Yorkshire (6 page)

By the time the cart arrived, preparations were well under way, and we all anxiously awaited it.

Martha looked sadly at the body of the late earl, and supervised the loading of the body on to a door, unscrewed from its hinges for the purpose. They took him to the place hastily prepared for him in the chapel, and someone else took his brother, now suddenly the fifth Earl, to his room to await the arrival of the doctor. I could do nothing for him other than make him comfortable. He had injuries beyond my simple skills; he was deeply unconscious with no obvious wounds that needed attention. We sent a man to sit with him, and inform us at once of any change.

Lord Strang had come around in the cart again, they said, but when they brought him into the hall, he lay pale and still, only just conscious. His valet and his groom waited for him. Between them, they gently placed him on a door and carried him up the stairs to his room. They allowed no one else to help, but I followed behind, in case I could do anything more for him. He was my particular patient, and I didn’t want to leave him.

Miss Cartwright anxiously waited for him, dressed beautifully in a blue gown Lizzie would have given a great deal to own. No tear marred her pretty eyes; no trouble creased her features. I would have relinquished the care of Lord Strang to her, but she took one look at my appearance, covered in her betrothed’s gore, and then the bloody bandage on his lordship’s arm and went off into strong hysterics. She fainted into the convenient arms of her aunt.

I thrust the smelling salts from my necessaire at the elder lady and left them to it. Then I went where I was most needed. I caught a speaking look from Miss Cartwright that indicated her displeasure in receiving such cavalier treatment from me, but had more important things to deal with. I hadn’t the time to be polite.

Steven had returned from the chapel by then. He seemed very concerned by Miss Cartwright’s distress and immediately went to her side, and took her hand without once looking at me. “Why, madam, you must not let yourself be so upset.” She moderated her hysterics. She looked prettier that way.

Steven patted her hand. “A gently nurtured female shouldn’t see such things.” I felt offended. What did he think I was?

“I think you should retire to your room. Would you allow me to escort you?” Miss Cartwright hesitantly put her hand upon his sleeve, gazing at him in gratitude. That melting look seemed to stop Steven, until he put his hand gently back on hers.

He smiled at her encouragingly, while she peeped through her lashes. Pretty to see, but completely inappropriate under the present circumstances. He led her out of the room, and said as he went, “I shall see about procuring some brandy for you, ma’am. There must be some in this house, despite his lordship’s stated preferences.”

I didn’t know what to make of this little scene. Steven virtually ignored me to attend to Lord Strang’s betrothed. Perhaps he would move on, I thought, hopefully. Then I recalled she held a binding marriage contract, and my heart sank again.

At least it left me free to go to Lord Strang, to see if I could do anything more for him. I met his valet, one Carier, an ex military man, he told me, and relief surged through me when I realised he was a capable man and could take proper care of his master, not one of the niminy-piminy gentlemen who often attended those of high rank. After laying Lord Strang carefully on the bed, Carier sent Bennett back to the stables to cope with the chaos there.

Between us, working carefully but quickly, Carier and I removed Lord Strang’s ruined coat and tore away the shreds of fine linen that were all that remained of his shirt sleeve. Then we carefully unwrapped the makeshift bandage I had applied at the scene. Lord Strang came around while we were undressing him, but he remained silent and held his arm completely still for us.

Carier glanced at his master when he probed the wound, but apart from one wince, his lordship held himself stoically steady.

Blood still wept sluggishly from the wound. If Carier moved the limb too quickly, the blood would start up again. I came forward to hold his lordship’s arm at the wrist, in case he should move, but he didn’t. His wrist lay lax in my hand, worryingly cold.

Eventually, Carier sighed in satisfaction. He stood back. “I think it’s just a deep wound, my lord. There’s no debris here and no serious injury to the structure of the arm. It would be better stitched, or it will open up as soon as you move your arm. Would you like me to do it for you, or would you rather wait for the doctor to arrive?”

“I would a million times rather you did it, Carier,” Strang murmured. “I don’t want to risk permanent injury from a country doctor.”

Carier nodded, and went away to find the materials.

I sat quietly on the edge of the bed as I waited for Carier to return, but, shockingly, Lord Strang gripped my wrist with his good hand. It must have taken a great deal of his remaining strength to do so. I looked at his face and met his cool, blue gaze once more, trying to clear the shards of sensation that always affected me when he touched me. “I must thank you. Your help has been invaluable. I’d have bled to death, if it hadn’t been for you.”

Mechanically, I smiled. “Thank you, sir. It must be my country upbringing. I do try to help. Harvest time brings many injuries.” The polite response sounded trite and foolish to my ears. He closed his eyes, releasing me from his gaze.

In truth, I felt ridiculously shy. I sat here, alone with a complete stranger for whom I felt the most absurd degree of concern. I’d never been alone with a man not a member of my family before, except for Steven twice, not counting the distressing incident last night. I hardly knew Lord Strang at all. Despite his weakened state I grew acutely aware of his virility and his presence. I longed to touch him, not just to heal. I shook the thought aside. This was worrying, and completely unknown to me. It was something I hadn’t a name for yet.

I told myself not to be so missish, but couldn’t ignore that strong inward pull. For now, I would excuse my response to him as a natural concern for the injured and hope that it passed quickly.

I started when he spoke. He’d been so still I thought he’d fainted again. “There is something else.” He still looked at my face. “But I will, God willing, be able to speak to you another time about that.”

Silent, I braced myself to meet his gaze again. I could lose myself there, but could read nothing in it. I tried to smile, to reassure him. Although I decided to answer him, to ask him what he meant, the manservant came back in and the moment was lost.

Carier returned with the materials he needed and a large glass full of brandy. He put his arm behind his master, lifted him, and made him drink the liquor. Strang drank it when told to without protest, and then lay back, but the brandy acted on him so quickly, I suspected there had been something else in the drink. He watched with an unfocused stare while his valet skillfully got to work.

