No reply.
If I could only see. I felt around, then unexpectedly touched flesh. It was his hand, and it was holding hard to the only other thing floating in this pit, the wooden bucket. There was no warmth to him, but that meant little enough in a place like this. Tracing up his arm, I found his face. It was above water, but only just. With all the splashing and distorting echoes I couldn't discern anything as subtle as his heartbeat or breathing. The moan I'd heard was proof enough of lingering life, though.
Trying not to disturb his grip on the bucket, I found its handle, then the chain on the handle, then the rope tied to the chain. The slack was all around me I was sure, but drifting and dangerous if it should twist about us in the wrong way.
I drew rope through my grasp like a fat thread through a needle until I came down to the knots that tied it to the bucket's chain. Fumbling badly from the cold and fright, I got my folding penknife from its usual pocket, clutching it hard lest I drop it. Carefully, with rapidly deadening fingers, I opened it. I made a loop in the rope and began sawing desperately away at it with the blade. The soaked fibers were thick, tough, and I was uncertain about the sharpness of my tool. But just as frustration set in and I began to think my teeth would do a better job, the thing finally parted.
Cramming the open knife back into a pocket, I crowded close to Edmond. Another loop, larger, this time threading the rope under his arms and around his back. Not easy, he kept trying to drift away from me, and all the time I was trying to keep both our heads above water. Though in no danger for lack of air, I'd be damned before I let that utter blackness close over me again.
I made several knots centered over his chest, talking to him, babbling out waterlogged assurances that everything would be all right and not to worry and God knows what other nonsense. Perhaps it was more for my benefit than his. He made no sound or response; I still couldn't see a damned thing, and was rapidly losing my sense of touch.
One last knot. Time and past time to leave. With a singular lack of control I disappeared completely and shot up from the well like a ball from a pistol barrel. The little protective roof was in my way, and though it slowed me somewhat I'd sieved right through it before regaining command of myself. In too much of a hurry to be vexed, I touched upon the earth and went solid again.
Water running from my clothes, I put both hands on the well crank and began turning. Easy at first as it took up all the slack, it halted as Edmond's weight became part of the load. I prayed the thing would support him and put my back info the work. Round and round, with the wood creaking, the rope coiling about the dowel, and my heart in my mouth, I pulled him slowly up, trying not to think of all the things that could go wrong.
Then from the square of darkness his head emerged. It lolled backward, jaw sagging; there was a nasty-looking graze seeping red along one side of his scalp. I looked away and gave another turn on the crank until his shoulders were visible. He swung to and fro ponderously, a man on a gibbet. Not trusting the ratchet pawl to hold, I reached across with one hand while bracing the crank with the other as he swung toward me again. I snaked my arm under his and around his chest, then let go of the crank. He abruptly slumped away, threatening to drop back in. I got my other arm around him just in time and pulled.
It was a hard hauling. He was a big bear of a man, wet right through, and utterly motionless. His clothes snagged on the sides of the opening. I heaved him as high as I could and finally lugged him past the edge. He'd have scrapes and bruises-if he lived. I lay him flat on the cold ground and pressed an ear against his chest. For a terrible moment I heard nothing, then nearly crowed with relief when a near indistinct thump announced he was still on this side of the veil.
Determined to keep him here, I slapped his white face, shouting at him to wake up. He was past responding, though, and not like to do so soon unless I got him out of this winter air and inside near a fire. More lifting and dragging, this time toward what I hoped was the scullery door. Cursing like a heathen, I had to stop once to find the knife again and cut him free of the rope. It had played out like a leash and we'd reached its limit.
The door did turn out to be the scullery entry and had been left unlocked. Clarinda and the others must have come this way to get to the carriage house. That simplified things. I pulled Edmond up the step and inside, bulling through to the kitchen. My hope was that like other kitchens this would be the warmest room in the house owing to the need for a constant fire. Hope was fulfilled, I saw, when I blundered inside with my burden. For once I was glad to have the stink of cooked food assaulting my senses.
The fire here was little more than a mass of glowing coals, but easily remedied. I lay Edmond on the still warm stones of the hearth and threw on fresh dry kindling, knocking over the fire tongs and other things in my shivering haste.
The noise attracted notice. I heard a sudden loud banging and a chorus of calls for help coming from behind a solid-looking bolted door.
Edmond's missing servants.
It's amazing how much calamity can be turned about in a quarter hour's time. And what a wonderful, luxuriously wonderful relief it is to turn one's cares over to others and let them deal with the work.
Most of Edmond's people had been closed up in one of the pantries, except for two women who were soon found shut away in an upstairs cupboard. Fortunately, the pantry door had been bolted, not locked with a key, so I soon had everyone else out, blinking in the growing firelight after being in the dark and asking a hundred questions at once. All were agitated in one form or another from red-faced anger to teary-eyed fear, but were otherwise no worse for wear. I determined a middle-aged woman named Kellway was in charge of them, told her who I was, and after one glimpse at her master's desperate condition she forgot all about her own difficulties. She instantly set things in motion, shouting out orders for brandy, bandaging, blankets, and hot water, sending people scurrying off in every direction.
