The body, meanwhile, issued a stream of profanities, most of which ended in a groan. Harry, after a comprehensive look around at the lack of direction or positive action from anyone, climbed down from his horse and took charge.
‘Harry Lawson, Lord Birnham. I have rooms reserved,’ he snapped out to the nearest groom. ‘You, take my horse and stable him away from that.’ He indicated the still bucking animal and handed over the reins to the most sensible-looking man around. ‘What is wrong with it?’
‘It’s new to the stable, sir, not used to the river noises yet,’ another man offered. ‘Young Jem there tried to calm him after he took a frit from the ferryman a shoutin’. Jem is eager, and has good hands for an ‘oss, but Lucifer there, he’s not a’fert of anyone.’
‘Except the ferryman, it seems.’ Harry turned his back on the beast; he’d sort it later if needs be. Instead, he crossed the stable yard in three long strides and knelt down next to the white-faced, shivering lad, pleased he’d decided not to ride down in anything other than the clothes he hacked out in when he was in the shires and alone. Thick buckskins, a thorn-proof jacket, and old, comfortable, well-worn, albeit polished, top boots. ‘Now then, lad, let’s have a look at you.’ He studied the pain-filled face. Compassionately. ‘Where did he get you?’
‘Me shoulder, sir. It’s not right,’ the whey-face lad gasped. ‘Bloody hurts.’
Harry nodded. It was obvious what had happened. ‘You’ve pulled it out of the socket. It’s easily done. I can get it in again, but I warn you it will hurt even more for a second.’ He looked around and beckoned to one of the other men. ‘Get him a rope to bite on.’
‘Yessir.’ The man scurried away. Harry returned his attention to his patient, and hoped to hell he could remember his basic battlefield first aid. He was more used to bullets and sabre cuts.
‘Right, Jem was it?’ Harry stared down at the pain-filled face. The lad could be no more than sixteen or seventeen years of age, and although well built, his contorted body made him seem younger. ‘No, don’t nod, just say yes or no.’
‘Yessss.’ Jem hissed the word. ‘Will it hurt for long? I’m a gardener and my em… employer needs me.’
And he probably needed the wages, Harry thought. ‘If it does, and it probably will not heal immediately,’ he said honestly, ‘I’ll fill in for you. I don’t need the money and you can oversee. If need be.’ How that would work with his goals he had no idea, but it could all wait. First, he had to remember his skills. ‘I’ll be your labourer. First, though, I’ll be your bone-setter.’
The man he had dispatched to get the rope reappeared and handed a thick, reasonably clean and new-looking hank to Harry. ‘This do, sir?’
‘Perfect. Okay, Jem, bite on this and try not to forget to breathe.’ Harry waited until the youth complied, took a deep, calming lungful of air, and pulled. The click as the shoulder returned to normal, and the scream, made his blood curdle. Then the expression of relief on Jem’s face was enough to make Harry let his breath out in a long, silent whoosh.
‘Oh my, sir. It’s fine,’ Jem said in a surprised voice. He made to lift his arm and Harry swiftly held it in place.
‘Not yet,’ he said quietly, but authoritatively. ‘Give it a chance to heal, eh? You need it in a sling to stop yourself forgetting.’
‘But me job,’ Jem said plaintively. There’s only me and me ma, sir. I need it.’
‘It will still be there, waiting for you, I promise.’ Or he’d find one for him and pay him out of his own pocket.
‘But how?’ the youth asked worriedly. ‘It’s got to be done day by day. It can’t build up.’
‘As I said, I’ll fill in,’ Harry informed him cheerfully. ‘I take directions as well as the next man, and I have time on my hands at the moment.’ Not precisely true but the relieved look on Jem’s face made the fibs worthwhile. And he would do as Jem directed, gardening-wise if necessary. ‘Now let’s get you to your feet, make sure my horse is happy, Lucifer has calmed down, and that I have my room waiting. Then we’ll go and see your employer. Who is it and where do we go?’ He put his arms under Jem’s uninjured shoulder and helped him to stand.
‘Ah, it’s Lady Lydia Field down at Riverside House.’ Jem swayed and settled. ‘I’ll show you, if you’re sure?’
So easy. Harry kept his face impassive and nodded. ‘I am. Come with me while I wash my travel dirt off and we’ll go and see what I can do.’
