Never a Road Without a Turning (19 page)

Pip stared at it for a long time before lifting it to his face, breathing in the sweetness of the silk and smoothing the fine cloth across his cheek. Ash really needed to stop giving him presents like this, because they made remaining unattached to the man very difficult.

Pip pulled the waistcoat away from his face and tucked it at the bottom of one of his dresser drawers, resisting the impulse to try it on. It was a silly present anyway. He would never be able to wear something so fine where the housekeeper or her husband could see him. If they or anyone else ever caught him with it, they’d only assume he’d stolen it from the master. Pip should just give it back to the man… but he knew he wouldn’t.

Instead, Pip pushed it from his mind and readied himself for bed. He still had a few novels he’d taken from Ash’s library, so he lit a candle and tried to distract himself with one until he grew tired enough to fall asleep. The books were poor bedfellows, but they were all he had.

M
RS
. A
PPLETHWAITE
’
S
words to him that night proved prophetic over the next two weeks. Ash did indeed call for him, but rarely. As the weather grew colder, so did their relationship. And despite all his vows to the contrary—and a thorough disgust for himself—Pip mourned the loss of what he hadn’t even had to begin with, a depth of feeling that he was now completely certain Ash didn’t share.

“Who does ’e think ’e is? Mr. High-n-Mighty. I ought t’ pack me things and be on me way,” Pip grumbled to the horse after a particularly cold and miserable afternoon ride.

He hadn’t seen nor heard from Ash in days. The horse was the only set of ears Pip dared vent his spleen to, the only friendly ears he had at the cottage, so the poor creature got more than its fair share of Pip’s griping. Of course, it also got a lengthy grooming session in the bargain, so Pip thought it a fair trade.

“Only talks to me when ’e wants somethin’, ’e does. Won’t tell me nothin’ about ’imself. I bet Mr. Cooper in the village knows more about ’im than me,” Pip continued as he vigorously brushed the horse’s thickening winter coat. “I should leave. Find someone else. That would show ’im.” The horse whickered in what Pip assumed was agreement. “Too right. I
should
go. Who needs ’im anyway? ’e’s ill-tempered, inconsiderate, a right prig when he wants, stubborn, proud, imperious, in his cups half the time, and blue as megrim the other. ’e’s—” Pip stopped midrant as a sudden realization came crashing down on him.

“Bloody ’ell. I’m in love.”

Pip stood frozen in dismay until the horse grew impatient with him and gave him a good hard nudge with its head to remind Pip what he should be doing. Pip went back to brushing, but his mind was miles away.

It all made sense now. Why else would he put up with all Ash’s nonsense? Why else would he keep coming back for more when there were plenty of willing young ladies who’d pamper him and flatter him? That bit about Ash being convenient was bloody rubbish. Ash was the most
inconvenient
lover Pip had ever had. And the worst of it was, he couldn’t even blame Ash for his broken heart, because Ash hadn’t asked for Pip’s love in the first place.

Pip buried his face in the horse’s shoulder and continued to brush it absently. The beast allowed him to seek comfort there and even nuzzled him a few times as Pip simply breathed against its neck.

As the shock began to fade and the reality of his predicament sank in, Pip felt a sudden and intense desire to run. He desperately wanted to leave the cottage, to go home to Maud and Master Carey and forget about this cold, lonely place forever. But he didn’t move. His blasted traitorous heart wouldn’t let him. It rebelled at the very thought of leaving Ash to waste away with only the Applethwaites for company—even if it was the stubborn bastard’s own fault if he did—so instead of running, Pip lifted his head, stiffened his spine, and resolved not to let a little thing like love get the best of him. He was stronger than that. He certainly had more pride than that. And when he thought he could manage it, Pip closed the animals in and returned to the kitchen, his supper, and another night alone in his bed.

During the days that followed, Pip completed the mounting block in the yard as he’d promised. He went to the village when sent, and he wrote to Maud regularly about the horse and the weather and whatever village gossip he managed to pick up. The few times Ash did ring for him, Pip stayed with the man in the library and made no attempts to repeat their last encounter. He read to Ash and sat with him. Once they sucked each other’s cocks before Ash sent Pip off to his own bed again, but the physical connection gave Pip no joy or comfort.

His life stretched out bleak and formless, like the mists and seemingly endless November rains that year, and Pip didn’t know when he’d have the strength to turn from it, the strength to walk away from Ash.

Perhaps in the spring.

A
T
THE
end of the last week of November, Pip was finishing up in the barn for the day and looking forward to thawing out by the fire, when the thunder of hooves reached his ears. Concerned for no reason he could name, Pip set down his rake and went to investigate.

The carts had already come and gone to deliver the coal and feed for the animals. The post had come the day before, and it was much too late in the afternoon for that at any rate. The sun was almost gone.

As Pip stepped out of the barn, a horse and gig crested the hill closest to the cottage. They were moving fast, so Pip ran to the gate, opened it, then hurried over to grab hold of the horse’s lead as the carriage drew to a stop in the yard.

A man, probably only a few years younger than Pip, jumped out of the carriage as soon as Pip had the horse. He was wide-eyed and out of breath, and he rushed over to Pip.

“I’m John Ingram from the Dog and Duck in the village. Is yer master at ’ome?”

Pip opened his mouth to answer, but Mrs. Applethwaite came bustling out then, and the young man turned to repeat his greeting to her instead.

“Perhaps,” the housekeeper replied cautiously. “What is your business?”

“Please, ma’am. Doctor Fields sent me. A couple o’ travelers came to the inn not an hour ago, and one of ’em were badly injured on the road. The carriage got stuck, and the man caught ’is hand in the wheel when they tried to push it free.”

Mrs. Applethwaite’s own hand flew to her breast, and she gasped. “My word. How awful. But I don’t understand. Why would the doctor send for our master?”

