Summerset Abbey (11 page)

Once she reached the top of the hill, she slowed to a walk and followed the ridge overlooking the valley below. The town of Summerset lay nestled between the hills and the River Lark. The town had grown quite a bit since she was a child. Back then, it had been an agricultural town providing goods and services to the estates surrounding it. Now it boasted its own glove factory, which provided much-needed employment, a leather processing plant, several blocks of shops, and even a mechanic’s garage.

Suddenly she became aware of a low buzzing noise behind her. The noise grew louder and she turned in her saddle to see what it was. It sounded much like a motorcar but louder and coming from somewhere above her. Her horse spooked and she turned her attention to controlling her mount. Out of nowhere, an aeroplane flew above her so close, the wind of it tugged at her hat and flattened the dried grasses. Her horse leapt in terror and ran about a hundred yards before she was able to stop it.

She’d seen aeroplanes before, of course, but none so perilously close to the ground. The engine spit and sputtered. Rowena watched in horror as the wing hit a tree and the body careened sideways before landing in a mangled heap of canvas, wood, and metal halfway down the side of the peak.

She stared at the wreck in a state of shock for a moment before urging her still trembling horse carefully down the hill. She was only halfway there when her horse stopped and refused to go any farther. He blew and snorted in protest as she dismounted and wrapped his reins around a tree branch.

The brush and rocks tore at her skirt, making it difficult to walk. She gathered her riding skirt more tightly in her hand and made her way downward. She could hear her own heart beating in her ears as she drew closer, afraid of what she was going to find.

As she neared the main part of the aeroplane she could see part of a man’s arm poking out from underneath the wing.

“Oh, God, please let it be attached to the rest of him,” she prayed out loud.

She grabbed the edge of the wing and pushed it up enough so that she could see the rest of the body the arm belonged to. It was a young man, that much she knew, but his features were obscured by a leather hood and goggles.

He wasn’t moving.

By pulling and tugging, she managed to drag him out from under the wing. She pushed his goggles up on his head and then leaned down to see whether he was still breathing. Once she ascertained that he was, she checked the rest of his body to see whether he was bleeding, but apart from a small gash on the side of his head, he seemed to be intact. More worrisome was the red and blue knot swelling above his right eye.

She took off her riding jacket and rolled it up, placing it underneath his head. Then she sat back on her heels, cursing herself for not knowing how to help more.

He moaned and she looked anxiously for signs that he was waking up. Though his eyelids fluttered, they didn’t open and she wondered what she should do next. Obviously he needed help, but she didn’t want to leave him. Perhaps someone else had seen the crash and would come looking for him. Or maybe someone was waiting for him to come back and would sound an alarm.

He moaned again and she took his hand. “Hush, now. Everything will be all right,” she told him softly. She took care not to disturb him as she settled herself beside him and searched desperately for some indication of what do to next.

The pilot looked no older than herself. Red-gold strands of hair escaped from under his leather hood, which meant he wore it as long as aesthetes do. Though none of the aesthetes she knew would be interested in piloting a plane. They were more interested in writing poetry and contemplating art. His lips were thin but well formed, and his jawline square and strong. She wondered what kind of a daredevil he would have to be to fly one of these newfangled aeroplanes into the wide blue sky. She wondered what it would feel like to be untethered from the earth.

A groan came from his lips and his eyes fluttered open. They
were a clear blue against his windburned face. He looked around, confused, before his eyes focused on her.

He blinked, but his eyes never left hers. “You’re not Douglas.”

His voice was thready and weak. She shook her head. “No. I’m not.”

His eyes searched her face. “You must be my guardian angel. You have no idea how much I need a guardian angel right now. Please don’t leave me, all right?”

Rowena’s breath caught as his hand searched for hers. She slipped her hand into his and he gripped it as if he would never let it go. Their palms melded and their fingers curled together so naturally, as if this was the hand hers had been waiting for.