He nodded as the man with the rope sped away towards the back of the inn, and the others drifted away. Even the lady who had leaned on the wall seemed to have disappeared. ‘Who was the woman over there?’ he asked as they made their way towards the whitewashed building. ‘She made a hasty getaway.’
‘Mrs Bennion, the vicar’s wife. She’s a good woman with the handouts and the prayers, like, but not good with injuries.’ The disgusted look on Jem’s face told Harry what Jem thought of that attitude. ‘Says seeing her son’s leg when he broke it slipping down the cliffs after gulls eggs did it for her. And she hates horses. She’ll be off to tell me ma, no doubt, and be all full of doom and gloom. Ah…’ His eyes widened, and he clutched Harry’s arm frantically. ‘Sir, me ma… I’ll need to get a message to her or she’ll be in a right tizzy.’
‘We’ll sort that as well. She’ll want to see you hale and hearty, not wan and washed-out. Come on now and we’ll have a jug of ale while I change, and you get brushed down. Stable-yard muck won’t help reassure her all is well. Five minutes, that’s all we need here.’
He entered the inn and was greeted by a beaming landlord, a jug of ale and a pie, and a promise of hot water the instant he was in his rooms. Rooms plural.
‘I’m Holdsworthy, my lord.’
Evidently news of his full title had been passed on. Harry nodded.
‘The innkeeper,’ the man went on. ‘I thought, perhaps, you should have the best room with its own washing chamber and sitting room. The tap gets a bit lively when the boats are in. Not unruly, mind – the owner and me won’t have any truck with that – but full and ripe. You’ll be better off with your own space.’
Harry had had his fair share of full and ripe in the army, so he nodded. ‘Most grateful.’
‘Arr, well, so are we. Young Jem here is a hard worker and looks after his ma right well. Now it’s going to…’
‘Be the same,’ Harry butted in, as Jem blushed the colour of beetroot. ‘For I’ll do what he would have done and he keep the wages. I need something to fill my time. I, er, I’m waiting for news of some property and have a boat due in sometime soon. China Clay.’ All true.
‘Then I’m sure my lady will be properly grateful to you,’ The landlord led the way upstairs and ushered Harry and Jem inside Harry’s temporary home.
Harry looked around the confortable room. Not overlarge but neat, tidy, airy, and away from the noise of the tap and the stable yard. ‘Perfect, thank you.’
‘That’s good, and here’s your water.’ Holdsworthy put a jug with steam gently rising from it down on the dresser and gave Jem a comprehensive glance. ‘You sit, young Jem, afore you fall over, and mind you make sure you do as his lordship says.’
Jem nodded and didn’t look one whit abashed at being treated thus. Evidently they all looked out for each other in the village
Harry liked that.
No more than ten minutes later, fed, washed and watered – or ale-d – he and Jem left the inn. Jem sported a clean, but less than white, cotton sheet made into a sling around his injured shoulder and chatted about the damned horse – the aptly named Lucifer – the shrill tones of the ferryman, and the probable crops he’d sow in the kitchen garden at Riverside House. As they walked along the lane, which led via the riverside to the village green, now on first-name terms, Jem pointed out the things he thought Harry should know about. The baker who made pasties every Monday and Thursday, and bread every day – except Sunday, when he sang in the choir at chapel. The other, considered by some to be the more superior, inn, but whose cooki
ng, Jem said, wasn’t a patch on Mrs Holdsworthy’s – the wife of the Horseferry’s landlord – and then the church and the vicarage where the lady he’d seen lived with her husband. Other churches, Jem told him, were nearby. For a small village, all denominations were well served.
They turned into a narrow lane with cottages on both sides and Jem pushed open the door of a tiny cottage on their left. ‘Ma? It’s me,’ he called. ‘And His Lordship.’
‘Harry.’
‘Harry. I’m fine and he’s gonna help us.’
A round, rosy-cheeked lady bustled into the hallway, burst into tears, and as Jem stepped smartly out of the way flung her arms around a startled Harry.
Jem winked. ‘Told you,’ he mouthed. ‘Come on, Ma, let His Lo… Harry… be. We need to go to Lady Lydia and tell her what Ha… Harry has suggested. He’s going to be my right-arm man for a few days.’
