by Erica Taylor
He gazed at her peculiarly. “I was born in London, and went to Scotland young enough for my speech to be impacted. I really never tried to hang onto my English tongue.”
“Why did you leave England?” she wondered.
“My mother died when I was ten years old,” he replied. “I was sent to live with my mother’s people. I joined the army as the war broke out in France and spent seven years in His Majesty’s service before returning to Scotland and settling in Edinburgh three years ago. Satisfied?”
“Hardly,” Sarah replied, but she let it drop. For now. “Are you warm enough? There are blankets here Mthunzi has warming.”
William shook his head as she tugged a blanket up over her lap, the chill from the stormy air outside seeping in through the thin glass-paned window.
“Let us talk about something else,” he offered. “Apparently neither of us are too keen to talk about our pasts. Politics?”
“A lady does not speak about politics,” she replied automatically.
“Of course not,” he said, the sides of his mouth twitching. “The wars?”
She shook her head. “Bonnets?” she suggested.
He grimaced. “Slavery?”
“A minuet versus a reel?”
“I don’t even know what those are,” he said.
Sarah laughed. “A minuet is—”
“I was jesting, Sarah,” he interrupted, laughing. “Please don’t bore me with the intricate differences between the two dances.”
She laughed with him lightly, watching him with mounting curiosity, and mounting . . . something else. He was a conundrum. He claimed to not be a lord or a born gentleman, and yet he was not quite of the working class. For one, his hands were clean and fine, long fingered. His attire was inexpensive but well-made, and she suspected he had brought simple clothes with him for the same reasons she had, the convenience of travel. Some sort of tradesman, perhaps.
“Books?” he asked. “Can we discuss books? You do read, don’t you?”
“Yes, I read,” she answered. “Though I doubt our interests in reading material fall along the same paths. Have you read Pride and Prejudice?”
“I have, actually,” he replied, which surprised her.
They discussed, at length, the plot complexities and social implications of Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility. This sparked a discussion as to who the anonymous author truly was—both agreeing the author was a woman— and if she was a member of the upper class or not—Sarah thought no, while William argued she was definitely a member of the gentry, at the very least. Somehow that lead them to how a gently bred woman could earn her way without turning to crime or prostitution, which steered the conversation to the problems facing the poor and the lack of opportunity for those in the lower classes who wished to improve their stations. This led to a discussion about how the country and its workforce would fare once the wars were over and the soldiers all returned home, and how the skills they acquired during their time in battle could benefit and transition to a civilian position.
“The medical profession could benefit, I suppose,” Sarah said thoughtfully. “There are quite a number of ailments and injuries sustained in battle that surgeons and physicians are not exposed to here. That information could lead to discoveries on this side of the Channel. The medical schools should invite the returning army surgeons to share information acquired. Mr. Bell could host one in Edinburgh.”
William looked startled. “You know Charles Bell?”
“Not personally,” she admitted. “But I do read, William. He’s a Scotsman, you know.”
“Aye,” he replied cautiously. “You know, for all your talk about ladies not discussing politics, you just spent the better part of two hours doing just that.”
Sarah’s mouth quirked but she refused to smile. “Yes, well, don’t tell my sisters.”
“Heaven forbid your sisters discover you are secretly just as imperfect as the rest of us mere mortals,” William replied in mock horror.
“You jest, but I am trying to set a good example for them to follow,” Sarah replied. “I’ve managed to see one sibling wed, and another is heading that way, and thus far, there is only the merest hint of scandal. I’d say my methods are working.”
“Your methods are boring,” he declared. “And you’ve a long way to go if you’ve only managed to marry off two of the eight. Six more to go, Sarah.”
A hearty chuckle escaped from her lips before she could catch herself. “Ladies are not supposed to laugh like this. We are supposed to be refined and contain our emotions.”
“I say again, boring.”
Sarah nodded eagerly in agreement. “Promise me, that for the time we are together, I do not have to be a lady. It is ever so tiresome.”
A wide grin spread across William’s face. “I implore you to drop your aristocratic airs,” he replied. “Would you like to travel by mail coach as well, truly get the experience of jostling elbows with normal common folk?”
Giggling, Sarah replied, “Goodness, no, but it would be amusing to see the look on the ton’s face if anyone ever found out about any of this. I assure you, this entire experience has been quite out of character.”
“You would be shunned.”
Sarah laughed again. “I would be banned from Almack’s, which wouldn’t be that unpleasant of a punishment, for I truly don’t actually enjoy going.” Her giggling was getting a bit out of control now. “No one does. Everyone hates it, and yet, every Wednesday for the entire season, we all go! Because some crusty old women tell us it is the fashionable thing to do.”
“You are of the fashionable set?” he scoffed. “Such a disappointment.”
“I know!” Sarah exclaimed. “It is horrid. I follow along like society’s worst shepherd, glaring at all the little sheep to keep them in line, when I don’t even want to toe the line myself.”
“Then why do you?” he asked.