Evicting all female members of her staff but herself from the kitchen, she commanded two of the footmen to strip off Edmond's wet clothes. By the time things reached the point where she would be forced to leave as well the blankets arrived, preserving decorum. She made me strip down, also, which I did not mind, and questioned me closely over what had happened, which I did mind. It worried me at how easily I was given to lying and improvisation when forced to by the demands of an uncomfortable situation. Hardly honorable, but certainly necessary.
Wrapped in dry blankets and with a perfectly smooth face I told of my appointment with Edmond and of being surprised by Summerhill and knocked unconscious.
"I woke up lying on the ground next to the well. In want of water to ease my injury, I tried to draw some, then discovered Mr. Fonteyn was inside."
A general murmur of dismay went around.
"He'd tied the rope about himself to stay afloat, so I managed to haul him up. The poor man collapsed just as I got him out."
This inspired a general murmur of approval. Considering my cowardly delay in getting started, I did not allow myself to bask in their admiration.
"But how did you get so wet, sir?" one of them asked, having observed my own drenched and half frozen condition. I'd been far too thoroughly saturated for them to think I'd gotten in such a state merely from dragging Edmond around. At least the immersion had cleaned all the blood from my face.
"The bucket came up with him and was full of water. When I cut him free of the rope the damned thing tipped and slopped it all over me, then fell back into the well." I left it to their imaginations to work out just how that kind of clumsiness could have possibly happened. "You'll want a replacement."
"God bless you, sir, as if we cared about an old bucket," said Mrs. Kellway, wiping tears from her eyes before bellowing at a distracted scullery boy to keep heaping wood on the fire.
Indeed, but I wanted to account for everything. They might well have suspected me of being in on the foul deed, after all.
While Mrs. Kellway gently dabbed salve on Edmond's head wound and bandaged it, I
learned from them that Summerhill, Tyne, and two men dressed like sailors had suddenly appeared in the house, brandishing pistols, then smartly locked everyone up. Not long afterward the coachman and a groom were also forced into the pantry, bearing the news their master had arrived home, but not knowing what had happened to him after their own capture. All waited in vain for him to either rescue them or join them, taking turns to listen, but hearing nothing until my noisy entrance.
No one knew how the men had gotten in, but after a quick head count by the butler, a missing footman was promptly declared to be the traitor who had likely given entry to the intruders. An enthusiastic round of invective aimed at the fellow started up, with each declaring him to have ever been an untrustworthy rogue and listing all his bad points, slights they'd suffered from him, and various other character flaws. So many piled up in such a short time I wryly wondered how the man had ever been employed here in the first place.
Under Kellway's ministrations, Edmond looked a bit less blue than before, but still unconscious. Having myself been through a similar experience of nearly freezing, I told them to start massaging his limbs and cover him with hot wet linens, replacing them as they cooled. People were sent off to fetch more water for heating and to find the household's bathtub. I meant to have him fully immersed in steaming hot water, but that good intention was dashed when a boy hefted the unwieldy thing in. It was not much more than a wildly overgrown tin punch bowl a half-foot deep. The bather was to sit or stand in the thing and have water poured over him, I supposed. Oh, for the soothing delights of Mandy Winkle's house.
"But hasn't he had enough water already, sir?" asked a dubious Mrs. Kellway, when I explained my disappointment over the limits of their "tub."
"As long as the stuff was good and hot this time. It would have warmed him all over." Then I recalled what Oliver said of people believing anything about my birthplace. "It's something I learned in America. We know all there is to know on this sort of thing there."
It worked a charm on her, and thus enlightened, she gave a sage nod of agreement.
Oliver. I'd have to go back to Fonteyn house and tell him and Elizabeth about this latest disaster. Clarinda's mischief was not over yet, I judged. From what I'd heard, she had something else planned, and we'd have to be doubly on our guard now. Edmond needed a doctor anyway, and Oliver was nearest.
I raked my bedraggled hair back with my fingers, untidily retying it with a damp ribbon. Now that work had calmed them, some of Edmond's people found time to stare at my revealed features. My sharp ears plucked Richard's name out of a medley of whispered comments. So, Edmond had not seen fit to confide family secrets to them. I didn't think that was even possible, but he'd apparently managed. Would this weaken my position of assumed authority with them? Might they not think I was somehow allied with Clarinda since I'd so obviously once been her lover? Better to leave quickly before I found out.
Then Edmond stirred and gave a thick, water-choked cough, distracting us all. I pushed in close just in time to see his eyes open.
"Thank God!" cried Mrs. Kellway, saying it for everyone.
He had a stark staring cast to his expression. Understandable, then I had a swift flash of perception and told them to gather as many candles as they could find.
"Sir?" questioned a hesitating butler.
"He's been in the very heart of hell, man, give him some light for pity's sake."
