They Touched Heaven

by Barbara Cartland

  Temia dried her eyes and looked miserably into the middle distance.

  “Yet I am ashamed to say that I am glad it was not the Earl who fell – ”

  “You love him?”

  “Yes, I do. With all my heart. But it is I who has caused this terrible accident. As surely as if I had pulled the trigger myself.”

  Mrs. Timms came back holding a glass of milk.

  “How are you, dear?” she asked. “I-I shall be quite well soon – thank you.”

  “You must drink this, it’s sweetened with sugar.” Temia took the milk and warmed her hands on the sides of the glass. As she stared into the drink, she was trying to think what her best course of action might be. Should she go to the Earl’s house? But she did not know where it was.

  Where would he take Sir Thomas? That would, she thought, depend upon the severity of his wounds.

  She drank the milk and then felt heavy and sleepy. She was utterly drained from the events that evening and seeing the two friends at each other’s throats like wolves. And now, Sir Thomas was wounded and may even be dying!

  After a while, Sophia took her up to bed. Very soon, she was warm and cosy and drifting off to sleep, exhaustion numbing every inch of her body.

  *

  The scene at the house in Mount Row was frantic. The Earl, his shirt open and coatless, had taken the wounded Sir Thomas to his house and now was loading him into a fast phaeton for the journey to Northampton. Beside him his faithful manservant, Elliot, was busy taking orders from him.

  “You are to tell no one of this, Elliot. If the Police come to the house, tell the servants to say I have gone to France on business. Under no circumstances is anyone to inform them of my whereabouts. They are to maintain that I left earlier in the evening to catch the boat to Calais.”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Now, I wish you to drive us to Yardley Manor – are the horses ready?”

  “They are, my Lord, I have selected only the fastest to pull the phaeton.”

  “And my luggage?”

  “I have packed a small bag for you, my Lord. It’s already on board.”

  “Very good, Elliot. We must leave at once. You have left word with Mrs. Murray to close up the house?”

  “Yes, my Lord.” The Earl smiled. Elliot was worth his weight in gold and this was not the first time he had been asked to cover his Master’s tracks.”

  “Excellent. And Sir Thomas, is he comfortable?”

  “As much as can be expected, my Lord.”

  “Let’s depart without further delay.”

  Elliot bowed and climbed up on the box. He urged the horses on and soon, they were trotting along Park Lane.

  At Marble Arch he turned the coach Northwards and out of London. With any luck they would arrive in Northampton just before daybreak.

  Elliot realised it was imperative that they travel at night and he would not stop for anyone or anything. His Master’s reputation and the life of his friend both depended on his skill and the swiftness of the horses.

  Inside Sir Thomas moaned as the carriage wheels rumbled over the rough road.

  “Ssh,” exhorted the Earl. He cradled his injured friend and tried to staunch the bleeding underneath his coat. The bullet had gone straight through and out of the other side. The Earl constantly relived the moment that, with his blood up, he had shot his friend. He had aimed to kill, but had not reckoned on his pistol sight being out of alignment. He had aimed for Sir Thomas’s heart and had him hit just under his ribs.

  It was only when he had sunk to his knees that the Earl had been brought to his senses. Although he had a hot temper, he could be cool under stress and did not panic. He had loaded Thomas into his carriage and had the driver take them to his house in Mount Row and then gave the man a big tip to keep quiet. ‘I pray he is as discreet as Elliot, otherwise I am in deep trouble,’ murmured the Earl, as they sped on. A heavily bleeding man in a fast phaeton would only serve to arouse suspicion if they were stopped.

  Some hours later, the phaeton finally rumbled up the long drive of Yardley Manor. It was an elegant Jacobean house that the Earl’s father had much improved on with two new wings.

  And now, it seemed as if all his hopes of bringing Temia to the Manor as his wife were about to be dashed.

  He sighed with relief as the carriage pulled up at the front entrance to Yardley Manor. Elliot moved swiftly and woke up the hall boy, who ran to the stables to arouse the Head Groom.