I watched, fascinated, as Carier stitched up the wound, forgetting everything else in my interest. I’d never seen such an operation done before. I’d heard of it, but this was the first time I’d seen it done. Carier used a large needle and coarse, brown thread to draw the edges of the skin back together, working quickly. I winced when he pierced the skin, but his lordship bore it without complaint, watching the operation with an interest that matched mine. The sides of the gaping wound came together reassuringly to form a tidy, recognisable arm again as the valet pulled the stitches tight and tied them off.

The brandy, the shock, or the pain from the stitches made Lord Strang pass out again before his valet had done. It relieved me, as his conscious presence made me something more than uncomfortable.

After I helped to bathe the wound, gently swabbing away the blood. Carier poured some pungent liquid over the cut. He told me it was good gin, assuring me it would help in the healing process, inhibiting any infection that could prove so dangerous to a healing wound. It was as well Lord Strang wasn’t conscious, as the application of the gin would certainly have caused him excruciating pain.

When he finished his work, the valet regarded me appraisingly. He must have seen my state of shock, because he made me sit by the fire and drink a smaller measure of the undiluted brandy. I didn’t feel it as it went down, but the strong spirit improved my resolve. Busy winding a clean, white bandage around the wound, he turned his head to say, “You must go to your room and change, madam.”

I looked down at my new riding habit, now grimed filthy with dirt, saturated with blood, and torn in one or two places. I doubted it could ever be put right, but hadn’t even noticed it until now.

I took my leave, but not before I looked back at the bed to ensure my patient was comfortable.

I went wearily back to my room to find a simple gown I could struggle into without help. I needed time to reflect, to try to absorb all the things that had happened that day. After I had changed, I sat on the bed, and tried to think.

The emotions sweeping over me overwhelmed me, nothing like anything I’d ever felt before. They were just recognisable to me as desire, and maybe, love. But that way lay madness.

I must, at all costs, stay calm, keep my feelings to myself. They might well pass in a week or two, indeed they might even be the result of today’s events. I stared at my ruined riding habit, cast on the floor ready for the maid to take away for rags or burning, not seeing it, thinking, thinking.

The intensity of all this, the helpless feeling, the confusion finally knocked the last nail in the coffin of my infatuation with Steven, so some good had come of it. I scolded myself for being so foolish. I had always been known for my sensible outlook: I should call on it now.

After a short mental struggle I managed to persuade myself my new feelings were only the result of shock. When I tested my theory, I found I could live with it. Mentally armoured, I went back downstairs.

I found James and Martha in the parlour, tucking into a hearty breakfast, together with a man introduced to me as Mr. Fogg, the family lawyer. He had come over from York that morning to draw up the marriage contract, the one which would not now take place. He’d kindly agreed to stay on for a while to clear up the current situation. With the earl dead, and the next earl lying unconscious upstairs, matters could change at any time. One glance at my brother’s genial, handsome face told me he knew exactly what that meant. I instinctively trusted Mr. Fogg, neatly but expensively dressed, and of an age my father would have been, had he lived.

I couldn’t eat much, but I was glad of the hot, strong coffee that restored some of the warmth to my chilled bones. I watched the others as they ate, having what might well have been the first decent meal to grace that table for many years. Mr. Fogg seemed to have no problem, and made a hearty meal in between telling us what we needed to know.

He studied James dispassionately. “The late Lord Hareton made a standard will, which he drew up while his father still lived. After his wife’s disposition, the rest of the estate would pass to the next earl, with the title.”

James looked interested but said nothing, so the lawyer continued. “However, last week Lord Hareton asked me to visit. I replied that I would arrive today, if that was convenient to him.”

“You didn’t see the overturned coach, sir?” I asked.

“No, ma’am.” He turned his friendly grey gaze to me. “I came from York. That’s the other way. The bend in the road would have prevented me seeing it.”

I nodded while he continued with his narrative. “His lordship informed me he was desirous of changing his will.”

“Did he say in what way?” James held out his coffee cup for Martha to refill it, not looking at her until she had finished. His smile of thanks clearly showed his affection for his wife of ten years. People had wondered why such a handsome, well-off man as my brother should have married the plain daughter of an Exeter gentleman with an inferior estate to his. They should have seen that look. Then they would have known.

“He did, my lord,” Mr. Fogg replied, evidently too discreet to elaborate. We all knew what it would have included—the breaking up of the estate, its dispersal to a doubtful cause.

“Last night, Lord Hareton told us that he intended to break the entail,” James said. Mr. Fogg nodded. “It can’t be broken now,” my brother went on. “My son and heir is only ten years old. As I understand it, this entail requires the heir, and his heir to sign, and Walter is very much a minor.”

“Sir James, I’m glad to hear it.” The lawyer’s expression hinted that a great weight had gone from his shoulders and James looked pleased, too. To break an entail was a serious matter, something he wouldn’t have approved of under any normal circumstances. Ever the country squire, the status quo meant a lot to my brother.

To my surprise, I found the little I ate for breakfast very welcome. Since Martha had now taken temporary control of the household during Lady Hareton’s indisposition, she’d had fires lit in all the occupied rooms and food taken up to all those people who preferred to stay in them, driving the remaining servants into an unaccustomed frenzy of activity.

Steven joined us, sitting down with a plate of food. It could almost have been a normal day in Devonshire, but for the lawyer’s presence and air of tension. At home, Steven would often join us for breakfast if he’d visited anyone in the area of our Manor house.

“The sight of her fiancé put Miss Cartwright out a great deal. It wasn’t at all, proper to allow her to see him in such a condition.” Steven’s disapprobation didn’t seem to extend to me.