Mending Him (18 page)

But not forever,
Charles thought. His legs grew stronger every day, the broken bones healing. And he hadn’t felt any sign of the weird tingling disease with its attendant loss of control for weeks now. One day this entire episode of his life would be nothing but a bad memory, except, of course, those parts with Robbie.

“Robbie and I will stay at the house, then, and look after Cousin Lenore and tend to the guests,” he declared, staring at Samuel and daring him to defy him on this.

“Very well.” Phillip closed and locked his desk before leading the way from his office. “Let us go find your sister.”

As it turned out, several of the guests insisted on joining in the search, while their wives rallied around Lenore, offering sympathy and support. There was little for either Charles or Robbie to do except search the garden one more time. After much walking and calling, they returned to Lenore’s sitting room to report to her and the ladies.

“One more search around the house,” Charles declared.

“From the attics to the cellar,” Robbie said.

“Yes, do go once more.” Lenore sniffed and waved her handkerchief at them as if they were about to head off on a journey. “Thank you, my darlings.”

“I might not be able to gallop around the countryside yet, but waiting for word and doing nothing is intolerable. If I’d stay in this house, inactive, I will start swinging from the chandelier like a gibbon monkey,” Charles said as they started their slow walk up to the attic.

In the dusty attic, they opened trunks and poked through wardrobes.

Charles hesitated when they arrived at the servants’ quarters. “This seems intrusive,” he pointed out. “And they’ve already searched their own rooms.”

“Yes, but if she’s hiding somewhere inside, she might have moved about the house since then.”

“All right,” Charles agreed.

The search through those rooms revealed nothing—except the fact that Mrs. Jackson didn’t keep her small room as neat as the rest of the house and one of the two footmen sharing a room owned three brands of hair oil. They called her name every few seconds.

As they made their slow way down the back stairs, Charles asked, “Are you packed?” And then in a low voice, he added, “I have wanted to say this since last night. I am so sorry for my part in ruining your relationship with your family.”

“Your family too.” Robbie stopped for a moment and leaned against the wooden handrail. “In the end, I don’t believe the truth can be denied. At some point, we would have revealed our—our…” His voice trailed off.

“Affection,” Charles finished with a flash of a smile. He turned and continued down the stairs.

Affection, Robbie thought. Exactly that.

“I wish we could return to a time when fear of discovery was our greatest worry,” he muttered.

“We’ll find Gemma,” Charles said without turning around. His hearing and understanding were far too acute.

They had made their way down to the kitchen when Robbie heard something scratching. He put a hand on Charles’s arm. “What’s that?”

“What do you mean? Oh! That sound.”

Robbie moved quickly past him, skirting the huge table and the low-hanging herbs to go through the scullery to the door. He opened it to find a muddy, happy dog sat staring up at him.

“Daisy!”

She bounded into the house, ears flapping, leaving a trail of dirty paw prints. She sniffed around the kitchen with that eager excitement of a young creature invading forbidden territory. She stopped at the larder door and, with both front paws, scratched enthusiastically at the spot where the door and flagstones met.

Robbie watched, dismayed. “Daisy, we’re not going to feed you, you awful animal. Find Gemma.
Gemma.
”

Charles opened the door and peered inside. “Gemma’s not in there. Should I fetch Daisy some scraps? Or shall we just shove her back outside and see if she leads us to Gemma?”

“I suspect that if she eats, she will lie down in a corner and go to sleep.”

They stared at the panting dog that watched them expectantly.

“She looks almost intelligent,” Charles said hopefully.

“Find Gemma,” Robbie ordered again. The dog scratched at the larder again.

“All this food is too distracting,” Charles declared. He pushed and pulled the reluctant dog back out the kitchen door, into the garden.

Robbie said, “Should we tell someone Daisy has returned?”

“There’s no point. She might be useless… Wait, maybe…” Charles pointed at a patch near the kitchen door, not far from the chicken coop. “I see a paw print there. Come on, Daisy, let’s follow your trail.”

She was perfectly glad to sniff in the vicinity of the coop.

As she sniffed, Charles cursed her, repeating “Find Gemma” a few times for good measure.

Robbie examined the ground carefully. “Perhaps Daisy came from that direction?” He pointed toward the rougher, taller grass, which was more than an inch or so tall and might have been trampled lately. Thank goodness the gardeners hadn’t been back there with their clippers.

“You have a good eye, I hope.” Charles pushed the sniffing dog in that direction. “Go on. Gemma. Get Gemma,” he said.

