Croft spoke up again, with the lines in his aged face deeply etched with disdain. “Do not listen to him, Your Grace. I have tended to Augusta Copperweld’s wounds numerous times. None have been accidental. I just did not know how to help further.”
“He lies, Your Grace.”
“The only time I noticed you looking for her, you stumbled into my shop foxed and knocked over a set of my scales,” said Croft to Copperweld. “You did not seem overly concerned with her whereabouts and bothered only to ask if I had seen her in passing.”
Quick Peter added, “I reckon I’ve seen your sorry face more times in The Golden Goose than I have wandering the streets looking for your girl.”
The Golden Goose? thought Will. It must be a drinking den. It’s not the inn.
Then a young, blonde woman came forward. Her voice trembled, but she spoke clearly enough. “I shall bear witness against you, Mr. Copperweld.” She swallowed. “I seen Augusta after you beat her. We was both hired to clean Mr. White’s house after his wife passed. I should have said something long before now, Heaven help me. Perhaps you have killed her and thrown her corpse away.” She would not or could not look at Copperweld, but she darted cornflower blue-eyed glances at Will, who tried not to appear too intimidating when she looked at him. He did not know if his attempt was successful, but she added one last insult to the raving man. “I knew you were the lowest scum from the very first day you leered at me down the tavern.”
“Foolish girl. I am telling you, my daughter has run off with a man! She wrote me a letter herself. I can show you.” Copperweld produced a stained, rumpled piece of paper from his pocket to complete the charade.
Will had had enough. “Hold your tongue, Mr. Copperweld. I hardly think—”
“Father, stop.”
Will turned as Miss Copperweld stepped out of the carriage, looking resplendent in one of his aunt’s gowns of amethyst linen. In that moment, when she smiled at him with gratitude and tears in her eyes, he knew he was smitten.
But such matters were not to be discussed at present.
The throng, which was comprised of many people who presumably knew Augusta by sight if not any more deeply than that, gasped almost as one.
“Is she not your daughter?” Will asked Copperweld, who was struggling against the two strapping young men who had come forward and taken it upon themselves to keep him present. Will nodded to both of them in thanks. They looked like laborers, and were surely built like they were used to hard work.
Without missing a breath, Copperweld’s tone became simpering, and although he did not stop struggling entirely, he stilled somewhat.
“Oh, she is back! Where have you found my beloved girl?”
He shammed what he must have thought was a gratified expression but, in truth, looked like perplexity. Besides, there was no mistaking the malice deep in his eyes. Here was a man who, if he had not always, now delighted in petty cruelty.
Miss Copperweld had none of it and responded before Will could.
She marched right up to her father and looked at him with sadness and utter disgust on her face.
Will was incandescently proud of her.
“You may call me your daughter no longer,” she said. “I will not stand idly by and listen to you spin lies about our relationship, or about me… especially not when fellow villagers have just testified to the fact that you are violent.” She thrust her chin upwards and gazed at him directly. “If I were you, I would prepare better for my time in court. No one will buy what you have just tried to sell.”
Copperweld went wild, and Will stepped between the two of them. Even the ominous scowl of the marred duke did not stop his ravings, and his young captors redoubled their efforts to keep him within their grasps.
“You stupid little slut! You’d dare to let them take me?” He scoffed. “I should have killed you long ago. You are not my own daughter, not my flesh and blood!” He tried to nudge his way over Will’s shoulder and although he could not, he continued to shout at her. “Do you hear me? Your bitch of a mother was untrue to me.”
“Even if she was,” Miss Copperweld fired back, holding her ground even in spite of her pale face, “I can see why she might have been!”
“What a thing to say about your own mother!”
“You keep her out of this,” said Miss Copperweld, brimming with fury.
“She would be ashamed of you and your wanton ways.”
It was, Will knew, completely nonsensical for him to say, seeing as he by all accounts did not allow his daughter to maintain any time of her own. He also had little doubt that Copperweld was grasping for things to say that would hurt Augusta, so even the veracity of the claim that she was illegitimate was debatable.
Miss Copperweld took a steeling breath and said, “I cannot reason with a madman. Better a bastard than your daughter.”
Spellbound, the villagers began to talk amongst themselves at that. The blue-eyed, blonde-haired woman who’d spoken up against Copperweld nodded her head curtly as though in agreement.
Copperweld spat at his daughter and missed. The sickly, green-flecked spittle landed with a wet splat on the cobblestone near her right shoe, one of a pair of soft, umber boots that Jane could no longer wear because she said they hurt her knees.
“Enough,” said Will, his face mere inches from Copperweld’s. He hoped he looked his fiercest. “Or I will run you through myself. But first, I shall cut out your lying and disrespectful tongue if it continues to wag.”
That, finally, seemed to cow the old drunk. He blanched and, for once, Will was entirely thankful for the effect of his scarred and ruined visage.
Miss Copperweld watched while her father was hauled off, but then she turned to Jane, who had exited the carriage at some point to gauge the situation. Soon enough, she was sobbing onto the front of Jane’s blush pink dress. Whether predominately out of shame, relief, or sadness, Will had no idea.
