Yorkshire: Richard and Rose, Book 1

by Lynne Connolly

  Chapter Three

  The vehicle lay on its side at the edge of the road, like a great dead beetle, the tracks of its sideways slide easily visible in the crushed grass and weeds. If it had travelled any further it would have plunged into the ditch. The noise of our horses’ hooves masked any sound from the coach, but when we pulled up, we heard someone bellowing inside the vehicle. This came as a relief; it indicated at least one of the inhabitants still lived. The two horses that had pulled the coach stood quietly by the roadside, cropping grass, their traces severed. The coachman must have released them first; a sensible move, as otherwise they could have kicked and bucked, causing further damage.

  The coachman lay on his stomach; flat on the top that had been until recently the side of the vehicle, with the door flung open and his hand inside. “You’re too strong for me, sir. Please don’t move so much. There are people beneath you.”

  Mr. Kerre dismounted quickly, flinging his horse’s reins over a nearby branch. I did the same, while Lizzie stayed on her horse. “How far is the village?” she shouted.

  The coachman looked up. “Oh, miss, am I glad to see you! The village? It can’t be above a mile or two.” He pointed down the road.

  “I’ll go for help.” Without further delay, Lizzie spurred her horse to a gallop, disappearing in a dusty cloud. She’d forgotten about her lovely new riding habit and her pretty poses in this crisis.

  Hastily, with some difficulty, but with as much haste as he could muster, Mr. Kerre climbed to the top of the coach while I watched anxiously from below. He lay by the side of the coachman and looked down into the stricken vehicle. At once, he reached his arm into the depths of the coach, to the source of all the noise. “Take hold!” Between them, with a great deal of effort, he and the coachman slowly hauled up a large gentleman in a homespun country outfit. I’d never seen this man before. Perhaps this accident had happened to someone else. The other coach, the one from the Abbey, would be along in a moment on its way back from the village.

  The man groaned and complained bitterly. He sat on the top of the coach. I could see his deep, steadying breaths, misting in the cold morning air. Looking over the side, he paled in alarm.

  I shouted, “Take care!” and moved to help him down. With a sharp cry of alarm he slipped off his perch. It was a pity I was, by then, underneath him.

  Gasping, I fell, winded but otherwise unhurt. Fortunately, I hadn’t been directly beneath the man. His weight, falling that far, could have killed me. I struggled to pull my skirt from under him, ripping it in the process.

  I stood, regaining my balance and my breath, then bent and examined the stranger for injuries. He’d gone silent and I feared the worst when I saw his eyes closed. I groped in my pocket for my necessaire. Putting a mirror to his lips, I saw it mist faintly. Sighing in relief, I examined at the rest of him, searching for any injuries he might have sustained. His leg had twisted under him in the fall, and it now lay at an unnatural angle.

  “How is he?” Mr. Kerre called down.

  “I think his leg is broken,” I called back.

  “It looks bad here. There’s a lot of blood. Are you up to this, ma’am? If you feel you might faint, you’d better return to the Abbey and rouse what help you can.”

  I didn’t hold out much hope of help from that quarter. “I can stand it.”

  “I’m very pleased to hear it,” he called back. “What’s the state of the top of the coach? Is there any chance we can break through?”

  I stood and tried an experimental kick at the coach. My foot went straight through the canvas and rotted wood, and I nearly overbalanced; it was a wonder it had ever kept the rain out. “I think it would be quite easy.”

  I moved aside while Mr. Kerre and the coachman climbed down. I didn’t want to break anyone else’s fall. While the coachman helped me to drag the fat man aside, Mr. Kerre began to break through the coach roof. He pulled off the canvas top, kicking at its thin supports and hurling them out of the way. He was heedless of where they might land, in his haste to reach the ominously silent occupants.

  The coachman went back to help, and I did what I could for the stranger. I straightened his legs and looked for a stout branch with which to bind the broken one. One leg was obviously broken, although thankfully the bone hadn’t pierced the skin. Such a serious injury might have led to a nasty, even fatal, infection later. I aided him while staying aware of the surrounding events, working quickly. I couldn’t find a suitable branch, so I used a rope from the coach to bind his legs together, the good one to the injured. It would do until we got him to a physician.