They watched the circling dog for several long minutes. She lay down and rolled in something, no doubt a bit of rancid chicken droppings.

A few moments later, she led them to a pile of rubbish the gardeners had collected to burn.

“That is the most worthless cur it’s ever been my misfortune to meet,” Charles said. Robbie agreed. He felt ready to strangle the happy, aimless Daisy.

She stopped sniffing, lifted her head, and her ears pricked forward. One paw rose as she sampled the air.

“Now. She will at last make a move,” Charles said, and a moment later, she bounded off into the woods.

The groundskeepers kept the woods clear of underbrush, but Robbie still felt awkward, nearly unbalancing with every step as he crashed after the dog through the woods, stumbling on every root and uneven rise of ground.

Charles took up the rear not making as much noise as Robbie but making up for it by calling “Gemma, Gemma,” every few seconds.

Daisy uncovered a pheasant and took off yapping after the flapping bird. They caught up with the dog when she stopped to tree a squirrel and bark at it.

“You must show us Gemma,” Robbie ordered.

“Come on, you wretched animal. Leave off,” Charles said in the same instant. Their eyes met, and Charles snorted. “If one weren’t so worried about Gemma, this would be quite a comic turn, two full-grown men hobbling in giant circles after a stupid dog as she sniffs after every small animal in the woods.”

“We’ll be able to have a good laugh later, I pray,” Robbie agreed absently. Leaves and dirt flew as Daisy dug a hole. “She’s apparently found a mole. Do you think we ought to give up and drag her back?”

Another thought seized him. “The lake. Dear God, it’s too cold to swim, but Daisy might have gone in. She’s so muddy. And then Gemma…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“No,” Charles said roughly. “See how muddy that hole she made is? That’s why the bloody animal is wet. Come on, Robbie. We’ll follow her another few minutes and then return home.”

“Or go to the lake,” Robbie murmured.

Charles didn’t answer.

The dog abandoned digging and started to trot through the woods. She actually stopped and looked over her shoulder at them.

“I do hope that glance of hers means ‘come along, you hobbling, slow fools’ and not ‘why are you following me?’” Charles said as he began to run again.

They might have missed Gemma if she’d been wearing a different color. First Robbie saw a flash of vivid pink lying on the ground. And then he saw the sprawled child.

For a far too long, terrible moment he thought she was dead and then he saw her chest rise and fall. “There. Thank God,” he said and hurried to her.

About a few yards off, Daisy barked up a tree at another squirrel.

Gemma opened her eyes and sat up. “Robbie! I knew you’d find me. Is it too late for breakfast?” She rose to her feet and allowed herself to be seized by Robbie, who’d dropped to his knees next to her.

“You wretched girl,” he said, his voice thick. He buried his nose in her damp hair that smelled of dog and woods. “We’ve been looking and looking for you.”

“It’s a good thing you put on that coat,” Charles said.

Robbie pulled back. He nodded, still stunned by how easily they could have walked past her and not seen her.

Gemma patted her coat. “Robbie doesn’t like it. The color is too strong, he said.”

“I like it now. I love the beastly thing. You shall always wear bright colors if you insist on wandering from home,” Robbie said. Charles walked over and stood by the pair. Robbie allowed himself several seconds of comfort by leaning his back against Charles’s legs.

“I didn’t insist on wandering. Daisy did.” Gemma rubbed her eyes.

Robbie slowly rose to his feet, sliding up Charles’s body to steady himself and because he loved having all that grand, solid warmth right there for him.

He held out his hand to Gemma. “Come on, darling. Let’s take you home and feed you breakfast.”

“Daisy needs breakfast, too, but she got me lost. I wanted to show her the fort, but she would keep making me go in circles.”

Robbie said, “The fort? I’d say it’s a full mile east of here. The gentlemen have all gone off to search for you in that direction.”

Gemma frowned. “They are looking for me? Am I in trouble?”

“You’ll get a scolding, I should think,” Charles said. “But you’ll also get petted and cried over.”

Robbie murmured, “I was the first to do that.” He surreptitiously wiped the corners of his eyes with his sleeve.

Charles looked around the seemingly endless gray and green haze of the woods. “I have no idea which direction to go. I’m as lost as Gemma.”

Robbie pointed. “That way.”

Daisy must have noticed they headed back to civilization and food, because she stopped nosing around and took off, heading straight through the woods.

“Now she’s running with a single-minded purpose, like a dog with actual brains,” Charles grumbled.

“She actually did lead us to Gemma.” Robbie smiled down at the girl who held his hand tightly.