‘Or more if needed,’ Harry said firmly. ‘Lord Birnham, who wants to be known as Harry, ma’am, at your service.’ He bowed, and remembered at the last moment not to be too lordly, and overwhelm her. ‘We will not make a timescale; we will go day by day.’
‘But why, sir?’ the lady asked in a puzzled, yet hopeful, voice. ‘Why should you be helpin’ us?’
‘Why not? That’s what neighbours do, and as I’m in the area for a while, a neighbour I will be. Jem needs help, I have time to offer to come to his aid. If his employer agrees.’
‘Oh Lady Lydia, she’s a fair lady.’
‘So we need to go see her, Ma,’ Jem said. ‘Now.’
‘Then bring Harry back for supper,’ his mother suggested. ‘It’s a nice pigeon pie.’
Jem opened his mouth, no doubt to protest, but Harry forestalled him. ‘I’d love to but I’ve already bespoken food at the inn. So perhaps tomorrow you and Jem can come and be my guests there?’
She beamed, wiped her nose on her apron, and buffed his shoulder with a pressure many a navvy would envy.
‘Well now.’ She nodded her head. ‘That’s lovely, I must say. A rare treat. So nice.’
Harry thought so as well. Even on such a short acquaintance he liked Jem and his mother. It didn’t seem at all strange that he, a peer of the realm, should be inviting a village lady and her gardener son to dinner. It all fitted in. This simple life might not work for ever, but for now, even after such a short time, he revelled in it. Now all he had to do was placate Lydia and reassure her he was here to help and not be a nuisance.
Well, not much of one.
‘We best get on, or Lady Lydia will be at her dinner and that wouldn’t be a good way to start off, eh?’ Harry said pleasantly. ‘And then Jem can get back for his supper and I can go and have mine.’
Jem’s mother nodded. ‘Her ladyship is a lovely lady. I help out when she wants me. I do good, plain mending and her secretary commended it. Perfect, Miss Cannon called it.’
Secretary? Who was that? Harry was even more intrigued to find out what was going on. He followed Jem out into the late-spring sunshine, and down yet another lane. At the end there was a glimpse of the river, the mudflats uncovered, and the boats at an angle, their bottoms showing. It was a contrast to what it would be in a few hours when the tide rushed in.
‘This is the way to the back door,’ Jem said diffidently. ‘I uses it and, well, I’d feel strange going to the front.’
‘No one uses the front in the country.’ Unless it was the aristocracy on a formal visit. ‘Most houses don’t even know where the key is to unlock it and, if they do, the darned thing is usually stuck.’
Jem nodded. ‘That’s it.’
The lane turned once more and ran along the riverbank. As the tide was low, the sandbanks glistened, and the smell of seaweed filled the air. Over towards the far shore, where a channel was still filled with water, a few men dug in the sandy mud, and near the estuary mouth someone rowed in a semi-circle, laying down a net. It was all new and fascinated Harry. He’d enjoy exploring. Later.
Jem opened a wood-panelled gate and Harry followed him across a small kitchen garden.
‘Riverside House,’ Jem said unnecessarily. ‘It’s old.’
Harry nodded. ‘Lead on.’
****
The knock on the parlour door was enough for both Lydia and Millie to glance up from what they were doing and then look at each other.
‘We aren’t expecting anyone, are we?’ Lydia asked, frowning as she put down her novel. In the days since they’d been across the river, Lydia had kept a weather eye out but seen no one remotely like Jeremy or indeed anyone else from what she privately called her previous life. Reassured, they had soon settled back into the slow routine of the village and the different and much-enjoyed country hours that were kept. Both of them were up early and enjoyed the cooler air and the chance to walk without becoming unladylike and sweaty. Earlier, they had walked along the cliffs and down to the river, before buying fish and eating it. Replete, they had settled in the small lounge to read and chat.
Unless invitations had been extended to them, people tended to stay at home once they’d eaten. After three nights of entertainment – a dinner, a chorale in the church, and a poetry reading – Lydia was glad of an evening to themselves. The days since their arrival had slipped away, without either of them really noticing the passing of time. As they got the house shipshape and began to take their place in village society, Lydia realised she was truly content.
However, uninvited visitors were not normal.
‘No one invited tonight.’ Millie stuck her needle into her embroidery. In complete contrast to Lydia, she not only enjoyed sewing, but was an excellent needleworker. ‘So?’
