No Greater Love (16 page)

Georgia cleared her throat. “It is very good soup Binkley has made, is it not, Nicholas?”

“Delicious,” he agreed, trying to hide his smile behind his napkin.

“I was wondering. How much damage was done to the roof?”

“Not enough to be a serious setback. I don’t believe we’ll have any more water coming in as a result. It’s a damned waste of the slate and the time, but if the wind doesn’t take anything else off, we should stay dry and moderately warm.”

“That’s good.” She bowed her head again and concentrated on her soup.

He admired the long sweep of her neck, where the soft little wisps of hair curled, wishing very much to place his lips just there. He could think of a number of other places that he wished to place his lips, but realized that such thoughts would do him no good at the dinner table, save to create a physical reaction in him far too common these days.

“Nicholas,” she said suddenly, putting down her spoon with a clatter, “I want to apologize again for coming into the sitting room unannounced. It was unforgivable of me to intrude on your privacy.”

He managed to keep a straight face and match her gravity. “As I told you, Georgia, there is no need for repentance. You were bound to see me in a state of undress at some point or another during the course of our marriage. I only hope the shock wasn’t too great.”

She went bright red. “No, of course it wasn’t, Nicholas. I just didn’t want you to feel bad.”

Nicholas rubbed the bridge of his nose. “No. No, naturally you didn’t.”

“I think you are very fine in every regard.”

“Thank you, Georgia,” he said solemnly, not quite able to believe the conversation they were having. “It is kind of you to say so.”

“The side of beef, sir,” Binkley said, entering with the platter, and it was everything Nicholas could do not to burst into hysterical laughter.

“Please, do serve it up,” he said, barely able to speak at all.

Binkley set to the task, and then his head came snapping up with sharp attention. “Excuse me for just a moment, sir, but there seems to be someone pounding on the door.”

Nicholas cursed the intruder, whoever it was, for keeping him from his well-earned, long-awaited meat. But at least it served as a distraction and gave him a chance to bring himself back under control. And then Binkley returned, and Nicholas wondered at his tight expression. “Yes?” he asked, his spine already beginning to prickle.

“I am very sorry, Mr. Daventry, but the message is urgent. It is the village teacher, Johannes Helmut, outside. A ship has foundered, sir, on the Head. All men are urgently needed.” Binkley cast a quick look in Georgia’s direction. “What would you like me to tell him, sir?”

Every muscle, every nerve violently protested, screaming for him to pretend that he hadn’t heard. Of all things—of all the awful things that he might have been asked to face, that had be the worst.

Maybe it was just another bad dream. Maybe if he just sat there long enough it would all go away.

“Mr. Daventry, sir?”

Nicholas blinked. It was no bad dream—it was all too real, and he couldn’t ignore the summons. He pushed back his chair, hoping the cold, sick fear that had taken hold of his gut did not show on the outside. “Tell him we are on our way. Get whatever ropes we have. We’ll need brandy, blankets, whatever else you can think of. Load everything into the carriage. I’ll go directly to harness it. And, Binkley,” he added, walking over to him and lowering his voice, “before you do that, send Mr. Helmut to Ravenswalk. Insist he go. Tell him to ask for Lord Brabourne, on my order. Tell him that the young lord is to see to provisions of every sort, including men, and that I expect him to appear along with them. Tell him to be sure to inform Lord Brabourne that it is in payment of his account to me and to some orphaned kittens. Thank you, Binkley.”

“Very good, sir.” Binkley vanished, as did Nicholas, and Georgia moved just as quickly to gather what she needed.

“Georgia, I will not say it another time. It is no place for you.” Nicholas adjusted the harnesses of the horses. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Don’t be absurd, Nicholas. If there are injuries, then I’ll be needed. And there is no telling what has happened. I’m sorry, but I cannot allow you to argue with me on the matter.” She threw her medicine chest into the carriage.

“You cannot allow
me
to argue with
you?”
he said incredulously. “I beg your pardon, madam, but I think you have no choice but to do as I ask.’’ He looked down at his heel, where something was tugging. “Raleigh, what the devil are you doing here? Stop that pulling at once.”

“He must have followed me from the house.”

“And he will follow you right back again.”

“Very well. If you are determined to take such an attitude, then I warn you. I will go straight to Ravenswalk and have them take me in one of their conveyances. I will not be turned away from a situation where I can help.”

“Georgia, I will not tolerate this! You will return to the house straightaway and you will stay there until I return! Raleigh, stop your infernal barking!”

“Raleigh, that’s enough. Nicholas, please listen to me. You cannot expect me to sit still and wait here when there might be people hurt. What good is it to pull them out of the water only to have them die of their injuries?”