“Yes, I suppose it was more than a coincidence,” Charles said with some surprise in his voice.

Gemma whined that she was tired. “Carry me, Robbie.” She yanked on his hand.

“No, I’m bigger and stronger, so I shall.” Charles reached down for her. She went without complaint and clung to him, her arms tight around the neck.

Charles looked at Robbie over her shoulder, first with mock dread, but then he smiled and patted her back.

They walked slowly through the woods, heading back to the packed trunk and the silent disapproval of Uncle Phillip and an uncertain future.

But at the moment, Robbie’s relief outshone every other emotion or concern. He walked next to the two people he cared about most in the world and, when Gemma demanded it, he began to sing her favorite nursery song.

“I had a little doggie that used to sit and beg, But Doggie tumbled down the stairs and broke his little leg; Oh, Doggie, I will nurse you, and try to make you well; And you shall have a collar with a pretty little bell. Ah, Doggie, don’t you think that you should very faithful be, For having such a loving friend to comfort you as me.”

When he paused, Gemma said, “The doggie is just like Charles with the broken leg.”

“Yes, and I have the loving friends who’ll comfort me—you and Robbie,” Charles said.

By the time Robbie and Charles walked out of the woods, all three were singing.

Chapter Nineteen

Aunt Lenore cried. Her friends who’d kept vigil with her wept too. They all hugged Gemma and for many long minutes cooed over her and scolded her as Charles had predicted. Then Mary fetched the girl, promising her an enormous breakfast and a hot bath—and the back of a hairbrush on her bottom should she ever frighten them all like that again.

Aunt Lenore declared that Robbie and Charles were the best, most useful men she knew, and Daisy would be allowed in the house for at least the rest of the day.

By the time the gentlemen had been fetched from their search and returned to the house, the festive atmosphere had settled slightly, but with their arrival, the celebration of Gemma’s return began again.

Robbie slipped away up to his room to take one more look around.

As he checked a copy of Bradshaw’s to see which trains could take them to London, someone knocked on his bedroom door.

He knew his uncle’s sharp tap. “Come in,” he said, with some reluctance.

Phillip entered but didn’t walk far into the room. He didn’t meet Robbie’s eyes—instead, he glared at the drapes over the window as if they offended him.

He cleared his throat. “Lenore tells me that you found Gemma.”

“Charles and Daisy and I did, yes.”

“I thank you for that.”

Robbie wished he’d say more, but he only nodded once, then turned away.

“You’re welcome,” Robbie called after him.

Uncle Phillip turned once again and looked him square in the face. “You are a good and honest person, Robbie. Intelligent too. I shall write a letter to that effect. Lenore says anything else need not be mentioned.”

Robbie nodded. He longed to tell Uncle Phillip all of it, the deep affection he held for Charles, the sense of completion he felt near him, the way he felt more alive and funnier and happier and smarter when he was around Charles.

He’d never say any of that to his uncle, or anyone else for that matter—except to the one person who should hear it: Charles.

Soon they would be on a train to London, and he could speak those words, or, if the third-class car was too crowded, write them in a note.

Poor Charles, traveling third class with the livestock. Robbie longed to see him there. But now he must say his good-byes. This moment with Phillip was better than he’d hope for.

His uncle waited, his hand on the door. He seemed to want something else, so Robbie spoke. “Thank you,” Robbie said. “For giving me a home and everything else you’ve done for me. And you’ve done so very much to help and educate me, Uncle Phillip. Thank you for all of it.”

Phillip’s mouth twisted. His eyes squinted, he blinked, and for a moment, Robbie wondered if Phillip would allow himself to cry. His own eyes prickled, but he successfully fought back tears.

“I loved you as if you were my own.”

Past tense.

“I love you,” Robbie said, but didn’t rub it in with
and always shall.
He cleared his throat. “I hope you’ll allow me to see Gemma again?” He supposed he’d have no better time to ask than after the big rescue in the woods.

His uncle gave a single nod and closed the door behind him, softly at least.

Charles went to say his farewell to Phillip. He found Samuel sitting at his father’s large desk, ledger books open in front of him.

Todd, the large and gruff bailiff, stood behind Samuel as if keeping guard. Todd nodded to Charles. “Hear you’re leaving, sir.”

“Yes, and more to the point, so is Mr. Grayson.”

“Now
that
gentleman will be missed, and I don’t mind saying so.” He glared at the back of Samuel’s head. “I’ll go fetch myself some tea and be back. And no, Mr. Samuel, I won’t add the figures on that ledger. That’s your job, sir. I won’t be charged with cheating.”