His entire being wanted to comfort her. All her ties and claims to a father, however despicable that father might have been, were now fully and irrevocably severed. He had never been through anything like this, but her distress was written plainly in the sound of her sobs and lines of her shoulders.
The crowd seemed content to part momentarily rather than look on as Augusta shattered. Will conjectured that they were pleased with the appearance of their lord and the way he had meted out justice, and he almost said something to the effect that they were dismissed.
He kept himself from saying so, though, because it struck him as being a little too similar to the actions of a schoolmaster.
Just as they all began to disperse of their own accord, a careworn man dashed into the square, screaming for help. Startled, Will made his way to him, wondering what had driven him to such public hysterics. Even Miss Copperweld and Jane looked over to see what was the matter.
The man gasped, bending over with his hands splayed on his thighs, “Someone must help me—my boy, my little boy—he is stuck in a tree. Stuck on a branch, my lord. He is bleeding and I dare not move him!”
Chapter Nine
Will had never been more lacking in self-confidence as he was in the moment when the stranger ran to him for help. Surely, he said, there must be someone who was more capable than him. Will’s prevarications fell on deaf ears, and the remaining villagers joined him in soliciting Will’s aid. Finally, he said that both Copperweld and Benedict should be kept under strict watch, and agreed to go to the site where the boy was in peril. It was not far, a small parcel of land where the boy’s father, the hysterical man, farmed his crops.
He’d no idea how it happened, but his boy was somehow caught from behind on a broken branch. Between his halting explanations and moans of terror, or mumbles of self-chastisement, Will could only gather that the boy was, in general, an avid climber, and his father had, therefore, left him unattended.
Confused and beside himself with the fear of failure, he came away with the farmer and a few men and women. Miss Copperweld and J
ane, who could not be dissuaded from accompanying him, were by his side.
His anxiety mounted when he finally caught sight of the poor boy. There in a tree, and Heaven could only tell exactly how it happened, he was impaled on a jagged remnant of a broken branch. Perhaps the lad fell? Rotten, rotten luck, thought Will, his mind going into its automatic state of professional assessment even despite his rampant nerves. If the boy moved, it would cause him agonies. Certainly, I’ve never seen anything like this, but that doesn’t mean it is impossible. Obviously. His eyes roved over the spot where he guessed the boy had been stuck. It was his upper back, near a shoulder blade.
Certain that he would make matters worse should he intervene alone, Will worried his lower lip. This lad probably needed at least two physicians, or a physician and surgeon, to ensure that he was done no further injury. Will chanced a look at Croft, who had accompanied them, and the old man’s face mirrored his trepidation.
“I will do what I can,” said Will to the boy’s father. “But we will have to be very, very careful. What is your name?”
The man said, “Allan Cooper, my lord.”
“Mr. Cooper, I have to warn you that I am very out of practice. My first patient in a long while was Miss Copperweld.” He smiled at her white face. She was intent upon the little boy in the tree. “I know you do not want to hear this, but I worry that I may do more damage trying to free him.”
Mr. Cooper raked a broad hand through his sandy hair. “I told him not to move. Would it not be better for him to die with us trying?” he asked grimly. “If the Good Lord sees fit to take my boy away from me, I won’t leave him stuck in a tree.”
Jane spoke up, then. She had, Will knew, no patience for dramatics or pessimism. “Let us hope it does not come to that, Mr. Cooper. My nephew is highly skilled. He has treated men on battlefields and the destitute in London. If anyone can find a way to save your son, it is William.” She laid a hand gently on Mr. Cooper’s arm and Will’s affection for his aunt surged. She was so kind to everyone she met, when it was deserved. Class and standing did not factor into her fair assessments of men.
Or of women, thought Will, looking once more at Miss Copperweld.
Who was now taking long strides toward the tree, hiking her skirts up in the grass.
Jolted into action, Will hurried after her. “Miss Copperweld!”
“We cannot stand about gabbing when he’s in such pain,” she insisted. It was clear that as she stared up at the tree and the crying boy, she was formulating some kind of mad scheme to rescue him, herself.
“We do need to agree upon a plan of attack, so to speak,” said Will quietly, filled with approval for her tenacity. “I do not think one petite woman such as yourself can manage, though I admire you for trying.”
“Now isn’t the time to tease me for my stature, Lord Ainsworth,” she said dryly, although she did let her skirts fall to their normal height. “Will you, then, do as you have been begged?”
I’m terrified that I shall ruin the boy even further.
But if she asked him to do anything, possibly even cut off his own nose, he would do it. He hesitated the merest fraction of a second before kissing her lips very lightly.
From behind them, he could hear Jane’s pleased little gasp and sounds of utter confusion from Croft and Mr. Cooper. If any of the other villagers voiced their surprise, he did not hear it as Miss Copperweld’s lips parted for his.
“Now isn’t the time for that, either,” she said, breaking away from him with a tiny smile.
His heart in his throat, he took a step back and removed his overcoat, handing it to her.
“I agree.”
Carefully, he reached for the lowest branch and began to climb. His heart thudded fiercely in his chest, and cold sweat broke out on his skin. It was not the height that bothered him. It was the prospect of failure.