He broke eye contact with her and she felt a sudden emptiness in her chest, as if she had just lost something of great value. He glanced around without moving his head, and Rowena had a feeling he had taken in everything, the trees, the bits of broken plane, and the waning light, in the seconds before his eyes swept back to her. She wondered how his head felt. He seemed very careful not to move it.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“Near Briar Hill.”

He nodded and then winced.

She bent closer in panic. “Oh, no. Please. I don’t think you should move.”

His lips twitched. “Then you expect to spend the night out here?”

She looked around. Unless someone knew where to look for them, they wouldn’t be found. “Surely someone will come looking for you.”

He nodded and then grimaced at the movement. “Yes. How about you?”

She thought a moment. Yes. They would start to look for her, but not until dark. She wondered whether Victoria would feel bad about their quarrel if she didn’t come home. “Eventually.”

His eyes glanced over her and she felt her skin grow warm. “Eventually,” he murmured.

Then his eyes fluttered shut. Rowena leaned closer, wondering what she should do. “Are you going to be all right?”

His eyes opened again, and the blue of the heavens was a mere inches from her face. “I’ll be fine.” They drifted shut and then he murmured, “Just don’t leave me.?”

She gave the hand she still held a squeeze to reassure him and then on impulse leaned forward and laid a soft kiss just above the bruise on his temple

His eyes widened and seemed to glow as he looked at her for just a moment before he drifted off again. She wondered what she would do if no one came after them. Surely it wouldn’t do him any good to freeze here with him all night? If it started to rain, they would be in very real danger from the cold. She sat with him, feeling utterly helpless, for perhaps an hour or so—long enough that the thin autumn sun had dipped down over the horizon. She was just making up her mind to break her promise and go for help when she heard someone above them.

“Hello?” a voice called. “Are you all right?”

She stood, staggering a little from having been in one position for so long. “We’re down here! The pilot is unconscious.”

A crashing of brambles, along with muttered curses, told her that someone was coming down the hill and none too gracefully. In a moment, one of the largest men she’d ever seen came crashing out of the woods. He wore a leather flight jacket and matching boots with laces. Under his cap, his hair shone a brilliant shade of red. The man’s eyes widened when he saw her,
then he came and knelt beside her with effort. “Is the lad still alive?”

His accent told her that he came from up north, maybe even Scotland. “Yes, but he’s been in and out of consciousness. I had no way of getting him up the hill, so I just stayed with him.”

He put his hand on the pilot’s face and then on his forehead. “We shouldn’t move him. We have no way of knowing if his insides are hurt, but it won’t do him any good to leave him like this.”

He frowned. “Was that your animal tied to the tree?”

She nodded.

“Do you think you can get him down here?”

“I can try. He’s sure-footed, but the crash spooked him.”

“If you can, we can toss him over the animal’s back and get him up to my motorcar.”

She nodded and headed up the hill. The woods were darker now that the sun had almost set and it was rough going. Her horse was exactly as she left it, the sweat from their run dried along his neck and withers. He nickered when he saw her and she patted his nose. “There’ll be an extra ration for you tonight, boy.”

She led him down carefully, but the horse was more surefooted than she was and they made better time on their way back.

The pilot still hadn’t awakened when she returned, and the big man stood over him, worry written on his face. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. He should have come to by now . . .”

He was awake before, she thought, worry shooting through her. He musn’t die. She had no idea why it was so important that he live, but she wanted him to be all right with every fiber of her being. She held the horse still while the man picked the pilot up as if he were a boy. The pilot moaned.

“Damn it, Douglas, you’re going to be the death of me,” the young man muttered, and the big man grinned, relief evident on his face.

“That’ll teach you to crash my aeroplanes.” Douglas carefully arranged him on the sidesaddle. “I don’t know how you ladies ride like that.”

“We’re born to it,” she answered. “Is he a friend of yours?”

“Aye. I’ve known him since he was a boy. Now he works for me.”

“What do you do?” she asked to be polite, though she was more concerned with the injured pilot.

“I own a motorcar manufacturing plant in Kent, but I am experimenting with manufacturing aeroplanes. Jon was raised here so we brought some planes down to test them. The fields are so flat, you see.”