Nicholas paused. “Oh, very well,” he said with extreme annoyance. “Suit yourself. There’s no more time to argue. Binkley’s coming now with the last of the supplies. But you will stay out of danger’s way, do you understand me? And put that dog away in the tack room. He’ll be far safer than you. My God, neither of you listens to me.” He snapped the final buckle into place.

“I will be safe enough,” she said with equal annoyance, putting a struggling Raleigh away. His frantic barks came only slightly muffled through the closed door. “You have an irritating fashion of issuing commands, Nicholas, without listening to reason.”

“Inside the carriage, Georgia, and let us be on our way. And not another word from you. I haven’t the patience. Binkley, take the carriage out. I’ll close the doors behind.”

A minute later Nicholas joined her inside. He sat in silence, his arms folded across his chest, a scowl on his face, and Georgia was equally determined not to talk to him if he was going to be so stubborn. The carriage jerked and swayed in the gusting of the wind, which only became more fierce as they approached the coastline, and the horses struggled headlong against it. Georgia saw a cluster of horses and carriages gathered near the cliff’s edge, and she knew they were arriving. She swallowed hard, fear gripping at her, not for herself, but for Nicholas.

Nicholas suddenly turned to her. “Listen to me, Georgia,” he said, taking her hands between his. “Listen to me well. It might be bad—very bad. I’d rather you were safe at home, but since you insisted on being here, please promise me … Promise me, Georgia…” He sounded almost anxious.

“Promise you what?” she said, perplexed.

“Don’t go near the water. Please. Don’t go near the water.”

“All right, Nicholas. I’ll do my best.”

“No!
Not your best. Tell me you’ll stay well away. I want your promise. Give it to me.”

“Yes, all right, if it is so important.”

“It is.” He took her face between his hands, and then he pulled her roughly to him and kissed her hard. His mouth took hers as if it were the first and last time it would ever do so, and his arms pulled her close against him, so close that his buttons bit into her skin and she could feel the pounding of his heart beneath. She kissed him in return, held him equally tightly, feeling his apprehension as if it were her own, and she was suddenly afraid.

“Nicholas,” she whispered against his mouth as the carriage came to a halt, “take care. Don’t do anything foolish. Please don’t do anything foolish.”

He didn’t answer. He buried his face in her hair for one last brief moment, and then he was gone into the dark.

Georgia’s first impression when she alighted from the carriage was of the deafening sound of surf pounding against the rock. The next was the spray, exploding off rock in great white fans against the dark of the night, so powerfully that it hit her face even where she stood. And the third was of the distant cries of people mingling with the high wailing of the wind and the roaring of the waves.

“If you will hold the horses’ heads for a moment, madam, I will unload the supplies,” Binkley said quite calmly, and Georgia hurried to comply, talking soothingly to the poor shaking beasts. Someone came out of the dark and relieved her of the task, and she went back to fetch her medicine chest, then headed for the beach.

But the sight that met her eyes as she came over the edge of the cliff was worse than she had imagined. It was chaos. The beach was full of people rushing about and calling to each other, their voices barely audible over the shrill howling of the wind. Bodies were strewn about above the tide line. She frantically scanned the shore looking for Nicholas, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“This way, Missus Daventry,” said one burly man, coming up and taking her arm, leading her down the steep, rocky path to the sea. “Mr. Binkley said to keep an eye out for you. He said you could help them poor souls left alive. This way, over here.”

Tripping and stumbling, impeded by skirts that were already soaked and heavy, Georgia made her way down to the beach. It was then that she saw the ship for the first time. It had struck the treacherous jut of rock that pushed out from the foot of the cliff, and it lay like a broken toy, the mast cracked, the bow crushed. Tiny objects bobbed about, appearing and disappearing in the white spume of the waves that broke along the rocks, and with a sick sense of recognition Georgia realized they were people—people who could not possibly survive being thrown against the vicious teeth of the reef. She wondered how many had already died in such a way, or drowned beforehand. Men secured only by ropes held fast on the shore were out in the water trying to bring people to safety without being battered to death themselves.

She had one brief glimpse of Nicholas. He had stripped off his coat, shirt, and boots, and he was tying a rope around his waist, talking to a man she recognized as Martin. His face looked ghostly white in the eerie light. She squeezed her eyes shut and whispered a brief prayer for him, and then she turned away, unwilling to watch anymore.

She started moving among the injured, trying to see what could be done for them. Binkley had taken control of the proceedings on the beach and soon had an organized system in place. The dead were taken to one end of the beach, the wounded to the other, where Georgia was stationed, working frantically to salvage those she could with her limited abilities and materials. A doctor appeared at some point, but there was more than enough work for them both, and as he ignored her, she was left in peace to do what she thought correct.

She was attending a man whose arm had been badly gashed. He was bleeding heavily, but Georgia could do nothing for him while he thrashed so violently. “Please, you must let me help you,” she said. “Please, try to be still so that I can help you. I imagine the pain must be great.” She wiped the rain off her face and bent down to him again.