“Mr. Leyes, the barber, is out of town, ma’am. Doctor says ’e needs a surgeon.”

Mrs. Applethwaite frowned and wrung her hands, obviously unsure of what to do, but then the front door of the cottage opened and Ash stepped out, saving her the trouble of making a decision.

“What is going on here?” Ash demanded with all the haughtiness and command Pip knew he was capable of.

The young man, John, started and seemed to shrink in on himself. He hurried over to repeat his plea to Ash after doffing the cap he’d earlier forgotten in his haste.

Ash stood silently while he heard the man out, his expression betraying nothing, and he continued to stare at the young man for some time after he finished his message. To anyone who didn’t know him, Ash would have appeared completely unmoved. But Pip could see the tightness in Ash’s lips and the white of his knuckles on the handle of his walking stick.

Pip shifted restlessly from foot to foot, anxious to go to the man, to talk to him, to know what he was feeling and offer to help if he could. But he couldn’t do any of those things, so he stayed where he was and patted and soothed the horse instead, silently cursing Ash, the housekeeper, and the world in which he lived.

Ash glanced in Pip’s direction only once before he turned back to John and said, “I left that profession behind when I sold my commission, but… if there truly is no one else, then I cannot in good conscience refuse.”

“Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you. I’m to take ye directly, when ye’r ready,” John said, hurrying over to the gig in his eagerness to be gone, instead of waiting for Ash to lead as was proper.

Mrs. Applethwaite frowned at the man, but Ash didn’t seem to notice or care. He turned to Pip and said, “I need my instruments and the box of medicines from my rooms.”

Pip left the horse with John and ran past Ash into the house. He took the stairs two at a time. He heard Mrs. Applethwaite bustle in behind him, probably fetching the master’s coat, hat, and gloves, but he didn’t stop to look. Pip purposefully turned away from the bed as he stumbled into the room. He simply grabbed the leather tool kit and box of glass vials from the trunk in the corner and hurried back with them.

Ash was shrugging on his coat when Pip returned. Pip hovered nervously behind him as the man limped his way to the gig. John made a hesitant attempt to help Ash into the seat, but one warning glare from those ice-colored eyes froze him in his place. When Ash had finally settled his stubborn arse into the seat, he turned to Pip, reaching for his tools. Pip held Ash’s gaze, trying to convey both his concern and his support with a single look as he handed it over, making sure their fingers touched briefly in the exchange, but Ash’s expression betrayed nothing as he tucked the items in his lap and turned to face forward.

When Mrs. Applethwaite hurried inside, saying she should fetch a blanket for the master, Pip leaned close and whispered, “I’m comin’ with ye.”

Ash looked up from tugging on his gloves then, and something flickered in his eyes before he simply nodded and turned his attention to John, “I’m ready.”

The seat had only enough room for two so Pip hurried around to the boot and hopped on as John flicked the reins and the horse took off.

The ride was a little harrowing for Pip. John pushed the horse faster and faster down the narrow and rutted road from the cottage, and Pip clung white-knuckled to the back as the gig bounced and tipped precariously on the turns. When at last they reached the inn, he had to pry his hands loose from the frame, the grain of the wood etched deeply into his palms.

Ash handed Pip the box of medications and went straight into the inn as soon as the gig came to a stop, without waiting for anyone to help him down, and Pip followed as soon as he was sure his legs would carry him.

A tall man with a thick salt-and-pepper beard Pip recognized as one of Ash’s first callers at the cottage rose from his place by the large stone fireplace and came to greet them. He wore a finely tailored dark blue wool jacket, tan trousers, and a gray waistcoat, and his smile was relieved as he held out his hand. The background conversation of the other guests in the common room fell silent all around them.

“Major McNulty, thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Doctor Fields.” Ash nodded cordially as he shook the man’s hand. “Where is the patient?”

“This way.” The doctor led the way through a door on their left. Pip could feel everyone’s eyes on them as they went, but this time he was fairly certain none of them even noticed he was there.

The room they were taken to was small and dark, perhaps a private dining room of some kind for more particular guests. It contained a large wooden table on which a man in his shirtsleeves lay, holding his bandaged arm and moaning while a thin woman in a green travelling cape and bonnet stood at his head, soothing his brow and weeping silently.

“Mrs. Brown? Mr. Brown? This is Major McNulty. He’s come to take a look at you,” Doctor Fields said.

The man on the table opened feverish blue eyes and said through pale, trembling lips, “Major.”

“Has he been given anything to dull the pain?” Ash asked.

“Yes. I gave him some laudanum an hour ago. He could use another dose, but I wanted to wait until you arrived before I decided on the amount.”

Ash nodded and limped nearer to the table. He set his tools by the man’s feet and reached for the bandaged hand. “I will need to remove these to have a look at you. I’ll try to be as gentle as possible,” he said to Mr. Brown.

Pip’s stomach twisted with each layer of bloodied cloth that was removed. He had no idea why he was so squeamish. He’d seen his fair share of illness and injury over the course of his life—in the stews, where most couldn’t afford a doctor or even a barber surgeon to help them. Pip blamed it on his traitorous emotions. He felt everything more keenly since he’d met Ash, and he cursed the man under his breath yet again for turning him into a bloody girl.

Mr. Brown moaned loudly through clenched teeth as the bloody ruin of his hand was exposed, and halfway through the process, Ash asked Pip to escort Mrs. Brown from the room. When Pip returned after handing the woman over to the innkeeper’s wife, the bandage was gone, and in the light of the lamp Ash was closely examining what looked like something the butcher would turn into sausage. Pip’s stomach revolted and he had to look away, swallowing back the sourness in his throat. He watched Doctor Fields at the sideboard instead, pouring liquid from a small vial into a cordial glass.