“My lad, what do they call you?”
“Eggy,” he sniffled. Will did not have time to wonder if Eggy was more terrified of his face, or of the plight he faced. “But my real name, that’s Joseph.”
“Why ‘Eggy’?” asked Will, smiling up at him.
He was nearly to the branch Eggy was straddling, and just above that was the wicked shard that had gouged his back so harshly.
“We keep chickens. I like eggs,” Eggy said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world for him to be called “Eggy”. “Eat a lot of ’em.”
“Fair enough. I do, too, though not enough to have it become my name,” said Will. “Now, I need you to keep very still. Can you do that for me?”
Eggy nodded once, then did as Will said. His little face was tight with pain and, even from this angle, Will saw blood staining the back of his torn white shirt. Very, very gingerly, Will straddled the same branch as Eggy so that they were almost nose-to-nose. He advanced very slowly to peer behind the lad. Will inspected the point of entry into the boy’s body. The shard was not so far into the boy—perhaps only an inch or an inch and a half deep into the muscle, but still too much for a young child to be able to wriggle free without causing himself considerable pain and damage.
Will was thankful the sun was high and his vision was the best it could be. He felt he could accurately assess the depth and angle at which Eggy’s back had been penetrated. With some luck, all they would have to guard against would be infection. He was breathing without much strain, aside from the obvious signs of pain, and that was a good omen.
Without being told, Mr. Cooper stationed himself at the foot of the tree, ready to catch his son at a moment’s notice.
Will’s eyes, tearing from frustration and hesitation, found Augusta’s below and she nodded trustingly at him. She believes I can help. She was holding on to the crook of Jane’s arm, and both women gazed at him with full belief.
He drew strength from their trust and took Eggy’s shoulders.
“How old are you?”
“Eight,” came the tearful reply.
“You can be brave, then. Eggy, would you be so kind as to do me a favor?”
The boy stared at Will as though he were raving mad. “What kind of favor?”
“Nothing impossible.”
Perhaps sensing the solemnity in the duke’s words, he nodded.
“Thank you. Now, I will tell you what you must do. You must be as a man and endeavor not to shake or cry as I pull you off this nasty bit of tree. Do you reckon you can do that?”
Again, Eggy nodded, albeit with hesitation.
“Splendid,” said Will, much more cheerfully than he felt. His entire body was covered with a sheen of sweat.
Calling on all the calmness of nerve that he could muster, he began to tug Eggy away from the tree, little by little. So shaken were both the duke and the boy that the first pull wrenched a cry from them both.
“Remember your promise,” Will said with a shaky smile, even though he had cried out himself.
To his credit, Eggy made no sound after that. He sobbed, but almost silently, as Will continued to tug slowly and carefully. Blood dribbled from Eggy’s wound, but there could be no helping that circumstance. With each tug, Will took another glance at the broken branch to make sure it was coming cleanly out of Eggy. It did not seem to be leaving many splinters or shards, if any.
When the boy was free, he grinned at Eggy, who looked positively faint and nauseated.
Then he fell limply into his father’s waiting arms.
Will clung to the tree, irrationally fearful of having killed a boy of only eight.
*
Eggy was saved.
They took him into the house and laid him on a sitting room table, which was where everything was swiftly carried out.
Will was so intent on assessing Eggy’s wellbeing that he was incapable of much speech the entire time he examined the boy. At times, Jane or Miss Copperweld would try to break the tension by making small talk or asking what they could do to help, but it was all too distracting to Will. He gently had to dismiss them to Mr. Cooper’
s kitchen, where they made Mr. Cooper tea and sat with him and his distraught young wife.
After he was left alone save for Croft, his skills and training returned swiftly to him. He took charge of Eggy with alacrity. Poor Eggy had lost a copious amount of blood, and he was largely in need of rest and some medications for pain. Will was so wrapped up in caring for the boy that, in retrospect, he recalled very little about what he had actually done to save him. He simply knew that he had.
Even leaving the Cooper farm was a blur.
But Jane was more than willing to recount all of it to him, and she did so countless times in the ensuing days, often without an invitation from Will, who would rather have let the whole incident pass without much more discussion at all.
Miss Copperweld, seeming to sense his reticence to relive the afternoon, added less than Jane, but both women were keen to assure him that he had acted very heroically, indeed.
“I was not being a hero,” Will insisted. “I was being a physician.”
“Heroically,” insisted Jane. “I don’t understand how you didn’t let your nerves get the better of you. I was terrified the entire time. Poor little Eggy.”
Joseph’s pet name had stuck even for a woman who seemed to generally detest pet names.
Nothing could remove the shine from the “selfless service” and “courageous act” that Will had undertaken. Back in the manor, it was all he could hear spoken. Soon, all the servants, from the scullery maids to Marcus, were speaking of little else.
Down in Brookfield, nothing else could gain the same amount of attention as little Eggy’s rescue.
Not even the announcement that all taxes had been returned to a tenth, and that Lord Ainsworth himself was busy calculating the amount his tenants had been overcharged so that he could return it to them in installments.
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels Collection Page 134
