Carola Dunn (22 page)

“Am I quite tidy?” she asked anxiously, brushing down her skirts and patting and poking at her hair.

“Perfectly,” reassured Mrs Sutton.

“Delightfully,” said Mr Sutton.

“Charming,” said Sir Gregory.

“Enchanting,” was Mr Leigh’s verdict, accompanied by a squeeze of the hand and a loving smile.

As they walked up the long lawn towards the manor, a pleasant-looking though unpretentious building, Angel glanced down with a sigh at her own plain grey muslin, contrasting it with Beth’s lace-trimmed walking dress of primrose jaconet. She was growing very tired of being so dowdy. Even Lord Dominic had murmured approvingly at his sister’s appearance. It was time, she decided, to have a pretty gown made up. She would wear it only as a last resort, keep it as her final card. And to back it up she would write to Papa and ask him to send her a letter of introduction to Lord Grisedale. If it became necessary to reveal her true identity, that would serve as proof. It was all very well hoping that someone would wish to marry her in her lowly disguise, but to lose him because of it was a horse of a different colour!

Mrs Leigh welcomed her guests with delight and very soon made them feel at home. Mrs Sutton took it upon herself to smooth the meeting between Beth and her prospective mother-in-law, and they were soon wholly occupied in sharing their mutual admiration of Gerald.

The embarrassed object of their commendations invited the rest of the party to take a turn about the gardens. When they returned to the house, they found an elegant luncheon set out for their refreshment. The gentlemen were particularly grateful after the morning’s exertions, though Angel’s always healthy appetite had in no wise suffered from having merely sat with her fingers trailing in the water.

Mrs Leigh and Beth were like mother and daughter, and while he had expected no less, Gerald Leigh was obviously gratified. He was an attentive and sociable host, and when Angel compared this party with the dinner at Upthwaite Park, she at last admitted to herself wholeheartedly that her friend had made the right choice. Beth blossomed in the loving atmosphere and became actually gay, glowing with happiness. Lord Grisedale must be won over, Angel vowed, if she had to hit him on the head to accomplish it.

The return trip across Ullswater was effected with more expertise, but no faster than that morning, all the oarsmen being somewhat somnolent. As they dropped off Lord Dominic, well away from the village, he pointed out Gerald’s small boat, pulled well up on the grassy bank and covered with a tarpaulin.

“I shall probably go rowing tomorrow afternoon,” he said, looking pointedly at Angel. She gave him the tiniest nod.

“My poor old boat is working for its living these days!” declared the young vicar.

They returned the rented boat to its owner, and Mr Leigh, having been duly thanked for a delightful visit, rode off to Upthwaite. Angel announced that she had an errand or two in Patterdale, and the rest of the ladies at once remembered odds and ends they simply could not do without any longer. Mr Sutton and Sir Gregory exchanged glances, and the former suggested they should ride on, while the latter advised the coachman to look after the ladies. They departed towards Grisedale.

When they reached the shops, Angel drew Catherine aside and disclosed her decision to provide herself with an attractive gown.

“Just in case,” she said vaguely. “Only I do not want Beth or Aunt Maria to know. So, dearest Catherine, could you draw them off for me, while I go to Doan’s?”

“I’ll try, Angel, if you will be quick. I’ve never known you take less than an hour or two to make up your mind.”

“They do not have much choice of materials, so I will not be long.”

“Very well. Let me think. Ah, I know. Mother, I believe I saw Miss Weir waving to us. Do you not think we ought to go and pass the time of day?”

“Oh, yes!” said Beth. “I know her only to bow to, but I should like to thank her for the novels I borrowed through Lyn.”

As they walked up the street, Angel mysteriously vanished. In accordance with Catherine’s expectation on this sunny afternoon, Miss Weir was found in her flower garden, where she might well have waved to the Suttons. She was thrilled to be properly introduced to Lady Elizabeth and insisted on calling “dear Tabitha” to share the treat. It was a good twenty minutes before they managed to tear themselves away.

Walking back towards the draper’s, they met Angel looking angelic.

“Where have you been?” she demanded. “I went into Doan’s and nobody followed! I quite thought you had gone off home without me.”

Catherine gathered from her smug face that her search had been successful, and so it proved. When they reached the vicarage and went up to their chamber to change, Angel produced a scrap of forget-me-not blue sarsnet.

