Heartless Lord Harry

by Marjorie Farrell

  They managed to go a mile or so before they admitted to themselves that the storm was not blowing over, just blowing harder.

  “Harry,” James called.

  Harry stopped and turned. His friend looked like a snow-covered bear. “What is it, James? We have to push on.”

  “We have to find shelter, Harry. This is madness.”

  “I agree we need shelter, James,” said Harry sarcastically, “but do you see any?”

  “I can’t see bloody anything.”

  “So we must push on to Hawes.”

  “You don’t have to sound so bloody superior, Harry. This is no joke.”

  “Believe me, I know. It is getting darker and I can hardly see my hand in front of my face, much less the path. But we must go on. I am afraid this snow is going to last all night.”

  “Do you want me to lead?”

  “No, I am fine, James.”

  James thought they had gone another half mile before it happened, but they were going so slowly that it might well have been only a few hundred yards. He heard Harry curse and almost tripped over him as he caught up.

  “God damn it. Bloody, bloody hell.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve wrenched the bloody knee,” Harry groaned, struggling to get back on his feet.

  “Don’t get up, you fool.”

  “I have to get up, James. I can’t stay here, I’ll freeze to death. Give me the staff.”

  James groped around on the path and found it. He grasped his friend by the arm and hauled him up.

  “All right, all right.” Harry was balancing himself on one leg. “Give me the staff and we’ll go on.” Harry took two steps and was on the ground again, cursing his knee, the snow, the bloody French and the even bloodier British.

  “Here, give me your arm. I am going to carry you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t do that. Leave me here and go for help.”

  “Here? Here? We don’t even know where here is!” James leaned down, and slinging his friend over his shoulder, grasped the staff and moved on. He had not realized how walking behind Harry had sheltered him from the wind and given him a little sense of what was in front of him. No wonder Harry had fallen. One couldn’t see the path. One had to feel for it, and with feet like blocks of ice, that was hard to do.

  James lost all sense of time as he stumbled slowly onward. At first Harry had been cursing him and demanding to be put down, but after his protests were completely ignored, he lay quiet. James thought he must have gone at least a mile and was wondering if he would be able to see the lights of the town. But perhaps they had passed it and were walking toward nowhere. All of a sudden the path turned and went downhill at the same time, and he stumbled. He was brought to his knees and Harry rolled off his shoulders with a groan. It felt good to give up the struggle, even if for only a moment. In fact, he was ready to give it up completely. They could huddle together for warmth; the snow would stop by morning, and the sun would come out and wake them. He was about to close his eyes when he realized that he was succumbing to the sleepiness that came with cold and snow.

  “Harry! Are you all right?”

  “Aside from being dropped like a sack of potatoes, yes, I think so. Look, James,” he continued in a maddeningly rational voice, “this is not going to work. We must be almost to Hawes. I am sure there must be houses a few hundred yards from here. Leave me, and hurry on and get help.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” protested James.

  “You have to, or we will both freeze to death. Come on now, Jamie, it can’t be far and I promise I’ll wait for you right here,” said Harry, trying for humor.

  James smiled at the old nickname and Harry’s coaxing tone. He sounded just like the ten-year-old boy who used to coax his best friend into trouble when they were at school.

  “Maybe you are right,” he admitted. “We must be near a farmhouse by now. But I am leaving you my coat,” he added, struggling out of it and laying it over his friend’s shoulders. “I will be moving, and you will need it more than I will.”

  Harry bit back his refusal and felt tears slip down his cheeks and freeze on their way down. It was just like Jamie to act with such kindness.

  “Thank you, Jamie. And now the sooner you go, the sooner you’ll come back.”

  “Now, don’t move, Harry. I’ll be back within the hour, I’m sure.”