‘So? We see what is going on.’ Lydia cleared her throat. ‘Come in,’ she called, and blinked as Mrs Orsman put her head around the door, an apologetic expression on her face.
‘It’s young Jem, my lady. He’s hurt himself but he has a friend who will fill in for him if you’re agreeable. Nice man, he seems. Clean and tidy and very presentable.’ The inference that Lydia could do worse was evident in her tone. ‘They’re in the kitchen while I came to ask if you’re available to see them.’
‘Of course, show them in. Poor Jem, what’s he done?’
‘I daresay the gentleman will explain it better than me or Jem,’ Mrs Orsman said comfortably. ‘Something about a horse.’
Lydia smiled. ‘Then show them in, please.’ She waited until Mrs Orsman left and looked at Millie. ‘Gentleman?’
Millie shrugged. ‘No idea. The only person Jem ever mentions is his mother.’
Ah well. They would find out soon enough. There was another knock at the door. Lydia looked at Millie, pushed her feet back into her slippers, pleased for once she hadn’t yet got around to loosening her laces, smoothed her hair, and as ever did her best to unsuccessfully tuck wayward strands in her bun. Next to her Millie did the same, except her hair was as neat and tidy as it had been when she’d dressed it that morning. ‘Right?’
Millie nodded. ‘As I’ll ever be.’
It was as well Lydia wasn’t holding anything of great monetary value as she bade their visitors enter. She took one look at the man who followed Jem in and her book fell to the floor, its pages creased and the spine bent back beyond recovery.
Harry? Harry here? All her hard-won contentment flew out of the window and she fought not to scowl.
‘Mr, ah…?’ Lord, why could she not lose the breathy tone and sound stiff and starchy instead. She still hadn’t forgiven him for his attitude before she left town, so why did she appear so spineless? Out of the corner of her eye she saw Harry’s mouth quirk and Millie bite her lip and look away. Lydia strengthened her spine. He was not going to think she was easily influenced by a smile.
‘It’s Lord Birnham, my lady.’ Jem said hurriedly. ‘See, I hurt my shoulder and he fixed it but said not to use it and so he’ll do the work and I’ll tell him what and how and he said that…’
‘Jem.’
At Harry’s voice, Jem shut his mouth and swal
lowed. Harry laughed and turned to Lydia.
‘Lady Lydia Field?’
She inclined her head, wondering what he’d do next
He bowed. ‘Allow me to explain a little more coherently. Harry Birnham. At your service. I am here on business, and as I entered the stable yard of the inn, discovered young Jem here with a dislocated shoulder. Due, it seems, to a frightened horse.’
‘Lucifer, my lady,’ Jem butted in. ‘The new one at the inn. Scared of Sam Thapperskill’s shouting for passengers to hurry along. You know how he screeches. Sam, I mean, not ‘th’oss. Like a wo…’
‘Jem,’ Harry said in a humorous tone. ‘Don’t put your foot in it. Like a banshee will do.’
Jem reddened. ‘Ah, yes.’ He looked down at the floor with a sheepish expression on his face.
‘So, to resume, and retrieve our sensible sides, I reset Jem’s shoulder, and offered to help him out until my ship comes in. Eliza Jane, carrying china clay, and I want to see it firsthand,’ he added.
‘You are a doctor?’ It wasn’t all she wanted to say, but Lydia recognised most of her thoughts could only be put into words in private, without an audience.
‘Everyone at Waterloo had to be,’ Harry said bleakly.
There was a shocked silence. She’d forgotten he’d been in the thick of the battle. Lydia mentally shook herself. ‘Then it was as well you came upon Jem when you did, for the nearest doctor is across the river and no doubt some idiot would have suggested he took himself over by the ferry.’
‘Ah, they did that, miss,’ Jem burst out. ‘Then His… er… Harry happened along and well it has all worked out for the better. If you’ll have him as me for a bit.’
I’ll have him any way possible. Where did that shocking thought come from? It was almost true, though. Except for the love, honour and obey bit. In all conscience she couldn’t say ‘obey’ and mean it.
Impasse.
Millie coughed and Lydia realised everyone was waiting for her to answer. She smiled. ‘It hardly seems fair to ask him to do…’ She was about to say menial work until it occurred to her how terrible it would sound. ‘To take him away from his own business. The gardens can wait for a few weeks.’
The Lord's Persuasion of Lady Lydia Page 19