  “Get him inside,” thundered the Earl. Between them, they carried the semi-conscious Sir Thomas inside and into one of the guest rooms.

  “Fetch Mrs. Hopkins at once and then send a stable boy to the village for Doctor Soul. Hurry, we don’t have any time to lose.”

  “He has lost a lot of blood,” commented Elliot.

  “Ask Mrs. Hopkins to bring some old sheets. We shall rebind his wounds until Doctor Soul can tend to him.”

  Elliot left the room, as Sir Thomas suddenly came to and stared about him with wide eyes.

  “Wentworth?” he murmured. “Are you there?”

  In a flash the Earl was at his friend’s side.

  “Babbington, you have been badly wounded, you must not move. The doctor will be here soon.”

  “It’s not like you to miss such an obvious target, Richard. You must have – lost your nerve!”

  He tried to laugh, but it came out as a splutter. “Enough, Thomas,” the Earl replied gently. “You must stay calm and not move until Doctor Soul arrives.”

  “And Temia?”

  “I have sent word to her of the outcome.”

  “Telling her what? That you will come and claim her as yours as soon as I have expired?”

  The Earl shook his head.

  “No, Thomas. I have not.”

  “I did not wish to fight you, Richard. This could have been avoided but, for once, I lost my temper. Ha! Did you hear that? I lost my temper!”

  Just then, Elliot came into the room carrying a tray that held a bottle and two glasses.

  “My Lord, I thinks some brandy would be in order – for medicinal purposes.”

  “Thank you, Elliot. Is Mrs. Hopkins on her way?”

  “She is, my Lord. She has been told that under no circumstances must she alert any of the other servants. We don’t want them talking.”

  “Just tell them that Babbington’s pistol went off in his coat by accident – a faulty catch.”

  “Very good, my Lord.”

  The Earl looked at his wounded friend and his heart rent in two. How could he have done such a thing? His best friend since boyhood and he had shot him over a woman!

  But Temia was not just any woman. She was the woman he adored and who he could never forget. Even when Sir Thomas had told him that he intended to propose, it had not quenched the fire within his heart. Her image was burned onto it as surely as if she had branded him.

  “Here, drink this, Thomas,” he urged.

  “I hope it’s your best!” “Naturally.” The Earl was feeling sick with worry. His friend’s face held a grey hue and his lips were pale and going blue.

  It did not look good.

  Mrs. Hopkins was a calm businesslike woman who went about dressing his wound with fresh bandages made from old sheets. “Come along now, sir,” she coaxed in her motherly fashion. “You’re going to have to sit up a little.” Sir Thomas cried out in pain as she pulled away the bloodied pieces of cloth closest to the wound. “Where is that damned doctor?” the Earl called out in a fraught tone. “He should be here by now.”

  “My Lord – he has to come from Denton and the roads are perilous.”

  He paced up and down worrying about Sir Thomas and Temia. It was not the prospect of prison that concerned him or the scandal and the ruination of his good family name. No, he was far more concerned about losing his dear friend as well as his beloved Temia. Had she not seen enough to frighten her away?

  How could she ever love a man with such a violent nature? Would it not be too easy for
her to conclude that if he stooped to attempting to kill the man who was supposed to be his best friend – he might strike a woman?

  ‘I am a fool and a coward,’ he thought, as he paced the room while Mrs. Hopkins finished her ministrations. ‘I am not a man! My blessed temper always sees to that.’

  He struck his fist hard on the marble mantelpiece. ‘I shall never forgive myself if he dies. Never!’

  He thought of the last time he had been challenged to a duel – that night at the Club by the Frenchman. With a bitter grimace, he recalled how Thomas had saved him from harm then and had scolded him for losing his temper – saying that one day it would be his undoing.

  He had not thought then that his prophesy would come true in such a tragic fashion.

  “My Lord, Doctor Soul is here.”

  The Earl turned and saw the doctor enter.

  “My Lord,” he took off his hat and bowed.

  “Don’t stand on such ceremony, man. My friend is badly injured!”