“I c-can hold him,” said a voice over her shoulder, and she looked up with surprise to see Cyril standing there, staring down at the man’s arm.

“Oh, thank God you’ve come, Cyril.”

“That man B-Binkley told me to help you,” he said in a sulky voice. “Where’s N-Nicholas?”

“In the water,” she said curtly, wanting to slap him. “Look here, just hold his shoulders down so that I can wrap his arm. That’s it. That’s the way. Good. That’s good.” She quickly closed the jagged edges of the wound together, fastened the bandage, and watched to make sure that the bleeding had stopped. “There you are,” she said. “Wrap this blanket around you and stay very still. Someone will be along to look after you.”

She moved to the next man, who was lying on his side, feebly coughing up blood. She pulled back the blanket, and knew instantly that he would not survive. His eyes opened for a minute, and he mumbled something.

“It’s all right,” she said, kneeling down and stroking his hair. “It’s all right. It’s all over. You’re safe now.”

He shuddered once, and then he was still. “Go with God,” she said softly, and closed his staring eyes. She heard retching behind her, and she looked up to see that it was Cyril, who, having seen the extent of the man’s injuries, had gone white as a sheet. She ignored him, pulling the blanket up over the man’s face, and she moved on.

So it went for the next hour. There were far more dead brought out of the water than living. She moved as quickly as she could, but still some died before she could reach them. She pumped water out of heaving bodies, insisting Cyril help her. He had quickly lost his sulkiness, shocked into compliance, and he did as he was told, sticking to her side as if his life depended on it. She wondered if he was not afraid that he would be sent into the water if he didn’t stay to help her. But she hardly cared what he thought. All she knew was that she was grateful for the extra pair of hands.

And all the time that she worked, her eyes strained for a sight of Nicholas, terrified that he was going to be brought to her next.

Nicholas came out of the waves shaking with cold. He couldn’t quite believe it was over, that they had taken in everyone, dead or alive. He heard voices around him, felt hands on his back, something being put around his shoulders, and he sank to the sand and put his head on his knees, trying to catch his breath, which was not easy. Something heavy had smashed into his side and his ribs felt as if they’d been broken. He looked up and out into the pitching sea and shuddered, not quite able to believe he had survived. And then his eye caught something, and he looked more closely. He could have sworn he’d seen something small and pale tossed on a wave. He forced himself to his feet and strained to see. And there it was again—a child, he would swear it, a young boy, for he saw his face as plain as day.

“Oh, Jesus … sweet Jesus,” he cried, throwing off the blanket and retying the discarded rope around his back.

“Daventry, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” someone shouted, seeing him.

“There’s a boy out there,” he said. “I swear it to you—I just saw him.”

“There is no one left out there, Mr. Daventry,” said Johannes Helmut. “Please, you will kill yourself if you go out again. You have done enough—more than enough. Talk some sense into the man, Mr. Binkley,” he pleaded.

“It is true, sir. You will be no good to anyone in your state of exhaustion. Leave it to the others, now. You have been at this far too long and will likely drown yourself if you continue. It’s a miracle you haven’t drowned already.”

“I must go back in, Binkley,” Nicholas said, bending over and coughing. “You don’t understand.”

“I am sorry, sir, but I must insist that you not drive yourself anymore. If there is someone out there, there are other men who can help. And no one can be left alive.”

“I don’t give a damn,” Nicholas said. He shoved off the hands that tried to restrain him and plunged back into the icy water, ignoring their shouts. He forced his arms to move, his legs to kick, beating in the direction of the shape he had seen. He ignored the water that rushed up his nose and mouth, the waves that dragged at him. He, at least, had a lifeline to the shore, and if he went under, they would pull him in. The boy had nothing. He went under time and time again, almost too exhausted to try to keep his head up. It was dark, so dark, and he couldn’t see. The salt stung at his eyes, and the cold numbed him so that his limbs didn’t want to move. Only his desperation to save the child drove him on. Another wave washed over him, and he swallowed a great mouthful of water and then fought his way back to the surface. Nothing. He could see nothing. And then, as if God had thrown the child to him, he saw him again to his right, and he swam as fast as he could, catching him up in his arms before another wave could take him away. Nicholas threw the boy onto his back, holding on to his arms with one hand and beating his way back to the shore with the other.

“Binkley. Binkley,” he gasped, forcing his way through the last of the surf and struggling up onto the sand, his hands holding on to the arms that were slung over his shoulders. “I found him, Binkley. Thanks be to God, I found him.”

He stood quite still as Binkley pulled the child off him, and then he automatically turned to go back into the roaring sea.

“No, sir, I think not this time,” Binkley said very gently, passing the boy to waiting arms and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Come with me. Your wife is here.”

“Georgia?” he said, dazed. “Oh, God—she’s not hurt, is she?”