  Harry was not going anywhere. Harry’s knee was swollen and stiff. And Harry didn’t want to go anywhere, anyway. He huddled under James’s coat and gave in to the sleepiness his friend had fought off. He knew what it meant. By the time James got back—if James got back—he would be lying there, quite comfortably blanketed by snow, having painlessly frozen to death. But at least James might make it. He pillowed his head on his arm and muttered a curse at the arbitrariness of fate. He had survived Badajoz only to succumb to a snowstorm in Yorkshire? God’s bloody balls.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  James didn’t know how many times he had fallen, gotten up, and forced himself to go on. If he had been alone, he would have lain where he fell. But he made himself get up, made himself go on, because of Harry. Harry was waiting for him. Harry would freeze to death if he didn’t get help.

  He almost didn’t hear the dog. Or rather, he almost didn’t believe he had heard a dog. The wind blew the sound away almost as soon as it occurred. He started shouting, and it seemed to him that the dog answered. He was going downhill now, at a stumbling run, and when he looked up at one point he thought he saw a light, thought he heard an answering shout. And then there was a lantern in his face and a dog dancing around his feet, and he let himself be led into a small hut.

  “My God, lad, what art tha doing out on a night like this?”

  James looked at his savior. Although maybe the black-and-white dog was his savior? No, Christ was his savior. That is what he and Harry had learned in school…

  “Harry, I must get back to Harry,” he mumbled, his lips and cheeks stiff with cold.

  “Hurry? Hurry for what, lad? Tha’rt safe and warm now, thanks to Benjamin here. Ah, old lad, tha’rt a good old lad,” crooned the old man to his dog.

  “Harry, my friend Harry is out there on the fell side. We must go back for him.”

  The old man looked up, startled. “Soomone else out there with tha? How long since tha left him?”

  “Less than a half hour, I think.”

  “I hope tha’rt reel. Coom, Benjamin. No, tha sit still by t’fire and I’ll go out after tha friend.”

  “But you’ll never find him,” protested James. “And he’s hurt, he can’t walk. I must go with you.”

  “Nay, tha’ll never find anything in t’ storm. But Benjamin can. And I’ll carry him back.”

  James looked more closely at his rescuer. He was tall and built like an oak, but he was also grizzled with age. “Are you sure you can carry him down?”

  “How did he make it that far, lad, if he cannot walk?”

  “I carried him the last mile or so.”

  “Well, if tha can do it, I shall. Coom, Benjamin. There is warm milk on t’stove. It is for t’lamb, but you may have some.” And with that last cryptic announcement, the old man was gone and James was alone. Milk for the lamb? Then he noticed the basket by the fire where a woolly shape lay curled asleep. The basket looked as if it had seen years of similar use. James apologized silently to the lamb and stumbled over to the stove, where he poured himself some milk. He took a great gulp and then almost spit it out. From the strong taste he guessed it was sheep’s milk. He managed to get it down, together with a few crusts of bread from the table. He didn’t think the old man would mind.

  He had almost dozed off, despite his anxiety, when the barking aroused him. He opened the door and saw a giant white misshapen figure approaching, which resolved itself into the old shepherd with Harry slung over his shoulder.

  “Oh, thank God,” said James as he stumbled forward to help.

  “Lay him d
oon on t’old cot,” ordered the shepherd.

  “Be careful of his right knee,” cautioned James, as the old man and he put Harry down.

  “Oh, aye, it does feel a bit swollen.”

  “He wrenched it a mile or so back, and he had only recovered from having a ball removed.”

  “A soldier?”

  “Yes, he was on the Peninsula.”

  “Well, he is a lucky one. A bit longer and tha’d been a dead soldier,” said the shepherd, shaking Harry gently. “Wake up, lad. We must get something doon tha throat.”

  It took a few minutes to shake Harry awake. He felt himself being shaken, but did not want to open his eyes. Could one open one’s eyes once one had died, he wondered. When he finally decided to try, he saw a huge, dirty creature leaning over him. He smelled of smoke and dog and wool. The whole room was smoky, in fact, and Harry wondered if he were waking up in Hell. Christ, I’d have thought my time in Spain and Portugal was hell enough for any sinner, he said to himself. Then he saw James’s face anxiously peering down. “No, no, not you, Jamie. Why, there cannot be any Otleys in Hell. They are too damned dull and dutiful.”

