to be the young lady from Grove Park who sustained the injury.”

“Miss Caxton,” he snapped, realizing that she had never visited the Grange. “Carry her up, lads, and go carefully. Is the doctor sent for? Where is Captain Cartwright?’’

Lady Farleigh answered him, limping out of the drawing room leaning heavily on her stick. “I sent Bernard to take a hot bath, Christopher, and then go to bed. He is not yet well enough to dash about the countryside on errands of mercy without suffering for it. The stableboy rode for the doctor, with a note from me to ensure his compliance.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I must go up and make sure Miss Caxton is all right.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort, young man. Mrs. Diggory and my dresser will manage very well between them. Lady Grove must be notified—Miss Caxton is her niece, I collect?—though I doubt the silly woman is of any use in a sickroom. When you have written and dispatched an explanation to her, you may go and see Bernard.”

“Yes, Lady F.” Chris dropped a kiss on her smooth cheek as he passed. He had grown very fond of the dictatorial old lady, and her commands generally turned out to be common sense.

Though he itched to dash to Rowena’s side, he realized that it was quite ineligible. He hurried to the library, scribbled a note to Lady Grove, and sent a footman to take it to the stables for a groom to bear up to Grove Park. There were advantages sometimes in having swarms of servants at his bidding.

He went up to see Bernard, who was already in bed, looking rather pale and wan.

“I ought to have left you with her and run back here myself,” Chris said apologetically. “I was not thinking clearly.”

“A shocking admission for a line officer. My leg aches like the very devil but you must not suppose there is anything serious the matter. How is Rowena?”

“Lady F. won’t let me see her. Very proper, I suppose, but deuced frustrating. The doctor can look at your leg when he’s seen to her.”

“He need not, I only need to rest it.”

“That’s an order, Captain.”

“Sir!” Bernard saluted mockingly.

“If only I had had those trees pruned of deadwood, this would never have happened.”

“Don’t tell me you are blaming yourself? You have been following Rowena’s own instructions and you cannot suppose she will hold you responsible for her accident.”

“No.” Chris managed the ghost of a smile. “I expect she will tell me that even a major and an earl cannot command the winds.” He paused as the door opened to admit Diggory, followed by a footman with a tray. “Ah, here is your dinner. Is it so late? I am still in all my dirt.”

“I have had hot water carried to your chamber, my lord, but her ladyship asked me to inform you that she does not expect you to change for dinner.” The butler looked down his long nose at Chris’s nether garments, in which he had sat on the ground beside Rowena.

At least Jessup was no longer there to add his horrified disapproval. Chris washed his face and hands and went down to dinner as he was.

Halfway through the meal, a simple one as they had no guests, Chris heard the sounds of the doctor’s arrival. Only Lady Farleigh’s eagle eye prevented him from leaving the table to pace the hall outside Rowena’s chamber. It seemed an age before he heard the man’s footsteps descending the stairs.

“Diggory, ask Dr. Bidwell to join us here,” ordered the dowager. “I daresay the poor man was interrupted at his dinner.”

The doctor informed them, around a mouthful of apple tart, that Miss Caxton was suffering from a mild concussion, severe bruising and abrasions, and a slight fever as a result of exposure.

“Nothing to worry about, my lady,” he added cheerfully. “I have left a draught to give her if she grows delirious. Someone should stay with her, but I do not expect any adverse developments. Send for me if she has not fully recovered her senses by noon tomorrow.”

“You may be sure we shall,” said Chris grimly. He wanted to throttle the man for his blithe unconcern.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Dr. Bidwell had scarce departed when Anne arrived. She could be heard in the hall arguing with a footman. Before Chris could rise to his feet or Diggory had taken more than one step towards the dining room, she rushed in.

“Lord Farleigh, please tell your servant— Oh, my lady! I beg your pardon.” She performed a hurried curtsy. “I am Anne Grove. I have come to take care of Rowena—my cousin.”

“Alone, Miss Anne?”

Anne looked abashed. “It was useless even to ask Minton, ma’am. She’s my sister’s abigail. And with you and Rowena here... Our coachman brought me. You see, Mama did not wish to appear encroaching and Millicent pointed out that you have plenty of servants to look after Rowena.”

“Peagoose!” snorted the dowager, but whether she referred to Lady Grove, Millicent, Minton or Anne was unclear.

Anne ignored the interruption. “I knew Rowena would be more comfortable with one of her family by her side. So I went to Papa and he said I might take the coach. Please say I may stay, ma’am?”

“Certainly.” Her ladyship’s tone was almost cordial. “Christopher, escort Miss Anne above stairs.

“Thank you, my lady.” Anne curtsied again, then glanced about the room in alarm. “But where is Bernard? Is he hurt, too?”

Her eyes bright with interest, Lady Farleigh reassured her. “Nothing that rest will not cure. Dr. Bidwell tells us that
Captain Cartwright
merely overstrained weak muscles running for help.”

Anne flushed at the pointed use of Bernard’s rank and surname.

“I shall tell you all about it.” Chris came to her rescue, taking her arm and leading her from the room.

He delivered her to the rose bedchamber, where he was firmly denied entrance by Mrs. Diggory. Disconsolate, he wandered back to Bernard’s room and told him of Anne’s arrival and
faux pas.

“What a dear she is,” the captain murmured drowsily. The doctor had left a sleeping draught to ease his pain.

Chris went down to the drawing room and drove Lady Farleigh to distraction with his pacing. It was there that Mrs. Diggory found him an hour or so later. A motherly woman quite unlike her imposing husband and imperious mistress, the housekeeper had had little to do with her new master. She was astonished when he approached her eagerly and seized both her hands.

“How is she?”

“Miss Caxton’s still out to the world, my lord.” She tried to curtsy and he released her. “Her forrid’s a bit hot, but she’s lying peaceful enough. Miss Anne wants to sit up with her. Will that be all right, my lady?”