My urgency and insight got through, and soon the kitchen was brighter than a ballroom. Whether it was a help to Edmond or not was hard to tell, but certainly it could do him no harm. When his eyes looked a bit less feral, I pressed a cup of brandy to his lips. He took that down easily enough, which was most encouraging.
"Do you remember what happened to you?" I asked him. "Just nod, there's no need to speak yet."
He did nod, but ignored the rest. "That bastard Tyne. Where?"
"He got away-for now."
"Clarinda?"
"She went with him. I think they're going to try getting away by ship." And would do so unless I got moving myself and arranged to cut them and Summerhill off.
"Riddance," he sighed out. "Good... riddance."
By that I could assume Edmond wanted no more to do with her, but it was out of his hands. I had my own special plans for his wife and her charming friends. Half-formed, to be sure, but doubtless when I caught up with them the other half would be fully matured.
"Tyne shot at me," Edmond said, responding to Kellway's question of how he got in the well. "Dismissed the coach. Alone at the front. He and some others came up. Tried to shoot him. Saw his pistol go off. Couldn't hear either of 'em. Strange. Thought someone hit me from the side." He gingerly touched his head and encountered the bandages.
"Just a graze by God's good will," I said, pulling his hand away. "Leave it for now until a doctor can see it. Do you recall anything else?''
His eyes shut a moment, then snapped open, focusing on the nearest of the candles. "Blackness. Cold. So cold. Water. Thought I'd been killed. Tried hard to breathe. Woke me a bit. Heard you next to me, jabbering on. Wanted to box you sharp and shut you up, but I couldn't move."
"That was after you were out of the well," I said carefully, hoping he'd accept it. "You got things jumbled."
"The well" He tried to sit up, but for once the feeble state of his body won out over his disposition. "I was in the well?"
"It's a miracle, sir," pronounced Mrs. Kellway. "The good God and all his angels took your part tonight and saved you, and that's a fact. If Mr. Barrett hadn't been there to pull you out we'd be praying for your soul's rest now instead of for your recovery."
He fastened his dark eyes on me, still trying to take it all in, I suppose. "How?'' he demanded.
I shrugged. "You did the real work tying the rope around yourself."
"But I didn't-you were there... I know you
"And you damned near broke the winch with your weight," I pressed on, not giving him a chance to continue. "I'd have had an easier task of it if you were built less like Hercules and more like Mercury. Next time you fall in a well I'll leave you there and spare myself a strained back."
I'd hoped a brusque manner would put him off and counted upon raising a snarl from him at least. Instead, he gave me a long hard look. I'd have been worried, but his eyes were going cloudy. He put a hand on my arm and squeezed once with a bare ghost of his usual strength.
"Thank you," he whispered, then fell back into a doze.
I expected to be hanged there and then by the staff, but Mrs. Kellway only dabbed at her face again and gazed at me with the sort of unaccountable fondness usually reserved for favorite children and small dogs. "Bless you, sir, for saying just the right thing to him."
"But I-oh, never mind." I stood up, nearly tripping on my blanket. "Blast it. I need to borrow some proper clothes. I'm sure my cousin won't mind if I raided his cupboard."
"But, sir, you're in no fit state to be"
"I'm quite recuperated, thank you, and someone has to go for a doctor. My horse is out front and all saddled, so if you please..." I'd put on a firm unarguable manner, asserting my place again after the previous near-familiarity, and it worked, at least in this household. Jericho would have offered considerably more resistance-and would have probably won.
Dry garments from Edmond's wardrobe were found, all rather large, of course, and I had to wear my own damp riding boots, but none of it was of any real concern for me. My cousin still needed help, and Oliver was but a few miles down the road.
I sent one of the stablemen to find Roily, absentmindedly omitting to explain why I'd left my horse that far from the house. Donning my reclaimed cloak and hat (both found on the stair landing) I was ready to rush outside before anyone else decided to ply me with questions best left unanswered, when a commotion at the front door halted my progress. To my surprise, Oliver strode forcefully in past a protesting maid, looked quickly around, and spied me. Had Elizabeth gotten impatient for news and sent him along? No, that could
n't have been it.
"What in heaven's name are you doing here?" I asked, not bothering to check my utter bewilderment. But even as the words came out I knew something was dreadfully wrong. My otherwise cheerful cousin wore an awful expression and visibly trembled from head to toe. "What is it? Is Elizabeth"
Oliver bit his lip and gave a violent shake of his head. His hands were clenched into quivering fists, and he looked ready to burst from the extreme inner agitation he was trying hard to keep under control. "Th-they got into the house," he finally said in a voice, a terrible broken voice I'd never heard him use before.
My belly turned to water. I did not have to ask who "they" were.
"Held pistols on us all. Took him away. You must come."
"T-took who?" But in my heart of hearts I already knew.
"Oh, Jonathan." Tears started from his eyes. "They've kidnapped Richard."
CHAPTER
-12-
"They won't hurt him," Elizabeth told me. "They wouldn't dare."
P N Elrod - Barrett 4 - Dance of Death Page 31