  The doctor put down his bag and went to the couch where Sir Thomas lay prostrate. He checked his pulse and pulled back the torn and bloody shirt to inspect the wound.

  “Mrs. Hopkins has just dressed it.”

  “And she has tied the bindings tightly, I see. That is good. However, I shall need to take them off to examine the wound itself.”

  The Earl winced as he unravelled the bindings to reveal the ragged hole where the bullet had entered. “The bullet has exited his body cleanly,” remarked Doctor Soul, “but he has lost a great deal of blood. We must get him into bed at once.”

  “And will he live?” asked the Earl, his dark eyes as black as pitch.

  “I could not say, my Lord. I have seen men survive wounds such as this, but the next twenty-fours hours will be crucial. Should he survive them, then there is every chance he will recover. I cannot tell what damage has been done to his organs and we can only hope and pray that the bullet did not pass through his liver.”

  “Is there no way of telling?”

  “I am afraid not. We cannot see inside the patient. There is no bleeding from the mouth, which is a good sign but, other than that, it’s a matter of time and prayer.”

  The Earl stared at his friend. “He might die?” he asked suddenly.

  “It’s a possibility. He will need careful nursing.”

  “Then, he shall have whatever he needs, money is no object, doctor. Will you arrange a nurse for him?”

  “I shall send for one immediately. There is a lady in a nearby village who is highly skilled and was trained by Miss Florence Nightingale herself. I shall engage her.”

  “Nothing is too good for Sir Thomas.” As the doctor turned to leave, the Earl touched his arm.

  “Nothing needs to be said about this outside these four walls. Is that understood?”

  The doctor, a man of the world and one who knew a pistol wound when he saw one, nodded his head.

  Whatever had passed between these two gentlemen was no concern of his and he knew that the Earl would be most generous when it came to settling his bill.

  “I will return tomorrow morning, my Lord. Mrs. Hopkins should keep him warm until the nurse comes and you must send for me at once if there is any change.” “Thank you very much, Doctor Soul.”

  As the doctor departed, Mrs. Hopkins reappeared to take away the brandy.

  “Leave it!” snapped the Earl. “And close the door behind you. You are to admit no one without my say-so, is that clear?”

  “Yes, my Lord,” she said with a startled look.

  “Now, leave us. I shall ring for you if anything is required. Please show the nurse in the minute she arrives.” Mrs. Hopkins was familiar with the Earl’s temper. It sometimes frightened her.

  ‘Them flashing eyes!’ she muttered, as she closed the door. ‘I wouldn’t care to incur their wrath!’

  The nurse arrived very early the next morning and was quickly informed that her discretion was paramount.

  The Earl did not leave Sir Thomas’s side – much to the consternation of his servants.

  *

  Over the next days, the Earl neither ate, washed, shaved nor even changed his clothes. Instead, he paced the room like a cat, drinking his way through several bottles of brandy and refusing all food.

  ‘He’ll not eat or sleep and he’ll make himself ill soon and Doctor Soul will have two patients on his hands!’ murmured Mrs. Hopkins, taking away a tray of untouched food.

  Sir Thomas had not regained consciousness and he appeared to be sinking slowly. He cried out in his delirium for Temia and hearing her name wrung the Earl’s heart.

  “Temia! Temia!” called Sir Thomas with his eyes closed and sweat on his brow.

  The Earl did not care one jot what he looked like – all he cared about was the recovery of his friend.

  ‘Temia! Darling!’ the Earl anguished every now and then.

  He missed Temia terribly and loved her more than he could say. His love for her wracked his frame and tore at his heart – it tortured him through the long nights and was still there, bright and fresh, in the morning.

  He went to Sir Thomas’s side and saw that he was opening his eyes. The doctor had come that very morning and said, in confidence, that he was not getting better.

  “It’s as if he has just lost the will to live,” he had pronounced in a sombre tone. “All my skill as a physician is useless if the patient himself does not wish to recover. And this man appears not to care if he dies.”

  “Wentworth!” Sir Thomas’s voice was feeble and hoarse.