“With blond lace,” she explained, “and knots of deep blue ribbon. They are to deliver it direct to the dressmaker here in Barrows End. Will you come with me in the morning to choose a pattern?’’

“Of course, dear. You will look quite ravishing in that colour. Fit to break a thousand hearts.”

“One will do,” said Angel softly.

Catherine thought it best not to delve too deeply into the meaning of that remark.

The following afternoon, Angel slipped out of the house alone. If she was missed, everyone would suppose her at Grisedale Hall, or at least out with Beth. She hurried towards Patterdale. Dom had not been able to name a time for their tryst, and she did not want to keep him waiting. It took her over an hour to reach the place where the boat was kept, and by the time she got there she fervently hoped that she would be offered a homeward ride on Thunder.

The boat, its cover removed, was already afloat, but there was no sign of Lord Dominic. In a very few minutes she heard the thud of approaching hooves, and Osa bounced up to her.

“Down, girl!” called Dom, swinging down from Thunder’s back. “I hope you have not been waiting long, Linnet. I came down half an hour ago and launched the boat, but Osa kept trying to reach it so I took her for a run. I thought you’d not appreciate a wet dog for a fellow passenger.

He pulled on the painter and brought the small vessel to where they could step in. Osa took a flying leap as he steadied it. Angel was surprised that she did not go straight over the other side. She herself stepped in more decorously, with a helping hand from Dom. The dog was sniffing about the boat suspiciously, and Angel noticed that some letters had been carved in one of the seats.

“Look!” she exclaimed. “Herbert has made his mark on Mr Leigh’s boat. ‘HER’ here, and over there too.”

“Yes,” said Dom with a frown. “I’ve not known him to do such a thing before. I saw it at once when I pulled the tarpaulin off. I don’t suppose Gerald will be pleased. He has had the boat since we were boys and has always taken good care of it.”

“Perhaps it can be smoothed away,” suggested Angel. “It is not deeply cut. But don’t let it spoil our afternoon. Let’s go.”

They pushed off, and were soon floating some twenty feet from the bank. Dom sculled gently, just enough to keep them moving. Osa sat in the bow, peering over the side, presumably at fish below the surface. Moorhens and coots paddled out of their way, a family of swans regarded them with supercilious curiosity, and a water rat emerged from a hole in the bank to watch their passage with bright brown eyes. The air was balmy, and the only sounds were the gurgle of water about the oars, Osa’s panting, and an occasional quack.

“This is heavenly,” said Angel, “but I don’t think you are getting much exercise.”

“I shall row harder on the way back,” Dom replied lazily. “If you go at it overenthusiastically to start with, the return voyage is too long.”

“I should like to try rowing. I thought yesterday that it looked too difficult, but it seems easier when people are not getting in each other’s way.”

“I’d rather not attempt to switch seats out here, especially with Osa in the boat. We could pull in to the shore if you wish.”

“Not today, perhaps. I had to walk all the way here, and shall have to walk back again afterwards.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take you on Thunder. I’ll even go all the way to Barrows End. I cannot skulk about in the undergrowth forever, especially since you have Father eating out of the palm of your hand. Beth says he is a different person.”

“I cannot guarantee that he will welcome you with open arms, Dom. It might be best to wait a while, until he is so used to being cheerful that he is less likely to nab the rust.”

“Well, I shall take you home on Thunder, so let us have a rowing lesson.”

Angel found that one oar was as much as she could cope with, so they sat beside each other on the narrow bench. The footboard had to be moved forward so that she could reach it, which meant that Lord Dominic had his knees under his chin and had the greatest difficulty in making a stroke at all. Angel had no less difficulty, but they struggled on with a great deal of laughter, until she caught a crab. There was a huge splash, the boat rocked, to Osa’s vociferous indignation, and she just saved herself from going over backwards into the bilge.

“I’m soaked!” she cried. “You are wet too. We had best go home, lest you catch a chill. The water is shockingly cold for midsummer.”

“Most of it hit you,” he pointed out with a grin. “I only caught a few drops. But I think it is growing late. We’d best be on our way.

Angel managed to wriggle back to her original seat, and Dom turned the boat expertly. He began to row vigorously back along the shoreline. The water parted in ripples before them and streamed back on either side. Ducks fled in dismay, and their wake lapped noisily at the bulrushes as they passed.