  By then, Mr. Kerre had managed to break through the roof of the coach. With the coachman’s help, he pulled out a body from the grisly heap of humanity inside. I didn’t need the stricken expression on his brother’s face to recognise Lord Strang. That dashed my faint hope of a different coach carrying strangers. In that case, the stranger I’d attended to must be Mr. Pritheroe, the so-called minister they had gone to collect from the village.

  Lord Strang lay unconscious, deathly pale, covered in blood. His brother carried him a little way from the ruined coach, laying him on damp grass. I hurried across to help. I was needed there more urgently than with the minister, who now breathed heavily, as if in deep sleep. Heedless of the effects of the damp grass on my new riding habit, I squatted next to the injured man.

  “He’s alive,” Mr. Kerre breathed.

  Without delay, I fetched a small pair of scissors from my necessaire and began to cut and tear his clothes away. Blood seeped through the cloth, and I knew I must find the source of the bleeding and try to stop it. I’d seen this kind of wound before in the fields at home at harvest time. Scythes cut deeply and this wound looked to be as bad as an accidental scythe cut.

  I sat on the damp grass while Mr. Kerre lifted his brother’s shoulders to put his head in my lap. I leaned over the inert body. “I’ve found it.”

  A deep gash on the upper part of the left arm bled profusely. It bled still, when I pressed my hands together on the wound’s sides. The red liquid dripped through my fingers, far too fast for my liking, but it didn’t spurt. Mr. Kerre glanced at me, his face pale and worried, as if I was his only hope.

  I let go of the arm and took up the sleeve of the coat I’d just cut off, glancing up at Mr. Kerre. “I think I can manage.”

  Mr. Kerre still squatted beside me, staring and shocked. The sight of blood affected some people very badly, including my normally practical sister-in-law. I wasn’t sure whether it was the gore, or knowing that it was his brother’s, that shocked him into near-insensibility.

  The coachman needed help with the other occupants of the coach and I didn’t think Mr. Kerre would be of much use here. “I’ll call you if I need you,” I said firmly.

  He stirred himself and stood, taking one last look at his brother. “Be sure you do.” He left for the coach.

  In truth, his hovering, anxious presence made me nervous. I could manage better, alone. As I gripped the edges of the wound tightly together between my gloved hands, I felt a movement under me and glanced down. Lord Strang had come to. He stared up at me, bewilderment clouding his gaze.

  “It’s you,” he said. We gazed at each other, a moment out of time, caught in a net I’d never known before.

  I felt a jolt somewhere in the region of my heart, but decided to ignore it and attend to more urgent matters. “You’ve been hurt, sir. Please keep still and I’ll do what I can to help you.” Holding my breath, I released his arm and began to bind it tightly. This had better work. The man could die here if he bled much more. I pulled the makeshift bandage as tightly as I could, and waited. After a moment the blood flow lessened a little. I sighed in relief and concentrated on the task in hand.

  He drew a deep breath, as if taking his first—or last. “Well, well. At last, you’re here.” At least, I think that was what he said. His words were indistinct.

  I felt the movement when he turned his head on my lap. He watched
as I bound his wound, pulling the improvised bandage firmly around the wound. Then I pressed down hard. A definite easing of the blood flow rewarded me.

  Lord Strang kept completely still while I attended to him. I was grateful for that, but concerned that he might be too weak to do anything else. “I think that will do for now.” I straightened, wincing at the crick in my back. Taken off guard, I looked directly into those deep blue eyes.

  A chill made me shiver. I couldn’t imagine where it had come from. Although late in the year, the sun shone brightly and I was well wrapped up against the cold.

  I decided to assume it was shock. Lord Strang shivered, too, likely from blood loss. I tried to cover him with my riding habit’s wide skirt. He smiled his thanks, faintly.

  That smile gave me another jolt, and I realised I’d never seen him smile properly until this moment. I’d seen Mr. Kerre smile, though, but Lord Strang’s was slightly different, an edge of realism, not the sunny smile his brother had bestowed on me. Odd, considering the ordeal Mr. Kerre had been through, publicly humiliated and sent away in disgrace.

  Lord Strang wore no maquillage this morning, revealing clear, smooth skin. He had lost his hat and wig in the accident. His golden close-cropped hair gleamed in the morning sunshine, the same colour as his brother’s. For the first time I wondered what had made them turn out so differently.