  “Hell? Is that where tha thinks tha art, lad?” The old man laughed long and hard. “Na, that is a good one. No. Tha’rt in Sedbusk.”

  “Then we made it, Jamie?”

  “Yes, Harry, we made it thanks to Mr.…?”

  “Crabtree. Gabriel Crabtree.”

  “Mr. Crabtree and his dog Benjamin.”

  Having heard his name, Benjamin came over to the cot and shoved his nose into Harry’s hand.

  “Can tha feel tha hands and feet, lad?”

  Harry winced. “I am beginning to and almost wish I couldn’t.”

  “Tha’rt all reet, then. It will be painful, but it is better than no feeling at all and losing fingers and toes after. Tha’rt both very lucky. Na get soom sleep. Tha can lay on t’floor,” he said to James. “I’ll get tha a blanket.”

  “But where will you sleep?”

  “In t’chair. Don’t worry about me.” And Gabriel provided James with an old sheepskin to lie on and a blanket to cover himself, and then, settling into the chair, fell asleep almost instantly.

  * * * *

  James was awakened the next morning by the sun. It was hard to get up, as uncomfortable as the floor was, for he was tired right down to his bones. But he dragged himself over to the door and opened it onto a beautiful morning. Gabriel Crabtree came around the corner of his house at that moment. “Good morning to tha, lad.”

  “I can’t believe that last night ever happened. Except there is the snow.”

  “Aye. But it will be gone by t’afternoon. How art tha feeling?”

  “Tired and stiff.”

  “And tha friend? I heard him coughing during t’night.”

  “I didn’t, but then, I slept like the dead,” said James. “I hope he has not developed an inflammation.”

  “Well, I intend to get tha both down to the big house this morning. Tha’ll be more comfortable there, and if tha needs a doctor, t’ missus will summon one.”

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  Harry did have a cough and felt feverish to James, although he denied it vehemently. The swelling in his knee had gone down, but it was still painful for him to walk, so Gabriel supported him on one side while he used his walking stick on the other, and they made it slowly down the path.

  Both James and Harry were surprised by their first sight of Richmond House. They had expected a typical Yorkshire farmhouse, and instead saw a respectable-size country home. Gabriel knocked at the front door, and after a few moments wait, it was opened by an angel. Or so it seemed to James. The sun was behind them and illuminated a tall, ethereal-looking young woman with hair so light it was almost silver. She smiled at Gabriel which made her look even more beautiful if that was possible. James had never felt solider, clumsier, or duller, as he heard Harry introduce himself and comment upon how they seemed to have gone from Hell to Heaven overnight.

  He will be charming on his deathbed, thought James resentfully. Here he is, limping and exhausted, and he can still play the rake. Then Harry fell into a fit of coughing, and James was ashamed of himself. It had always been so: Harry the lady’s man and James his foil. But it had never rankled as much, he thought, as they were ushered in by the angel.

  “You sound dreadful, sir. Let me get my sister.”

  “That is Miss Lynette Richmond,” said Gabriel proudly. She is the beauty of the family.”

  In a minute the angel was back with her sister, a small, attractive young woman with curly brown hair and gray eyes and a take-charge air about her.

  “I am Kate Richmond. My sister tells me that Gabriel rescued you from the storm last night?”

  Harry was still bemused by Lynette, so James answered. “Yes. We were caught up on the fell, and Harry was unable to walk. Mr. Crabtree saved our lives, I am sure.”

  “Na then, lad, tha saved thaself. Had tha not pushed on, Benjamin would never have found tha.”

  “Well, whoever is the hero,” said Kate briskly, “it does seem that your friend here is a bit feverish and should be put to bed. It is Janie’s day off, so I will get you settled in the spare room. Gabriel, can you carry this gentleman up the stairs?”