“Simply because it is what is done and what has always been done,” Sarah replied. “Like you said, I would be shunned if I didn’t follow the rules the ton set forth. There isn’t much room for arguing; you’re either in, or you’re out.”
Watching her carefully, he inquired, “If you could do anything, be anyone, what would you do? Without the ties of your family or titles or society to contend with, what would you do, for yourself ?”
“I would . . .” Sarah paused. What would she do? Having never considered it, her mind was blank of options. She held her breath, fighting for an answer, something that would bring her enjoyment, happiness . . . purpose. Deep in her heart, what would make her happy?
A small smile slowly crept across her face as she realized what would bring her pure joy.
“I would become a midwife,” she said softly. “I know the aristocracy has deemed it unfashionable for a traditional midwife to attend births, but there are many people in this country who do not share the same opinion or cannot afford an accoucheur, the ‘man-wives’ as they call them. My husband’s mistress used one, and my husband made me hire him. Some physician who decided he knew more about childbirth than the entire population of women, who have been responsible for bearing children since creation.
“And I know what you’re going to say,” she continued quickly before he could interrupt. “How could I find such pleasure in working with women who are blessed in ways I am not? I don’t shy away from all pregnant women or despise hearing of such a blessed event. Knowing my siblings are likely to experience such things stings a bit, but only momentarily. I will not love their children any less because I am unable to have my own. And I acknowledge becoming a midwife, serving the lower classes, would be quite the fall from grace and completely eliminate any social standing I might have.” Sarah paused, the memories pulling from the depths of her past. “I helped my mother deliver many of my younger siblings, and each time it was such a rush of excitement and fear and happiness. But I remember the joy, the indescribable feeling of witnes
sing a new life beginning. That would be something worth giving up everything for.”
“There it is,” he said softly, and she glanced up to meet his eyes. “Your smile is truly wondrous. Rare, but worth the wait.”
“I smile all the time,” she replied.
“True,” he admitted. “But it is mostly a false expression devoid of any true emotion. Occasionally, a true manifestation of joy peeks through and lights up the blues in your eyes.”
“That’s preposterous,” she replied.
William smirked. “If you say so.”
Suddenly, the carriage lurched to a stop, nearly sending William toppling onto Sarah had he not caught himself. They were leaning to the side but still upright, thank goodness. Sarah looked up into William’s dark blue eyes for a second longer than she intended, his face close to her. She could smell the dampness from his skin and see the scruff along his jaw that had grown since his morning shave.
Pushing himself away from her, William struggled to sit upright despite the angle the carriage was tipping. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes, and you?” she managed, regaining her wits. It was raining still, the storm swirling around the carriage in a raging torment.
He clicked the latch of the door and leapt out. “Stay here,” he ordered. Not one to be ordered about, Sarah glared at his retreading back before following him out of the carriage.
It took her a few moments to gather her bearings. The carriage had slid off the path in what looked like an attempt to miss a wrecked wagon on the side of the road. The skies were prematurely darkened with thunderous, ominous clouds, black with anger as they pummeled rain down upon them, and the air was filled with a dreadful screeching sound.
Sarah pulled her pelisse from the carriage, shoving her arms through the sleeves hurriedly as she moved towards the wreck. Mthunzi was on the ground speaking to someone underneath the overturned wagon. Two horses stood near the embankment, saddled and unharmed. Abe stood at the top of the embankment, and Sarah moved beside the dog. At the bottom was a battered carriage, looking as though it had rolled down the steep hill and crashed into a flooded creek. Three men were kneeling deep in the mud as they peered into the carriage which was positioned on its side in the middle of the creek.
The carriage’s two horses were also stuck in the muddy waters, which resembled a raging river as the rainwater washed down the bank. One horse was not moving, tangled in reins and straps; the other was partially pinned by the carriage wheel, struggling to get free, whinnying loud and violently.
A bolt of lightning startled Sarah as she gazed with horror at the scene. She watched as two of the three men went to brace the carriage, the third kneeling by the elegant door dangling from its hinges. Lighting flashed again, and Sarah could just make out the crest on the damaged carriage door.
Shielding her eyes from the rain, she scanned the scene for William, but from her vantage point at the top of the embankment, it was difficult to make out one man from the other. It took Sarah a long moment to realize the horrendous sound was not from the storm, and it was not from the still-living horse. It was one of the most soul-curdling sounds she had ever heard, and as she watched in dismay, she realized the sound was a child screaming from inside the overturned and mangled carriage.
Due to an odd quirk of his personality, William was able to work extremely efficiently in intense situations. Kneeling in the creek bed, freezing cold water soaking into his clothing, he didn’t even notice the chill. He did not react to the screams from inside the wrecked carriage or balk at the bloody sight before him.
The inside of the carriage was a mess of broken wood and creek water. It also held three people, two of them children. Two men stood with William outside the carriage, knee deep in rising creek water, their strength preventing the carriage from cascading down with the current.
“The wreck won’t hold with this current!” one man shouted over the roar of the storm, an Irish tilt to his words.