  “A good angel.” He gritted his teeth against his shivers. I felt a responsive shiver pass through my body.

  “No angel, sir,” I said tartly, too sharply. “Merely someone who happened to be in the right place at the right time for you. Still, I’m glad I was.”

  I looked down, met his eyes again and knew where my shiver came from. I wasn’t cold.

  I looked away quickly, toward the still bodies the men had hauled from the coach. No solace there. Recovering my senses, I turned my attention once again to Lord Strang. “It’s a deep cut, but a clean one, sir,” I informed him in practical tones, as briskly as I could muster. “It should heal well.”

  “Thank you.” Many people can’t voice simple thanks, but he had no problem with it.

  “Your fiancée will be pleased to see you whole,” I used the word ‘fiancée’ deliberately, reminding myself as much as him that he wasn’t available.

  “If she were my wife, she would not. Widowhood would suit her.” I stared at him; surprised and shocked by the cynicism toward someone he should feel cordial towards, at the very least.

  The sound of galloping hooves heralded Lizzie’s return from the village at full tilt. She pulled up skillfully as she reached us. “The landlord will bring men, a cart and rope. They’ll be here at any moment.”

  She dismounted quickly, and went to see what she could do to help, but she paled at the sight of all the blood. “Shall I go back to the Abbey and warn them?” Her voice shook and she turned away from the gory scene. Mr. Kerre tersely agreed and helped her to remount. She galloped away. She would be of more use at the Abbey.

  Mr. Kerre walked across to us and squatted by his brother. “The earl is dead, but his brother is alive. Most of the blood seems to have come from you, Richard. How do you feel?”

  “I’ll do,” said Lord Strang, and promptly went off into a dead faint.

  Much to our relief, we heard horses pounding the road and soon the landlord of the inn arrived, driving a serviceable cart carrying several men. The casualties were immediately loaded into it. I hovered over Lord Strang. “Don’t move him too much. You’ll reopen his wound. It’s a deep one.” They were very careful and I was satisfied to leave him in their care. They laid him tenderly on the floor of the cart, next to the youngest Hareton brother, in front of the other two casualties, and covered with a rough blanket that would at least keep him warm until he got back.

  They set off for the Abbey. The coachman said he would walk the coach horses back, so Mr. Kerre and I remounted and rode back up the road at a brisk canter.

  I had something new to think about now. I would have to face this new feeling and identify it. Mr. Kerre’s concern for his brother kept him quiet, so we didn’t say much on the way back. However, he did compliment me upon my level-headedness, and thanked me for what I’d done to help his brother. I said it was nothing, lying to be polite. That morning the ground under my feet had shifted just a little bit.

  Chapter Four

  We arrived back at the Abbey before the cart, which had to go the long way around, up the main drive. The groom in the stable yard had his hands full with only the coachman available to help him, as the other men were carrying the injured into the Abbey. We threw him the reins of our horses and hurried inside, trusting the redoubtable Bennett to take care of them.

  From the accounts I received later, I knew my family roused the Abbey into a frenzy of activity, the like of which hadn’t been seen for years. Lizzie did her job well. She ran into the Great Hall and shouted and, as well as raising a great deal of dust, she roused the whole of the household. With a struggle, they managed to open both the doors at the front of the house, and awaited the arrival of the dead and injured.

  Lady Hareton had been beside herself, collapsing when she first heard the news. Despite her protests that she never touched alcohol, Martha took her into the parlour and forced her to drink a medicinal draught of brandy.

  Then my formidable sister-in-law invaded the kitchen. Although appalled at what she found there, she stirred the slovenly cook into action and got her boiling pans of water and making a decent breakfast for everyone. Martha always thought of people’s sustenance in a crisis and she had rarely been proved wrong. I had seen Martha at work in a kitchen before and I pitied the servants who were not used to her exacting standards.

  Steven opened up the chapel to receive the body of the late Earl of Hareton. He found that all ornaments had been stripped away, but it was obviously one of the rooms in current use, clean and bare. He got some men to shift a large table in there to act as a bier, and busied himself in looking for the ornaments and vestments that would be proper in the circumstances.

  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.