  “What is it, Babbington?”

  “Temia. I – must – see her!”

  “She is in London. You are in Northampton.”

  “Wentworth, I know that I am not too long for this world. If I could just kiss her dear face once more, then I could die a happy man. Just grant me this, my once-dear friend and we shall forget any bad blood between us!”

  Despite himself, the Earl felt a lump rising in his throat. As he looked into his friend’s pleading eyes, he knew he must try and right the wrong he had committed. “You mean, Thomas, bring her – here?”

  “Please, my friend. Do this one thing for me.”

  The two men looked at each other. The Earl regarded his pale face and thought that, much as it would cause him distress – and indeed to Temia as well – he could not refuse him.”

  “Very well, I shall write to her.”

  Sir Thomas clung onto his sleeve.

  “Thank you, Richard,” he murmured, before falling back into unconsciousness.

  *

  The days had also seemed long and without hope for Temia. She simply went through the motions of her duties at the theatre, but her heart was elsewhere. She became pale and wan, losing weight and not eating.

  Sophia was terribly worried about her and did her best to encourage her.

  “You must eat something,” she warned, as Temia again refused the food she had brought to her.

  “I cannot until I know exactly what has happened to Sir Thomas,” she answered, turning her face away.

  “If he has died, we would have heard. All London would be talking about it. We get enough toffs in here that someone would have said something.”

  “That is true, but not to know is like a slow death.”

  “Temia, you must forget them. Your mother and father will need you when Lord Alphonse is arrested. Did she not say she would write to you and let you know?”

  “Yes, she did, but it was last week and these things don’t happen overnight. Even if Mr. Burleigh has gone to the Police, it will take time. Supposing Lord Alphonse has got wind of this and has left the country?”

  “What and leave rich pickings behind? From what you have said, he is not a man to be easily discouraged.”

  Just then, a boy put his head around the door. “Scuse me, ladies. Miss Temia Morris?”

  “I am she,” answered Temia.

  “Mr. Baker asked me to give this to you.”

  The boy h
anded over a letter. Temia almost dropped it when she saw the crest.

  Her hands began to shake and she clutched at her wildly beating heart.

  “Temia, what is it”? asked Sophia

  “It’s come from the Earl,” she whispered, turning the letter over in her hand. “The crest – it’s his.”

  “You must open it!”

  Temia paused and then did so. Drawing out the sheet of fine paper, she read the contents and then sighed,

  “Sir Thomas wishes to see me. Oh, Sophia, he is dying!”

  “Did he write the letter?”

  “No, the Earl did. He says that Sir Thomas is at death’s door and is asking for me. I am to come at once.”

  “But then you don’t know if it’s safe for you to go home!” cried Sophia. “What if that Lord Alphonse sees you around in the County? He could kidnap you and, then, where would we all be? Don’t forget, it is you who saw his wife in the asylum. You are an important witness.”

  “This I know, Sophia. But I cannot stay here while Sir Thomas is dying.”

  “And you cannot go alone,” said Sophia, picking up her coat. “We will go straight to Leo Baker and ask if we can be excused from the theatre. I am coming with you.”

  “Oh, Sophia, would you?”

  “You try stopping me!”

  Leo Baker was not at all happy that two of his girls wanted to take some time off. It was only through Sophia pleading with him that a friend was dying that he relented.

  “Very well, but only a few days, mind. I want you back for Saturday’s performance. Full house, it is!”

  “We promise. Thank you, Mr. Baker.”

  Within an hour the two girls had gone back to their lodgings, packed a bag each and were in a Hackney cab on their way to Euston Station. They bought two tickets for Northampton and sat down to wait for their train.

  “Where shall we stay?” asked Sophia. “We can hardly arrive at your parents’ house – me the long-lost, half sister and you, the fugitive!”

  “I had not thought – ” answered Temia, dreamily. “But there’s bound to be a hotel or inn and it cannot be any worse than Mrs. Timms!”

  Sophia laughed. “Perhaps, the Earl will allow us to stay with him.”