William nodded. “What can I do?”
“Get them out,” the other man said, leaning his shoulder into the carriage wall to brace it as water crashed around his thighs, trying to pull the carriage down.
“Help us, please!” a young boy, about ten years old, called at him over the sound of the other child’s shattering screams.
“Take a deep breath,” William instructed. “What is your name?”
“Grey,” the boy told. “My sister is Gracie.”
“Grey, my lad, can you move your legs?” William asked, assessing him through the carriage door. There was a woman in the carriage as well, but her head was bent at an unnatural angle. He doubted she was still alive. Gracie, not much older than six, was screaming in pain or fear, or both, partially submerged in the ice cold water.
Grey glanced at her, his body shaking from the cold, his lips tinged with blue.
“Look at me lad,” William ordered him. “Your legs, can you move them?”
Grey nodded.
“Are you in pain?” he asked, and the boy shook his head. “Good. I need you to crawl out of there. Gently, try not to disrupt your sister.”
Grey glanced again at the young girl pinned beneath the woman’s motionless body.
Slowly on his hands and knees, freezing water filling the overturned carriage, Grey moved out of the carriage and into William’s arms.
“Good job lad,” William said. “Let me see you.” He felt along the boy’s arms and legs, and nothing seemed broken. The boy winced when William moved his hands over his hair and skull, but William could not feel any intense swelling. His neck seemed good, and his abdomen was free from puncture, though there was no way to be sure if his internal organs were undisturbed.
“Will, here,” came Sarah’s voice, and he glanced in her direction. She stood at the edge of the water, skirts soaking up the icy waters. She was offering the blanket from inside her carriage. William stood and lifted Grey out of the water and into the warmth of Sarah’s arms.
“Wrap him in the blanket and take him up the bank,” William instructed quickly. “Grey, Lady Sarah will look after you.”
Grey nodded, worry lacing his eyes as he glanced towards the broken carriage.
Setting his hands on Grey’s shoulders, William fought for a reassuring tone. “Listen to me, lad. I must focus on saving your sister. Be brave and stay where you are safe, so I can concentrate on Gracie. Can you do that for me?”
Grey took a deep breath and nodded. Sarah helped Grey up the embankment towards her carriage where it was warm and safe.
William turned towards the wrecked carriage again, the rain water rushing through the broken windows, filling the space quicker than he would have preferred. Kneeling down at the carriage door again, he assessed how he would get Gracie out of the wreckage. He could not ask for assistance—the other two men were using all their strength to hold in the carriage in place, Sarah was looking after Grey, and Mthunzi was occupied with the occupant of the wagon. Nor could he expect the girl to climb out on her own as her brother had—she was pinned down too thoroughly. The only thing to do was for him to climb in.
Carefully, crouching on his knees, he moved into the overturned carriage. He reached out to check the pulse of the mother, but he was not optimistic. No pulse, as he expected, so he went to the task of saving the young girl.
“Gracie, sweeting, I’m going to have to move your mother,” he said gently to the frightened girl, though he was unsure if she could hear him over her over the thudding of rain against the overturned carriage, or her own screams. “If you feel intense pain, you need to tell me right away, and do not move.” The contents of the carriage scattered in the water around him as he shifted the weight of the dead woman from the little girl, freeing her.
Bending beside her, he felt his fingers along her spine. “Gracie, I need to feel along your neck to make sure you are not badly injured.” She winced as his fingers moved along the base of her neck.
A crash of lightning lit up the sky, the bolt striking a large tree near the opposite bank, snapping a massive branch and sending it crashing into the river.
“Get out of there!” one of the men shouted.
“Gracie, hold tight to me,” William instructed, gripping her tightly with one arm and climbing quickly from the wreck. When he emerged, Sarah was there, waiting with another blanket, and she took Gracie in her arms just as the branch came barreling toward the wrecked carriage. William grabbed the man closest to him, dragging him up the bank, the other man slogging out of the river just in time.
A wave of water came rushing through the creek bed as the broken branch collided into the broken carriage, washing the wreck down the stream with a violent shudder.
“Too close for my comfort,” the man beside William said as they watched the wreckage fade into the darkness of the stormy afternoon.
“Agreed,” William said.
The man extended his hand. “I am Westcott; this is Mr. Mayne. Thank you for your assistance.”
Nodding, William shook their hands, looking at the now raging river that had hours earlier been a gentle stream. “I am William Gordon. And it was no problem, though I want to see to the children and perform a better examination.”
Carefully he made his way up the embankment and to Sarah’s carriage where she and the children had sought shelter with Abe and Mthunzi.
“The mother?” Sarah asked, and William shook his head. Sarah bit her lip and looked away.
“The father is down here,” Mthunzi said softly to William, and he looked around to where Mthunzi pointed. A third horse lay near a tree, the body of a man crushed beneath it. William looked around for the driver of the carriage, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“The man inside the wagon, where did he go?” William asked.
“Dead, just a moment ago,” Mthunzi replied, his jaw tight.