  Harry protested, but that only set him off coughing again, so Gabriel just scooped him up and followed Kate up the stairs while James watched.

  “Would you like to come into the parlor, Mr.…?”

  “Otley. James Otley.”

  Lynette led him into a cozy room where a fire was blazing. “Come, sit down, and when Kate returns, we will have some tea. What were you doing up on the fell?”

  “Harry and I were on a walking trip. We fell asleep on what seemed a warm spring day and awoke in a snowstorm.”

  “It can happen in the dales,” Lynette said. “And I have heard of men dying of exposure, so you were both lucky.”

  “They certainly were,” said Kate from the door. “But I think we should call the doctor for your friend.”

  “You don’t really think it is serious?” asked James, rising from his seat.

  “No, no, he is just warm, not burning up. But I don’t like the sound of his cough.”

  “He was wounded last year at Badajoz, and one lung is weak as a result,” explained James. “But his doctors said he was fully recovered.”

  “He keeps insisting he is fine. But if he has a weak lung, an inflammation could too easily set in. But do not look so worried. I am keeping him in bed and calling the doctor more as a preventive measure. How are you feeling after your ordeal?”

  “Tired and stiff but otherwise unharmed. I cannot thank you enough for taking us in like this.”

  “Nonsense! Now, let me get us some tea. Lynette, will you help me?”

  James leaned back in his chair and drifted off almost immediately after the sisters had left. He was awakened by the rattle of the tea tray and tried to rouse himself.

  “I think we should have put you to bed too, Mr. Otley,” said Kate with a smile.

  “No, no, I slept well last night, truly I did.”

  “On Gabriel’s floor?”

  “It was warm and safe, and it was a relief to let myself go. I had been very tempted to fall asleep in the snow.”

  “I have heard of that phenomenon,” said Kate. “You were very lucky, for that is exactly the way people freeze to death.”

  “Well, it would be a peaceful way to die, from what I experienced. I can understand why men give in to it.”

  James drank his tea and devoured the warm scones that Kate had brought out and looked at the elder Miss Richmond as much as he could without being impolite. He wondered about the family. “Richmond” didn’t immediately sound familiar to him, but judging from the size of the house and the cultured tones of the sisters, Mr. Richmond must surely be a gentleman.

  “Now, Mr. Otley, I insist you go upstairs, too. I have had Gabriel make up a bed next to your friend, and you should b
e fairly comfortable.”

  James didn’t even attempt an argument. Despite the tea and scones, or perhaps because of them, he felt sleepy and was only too happy to proceed upstairs, where after placing his hand on Harry’s forehead and satisfied that his friend was not running a high fever, he lay down on the cot, pulled up the covers, and fell immediately asleep.

  * * * *

  Downstairs the two sisters discussed their guests.

  “They seem like gentlemen, Kate. Did you recognize their names?”

  “No, but why should we? We have neither of us been to London in years. But I agree that from their speech I would assume they are from good families—perhaps even from the nobility, although they did not introduce themselves that way. But Harry of the weak knee and lung, good family or not, is obviously a lady’s man,” she added with contempt.

  “Now, Kate, why do you say that?”

  “Because he was trying to flirt with you between coughs, Lynette.”

  “I didn’t really notice,” her sister confessed. “I was just so surprised to see them here at all.”

  “Well, I’ll send Jake down for Dr. Crowe. But when this Harry is allowed downstairs, I want you to take care,” her sister said protectively.

  * * * *

  The doctor arrived two hours later and had to awaken his patient to examine him.

  “Your knee is only slightly swollen, but I would use a stick to keep your full weight off it for a few days,” he told Harry after he gently probed his leg.

  “Just when I had got rid of the damned thing!”

  “Oh, I don’t think this has set you back that much,” the doctor reassured him. “Now let me listen to that lung. Cough.”

  Harry coughed obediently and that cough set off a mild fit of coughing.

  “Hmm. Again.”

  “Again? I am trying to stop coughing.”