“She is tending to the injured. Look. Look up there. They are taking her the child you have brought in. Why don’t you go to help her?”

Nicholas nodded, not feeling Binkley’s hands untying the knots of the rope around his waist, or the blanket that was thrust around him. His body had started to shake uncontrollably. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind he understood that he didn’t have to go out into the water again. He had brought the boy in, and he was safe. He stumbled toward the higher beach and Georgia, not aware of the hands that helped him.

She was bending over the boy as he reached her, and he shoved through the crowd of people who had gathered around.

“How is he?” he managed to say, dropping to his knees, his lungs heaving for air.

She looked up, and her face went white. “Nicholas! Oh, Nicholas, thank God! They said you wouldn’t come out of the water!”

“The boy, Georgia? How is the boy? Please, tell me he’s alive. Please. Tell me I wasn’t too late.”

“Oh, Nicholas … I’m so sorry. He’s not breathing.” She quickly turned back to the limp form and continued to pump on his back.

“Not … not breathing? Oh, God, no. Oh, please, no…” He let out a great long anguished cry, then pushed her aside and began to pump on the child’s back himself. “Come on, breathe, boy. Breathe! You can do it if you put your mind to it! You’re not dead. You can’t be dead! Breathe, I say!”

Binkley took him by the shoulders and gently moved him away, and he was too weak to resist.

“Leave your wife to it, sir. We must get you warm and dry.”

“Damn you, Binkley, stop telling me what to do! Someone has to help him. Someone…” And then he felt something inside snap. Everything seemed to spin around him as if he were being sucked into a whirlpool. And there was nothing more.

“Binkley! Binkley, help him,” Georgia cried as she saw Nicholas collapse. “Oh, please, help him.” She continued pumping on the boy as she spoke, afraid to take her hands from him.

Binkley bent over Nicholas, listening for the sound of breathing. He looked up, relief on his face. “I believe he is suffering from exhaustion and exposure, madam. He needs warmth and shelter. Martin, if you would help me carry him, and you, Mr. Jerome. Do not worry, Mrs. Daventry, we will see to him. You look after the child.”

“Thank you, Binkley. For God’s sake get him warmed as quickly as you can.” She rolled the boy over and breathed into his mouth, reasoning her breath had to be better than none at all. “Come, little one, you can do it,” she muttered, fiercely willing him to live. “Come along, now, help me. Breathe. Oh, please, breathe. Do it for Nicholas if you won’t do it for yourself.” She didn’t know exactly why she wouldn’t give up, except that Nicholas had seemed so terribly distraught, had risked his own life for this child. And then there was also a small voice inside of her telling her that there might still be life somewhere. She knew it was quite impossible, but she had never before ignored an instinct, and now was not the time to start. So she pumped, and she breathed into his mouth, and then she pumped some more, trying to stimulate his lungs into breathing for himself.

Cyril, who had been standing back watching all of this, said, “He’s d-dead, Georgia. He’s p-probably been d-dead for ages. Why don’t you j-just leave it?”

She looked up at him furiously. “Because your cousin went out into those waters to save him.”

“Well, it w-was a s-stupid thing to d-do. Look at them both.”

“Keep your opinions to yourself and help me. I didn’t see you out there risking your neck, did I? Nicholas brought this boy in, and I’m going to do everything I can to see that his efforts weren’t wasted. I don’t care if I have to stay here all night. I don’t care, do you hear me? And don’t you dare say another word about it.” She bent her mouth and breathed another breath into the boy’s body.

Cyril sighed and moved down next to her, taking over the pumping while Georgia breathed. They went on like this for what seemed like a lifetime as people continued to stand and watch, transfixed. And then the body stirred. It stirred, and then coughed, and then coughed again, and Cyril gave a shout and jumped back. A murmur went up in the crowd, and people began crossing themselves, and some furtively made the sign against evil. Georgia sat up, astonished. She quickly collected herself and rolled him onto his side. Water dribbled out of his mouth, and he moaned.

“Oh, dear God,” she said, not quite able to believe it. “He’s alive. He’s alive! Cyril, go tell Nicholas. Quickly! Go tell him!”

Cyril, who was staring at the boy as if it were the second coming, scurried away. Georgia scooped the boy up into her arms and held him close to her for warmth, rocking him against her. He couldn’t have been more than nine or so, she estimated. He felt so light, so fragile, his bones all thin and sharp.

“It’s fine now, little one,” she whispered against his temple. “You’re safe now. All safe and sound.” She took the blanket off her own shoulders and wrapped it around him, then pulled him against her again and continued to rock him as if he were an infant. She didn’t know what else to do. She felt that she had to shelter him from the wind and rain and cold, and from the stares of the people who crowded around as if they didn’t have better things to do. She wanted them to leave, she wanted to be left alone. She wanted to cry.