They were no more than fifty feet from their destination when the rhythmic creak of the oars in the rowlocks became an ominous cracking noise. Before Angel’s horrified eyes, the boat’s sides splintered at each end of the rower’s bench, then fractured cleanly. As the icy water flooded in, an oar rose abruptly and hit Lord Dominic on the chin. His eyes lost their focus, and he crumpled.

The boat sank, and Angel found herself shoulder-deep in the lake and ankle-deep in mud.

There was no sign of Dom. Her skirts dragged at her legs as she stepped forward and felt frantically in the murky water. Something heavy knocked against her and a patch of white cloth broke the surface: his shirt. She found his head, pushed it above the water, and with it balanced on her shoulder she struggled towards the shore, an endless distance away. A dozen times she nearly fell, then miraculously a strong arm was about her waist, the precious burden no longer weighed her down.

“Come on, Miss Brand,” urged a vaguely familiar voice. “Just a few more steps.”

She collapsed, half in half out of the water, her face buried in soft, sweet-smelling grass. For a few moments she was conscious of nothing else, then Osa nuzzled her cheek and a sense of desperate urgency forced her to her feet, up onto the low bank.

Dick Burchett had Dominic draped over his horse’s back. With one hand he held the bridle, with the other pounded on the unconscious man’s back. Seeing Angel moving, he called her to come and hold the horse, which was growing decidedly restless at this unusual treatment, especially as Osa apparently considered it responsible for her master’s plight. The dog was alternating volleys of deep barks with despairing howls.

“That’s what brought me,” said young Mr Burchett, hooking a thumb at Osa as Angel staggered over to take the reins. “Deuced lucky, too. Making enough racket to wake the dead.”

He went to work on Dominic with both hands, and soon a stream of water gushed from his patient’s mouth and nose. Angel noted with horror that it had a pinkish tinge.

“He has a lung injury,” she whispered. “Please be careful!”

“Breathing now,” said Dick cheerfully, lifting him down. As he laid him on the grass, Dominic’s eyes opened.

“Linnet,” he croaked, and was seized with a spasm of retching and coughing.

Angel abandoned the horse.

“Dom, I’m here, I’m all right. Oh, Dom, don’t try to talk. Just rest and we will take you home as soon as we can.” She cradled his head in her lap, then realised she was soaking wet and looked around helplessly.

“Cold,” he muttered, and closed his eyes again.

She was beginning to shiver herself. Dick Burchett, who was wet from the thighs down, was leading Thunder over.

“Don’t see quite how we’re going to do this,” he said in puzzlement. “Maybe best ride for a carriage.”

“No, we must get him warm and dry quickly! You get up on Thunder and I’ll lift him up to you somehow. Or I will hold him, but I don’t know if I am strong enough to support him all the way.”

“I c’n stand,” Lord Dominic said thickly. “Get up there, Dick.”

“Yes, my lord!” The farmer’s son swung up onto Thunder’s back.

With Angel’s help, Dom stood, swaying. A single uncertain step brought him within reach of Mr Burchett, who leaned down to grasp him beneath the arms. Angel pushed from beneath, and an undignified moment later he was slumped astride the horse in front of his rescuer.

“Master Dom’ll do,” he mumbled with a crooked smile, and then appeared to lose consciousness once more.

With her wet, heavy skirts clinging clammily to her legs, Angel did not find it easy to mount the other horse, but driven by desperation she managed it.

“Go on home, ma’am,” said Dick. “I’ll walk over later to fetch my Brownie.”

“No.” Angel rejected the proposal adamantly. “I’m coming to Upthwaite.”

They set off across the lane and up the hill.

Chapter 18

Gerald Leigh was writing a letter when his gardener, a lad of some sixteen summers, burst unannounced into his study.

“Come quick, sir,” he cried. “’Tis Mr Marshall!”

“What has happened?” asked the vicar in alarm, jumping to his feet. “Where?”

“Out t’front. He’m hurt!”

Mr Leigh ran, but Forrester and Mrs McTavish were there before him. His maid was hovering in the front doorway, wielding a feather duster. The housekeeper had her arm about the waist of a soaked, exhausted, and shivering Miss Brand and was helping her towards the house. Dick Burchett, mounted on Thunder, was passing the limp body of Lord Dominic to Forrester, who took him in his arms like a baby and turned to follow Mrs McTavish. He saw his master.