Todd strolled from the room.

Samuel hunkered down in the chair and apparently tried to pretend Charles wasn’t in the room.

“You achieved your goal of shifting the attention to someone else,” Charles said as he settled onto a wooden chair. He was still unsteady enough he wouldn’t risk a comfortable, overstuffed armchair.

Samuel mumbled something and rubbed his cheek.

Charles made a guess and said, “Come look me up in London. I’ll give you a fair fight then. A good brawl might do wonders for your temperament, you spoiled, ungrateful puppy. Are you even going to say good-bye to your cousin?”

Samuel mumbled again, and this time Charles couldn’t understand.

“What?”

“I said my mother will make me. Satisfied?”

“Not really, but unfortunately, dueling is outlawed, and your family would mourn your passing. Just be sure that should you come to London to sow any wild oats, I shall come to hear of it. And I will make sure that Lenore gets that information by the next post.” He smiled, thinking of how happy he would be to see some of his more disgraceful friends upon his return. Not exactly a triumphant reentry into society, but he wouldn’t have his future any other way.

Charles stood, ready to leave the house as soon as possible. Samuel rested his forehead on his hand and refused to meet his eyes.

“Enjoy your life among the mangel-wurzles,” Charles said. Samuel didn’t look up, but his shoulders sagged slightly. Good.

Before Charles could escape, Phillip came into the office. He frowned at Samuel and told him to finish his work later. “You will go spend time your mother’s friends now, and you will do it politely.”

As soon as Samuel left the room, Phillip began with the dire threats centered upon Robbie’s well-being and Charles’s lax regard. He was speaking of Robbie’s intelligence and abilities when Charles interrupted. “If you care for him so much, then tell him so. He values your good opinion far more than he should.”

Phillip stopped speaking after that. Charles waited a few seconds, then gave a slight bow and said, “Well, good-bye. I appreciate your generosity when I was so ill.”

He turned to leave, but Phillip spoke again. “Wait.” He pulled a purse from a drawer—the same one he’d used to pay off Samuel’s friends—and flung it at Charles, who stared down at it.

Did he have the dignity to refuse money? No. He’d lost any dignity, real or false, months ago when he’d lost control of his body and finances.

“Thank you,” he said as he picked up the leather purse and tucked it away. He took some comfort from the fact that he wasn’t so far gone that he stopped to count it in front of Phillip.

“That should pay expenses for at least a few months, if you have finally learned some economy. If you run out of money, do not apply to me for more,” Phillip said acidly.

“No, I won’t,” Charles said. He knew that as soon as he told Robbie about this money, he’d insist they’d have to pay Phillip back, for Charles and Robbie had no intention of staying apart, as Phillip had insisted the previous night. Alas, the troubles that came with a bond connected to an honest man with scruples.

A few minutes later, when he went to take leave of Lenore, she embraced him and slipped another purse into Charles’s pocket. She whispered, “If you need funds, write to me directly. I have a great deal of my own, you know. And I know you’ll take good care of my Robbie. He’s still quite innocent about the city, so you must protect him.”

“You should give him the money,” Charles said.

“He’d never take it. He’s too proud. He is such a dear.”

“He is a good man,” said Charles, delighted that someone would at last allow him to say nice things about Robbie.

“Indeed he is, and so you keep it. You’re more worldly than he.”

That was one pleasant way to describe the difference, he thought as he gave her a kiss on the cheek. He fished out some of the coins to tip the servants.

He would miss Lenore and Gemma. And he would even miss Bertie, although somehow the boy had gotten his hands on a slingshot. Charles felt as if he was escaping just in time.

Charles hummed a tune for a long while before he realized it was Gemma’s blasted “I Had a Little Doggie” song.

The cart jostled and thumped over every rut as Forrester drove them to the station. The three of them and the luggage were crammed in tight. It seemed fitting to Charles to set off the way he’d arrived, by cart, with Forrester, singing an absurd song.

But now Charles’s pockets contained more money than he’d seen in quite some time, a man he held in great affection sat at his side, and he enjoyed better health than he’d had in years. And he was sober as a priest—one who conducted communion with good wine, that was, because, well, he’d had a brandy or two to celebrate Gemma’s return. Nearly entirely sober.

He hummed the contagious little ditty, and then next to him, Robbie began to sing the song softly. Forrester joined in. And of course Charles sang too. His head hurt from too little sleep, his leg ached from too much use last night at the ball and today’s chase after Daisy. He’d never felt better in his life.