So his name was Jon. She tried it out in her mind.
Jon
. It felt as right as his hand reaching for hers.

Douglas stopped talking to conserve his breath for climbing back up the hill. They arrived at the top just as the sun set.

The pilot must have passed out from the ride, because he remained unconscious as the big man settled him into the back of his long, sleek Silver Ghost.

“Are you going to be able to make it home safely?” Douglas asked.

She nodded. “Summerset isn’t that far and the horse knows the way.”

“You live at Summerset?”

“Yes. My name is Rowena Buxton. Could you send word on how he is?”

The man nodded and cranked the engine to life. “I’m
Douglas Dirkes. And of course. And thank you, miss, for your help.”

She watched the motorcar lurch down the rock-strewn road and wished she had been able to do more for him. Part of her yearned to follow them into town to make sure he was going to be okay. Deep in her bones, she felt she shouldn’t let this man disappear from her life. But she had a family of her own that was no doubt worried sick right now. Sighing, she mounted her horse and reined him toward home. Then she thought of Victoria and Prudence and the myriad problems she faced at Summerset and wished she could just ride on forever.

*   *   *

“The scones are ready to take out now, love, if you don’t mind. The towel is right over there.” Nanny Iris jerked her head in the general direction of the towel and Victoria hurried to comply.

This was the second visit she’d made to Nanny Iris’s cottage and she loved the home almost as much as she did Nanny Iris. The cottage stood by itself in the center of a small meadow, which was brown and barren now, but no doubt thick with wildflowers in the spring and summer. The thatching of the roof was the color of warm honey, contrasting with the red ivy winding up one wall. Two deep windows stood guard on either side of the door. A rail fence protected a small kitchen garden on one side, where Nanny Iris grew an abundance of herbs and vegetables. It looked like a fairy house, or perhaps the home of a banished princess waiting for her prince. She’d ignored Nanny Iris’s raucous laugh when she told her that the first time she’d come to visit.

Victoria sniffed the rich, buttery scent of the scones before setting the pan to cool on the stone countertop. Then she went to stand next to Nanny Iris, who was making an infusion out of oregano.

“What kind of oil do you use?” Victoria asked, watching with interest as Nanny Iris repeatedly dipped a small net bag of freshly cut oregano into a jar of warm oil.

“You can use olive oil or grape-seed oil. I’m using olive oil because it’s easier to come by.” After squeezing the oil out a few times, she pushed the bag down into the jar, added more oil, and screwed on the lid.

“And what is this used for again?”

Nanny Iris smiled. “I use it to bring in money from the pharmacist in town. But it’s commonly used to ease sore throats and can be helpful in settling digestive problems. Some people also use it to relieve aching muscles.” She wiped the jar off with a clean cloth and set it in a cupboard alongside several other jars. “This one will be ready to sell in a couple of weeks.”

Victoria laid the table for tea while Nanny Iris put away the herbs and concoctions they had been working on. Working with Nanny Iris in her warm, homey kitchen filled Victoria with the kind of simple satisfaction she hadn’t felt since she’d helped her father in his office. From her father she’d learned the genus and species and chemical properties of each plant. From Nanny Iris she learned the myths, legends, and the plants’ medicinal uses. Sometimes when infusing or mixing herbs together, she could almost feel her father by her side watching their progress.

Nanny Iris put the kettle on for tea. “How has your breathing been lately? Has the infusion I made you done any good?”

Victoria nodded. “I think so. Climbing stairs is easier and I
run out of air less often. But it’s hard to tell because my episodes often decrease when I come to Summerset.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it. The air is much better here than in the city. Does it ever worsen in June or July?”

Victoria nodded. “Yes, and then it’s worse out here than in the city.”

“Did your fancy doctors ever mention hay fever?”

“A German doctor did when we were vacationing in Davos once. But he also said the increase in episodes could be the thin air, too.”

“You are a special case, that’s for sure. I’m working on another infusion for you that may help even more. Now tell me, how is your sister doing?”