A Poor Relation

by Carola Dunn

  The branch shifted, and now he moved with more care lest some part of it strike her. At last she was free and he dropped to his knees beside her, reaching for her slender wrist as Bernard stumbled up to them.

  “Her pulse is weak. I dare not carry her for fear of doing more harm.” Though he yearned to lift her slight body in his arms, he had seen too many wounded men crippled by being moved carelessly. “Can you make it to the house? Send Potter and some others back with a hurdle, and someone must ride for the doctor. Go as quick as you can, Bernard.”

  “Of course.” The captain hurried off, his limp more pronounced now.

  Chris ran his hands along Rowena’s limbs, trying to discover whether any bones were broken. It seemed not, so with the utmost gentleness he straightened her crumpled form. He took off his coat and spread it over her. Powerless to help her further, he sat on the ground beside her and picked a few scraps of bark out of her tangled curls, then took her hand in his. It felt very small and fragile.

  He loved her. It was impossible to deny the overwhelming need for her that shook his body. If she would only open her eyes he would pour out his feelings, tell her she must live for his sake. Somehow his unready tongue would find the words to express all the sweet, confused emotions he had tried so long to avoid acknowledging.

  She did not stir. It seemed forever he sat there in the deepening dusk holding her hand before he saw lanterns winking between the trees.

  “Major, sir?”

  “Potter! Over here. Thank heaven you’ve come.”

  “Quick as we could, sir. Bad, is she?”

  “All I can find is a blow to the head, but there may be broken bones. Ned, Jemmy, set the hurdle here, close as you can, and hold the lanterns. Help me move her, Potter. Take her shoulders. Careful now.”

  “Easy does it, Major.” The ex-corporal gently laid the unconscious girl on the hurdle then stooped, smoothing back her hair to look at the wound on her forehead. “A nasty bruise she’ll have, but it’s nought but a scratch. Bit of concussion, likely as not.”

  Rowena moaned and opened her eyes.

  “Potter?” she murmured in puzzlement.

  “Major, she’s come round! Now don’t you worry, miss, we’ll have you home in a twinkling.”

  Chris instantly took his servant’s place and bent over her. Her eyes were already closed, but a faint frown suggested that she had not swooned again.

  “Rowena, I’m taking you to the Grange. You were hit on the head by a branch, and there may be other injuries. Keep as still as you can.”

  “Yes, Major,” she whispered, the merest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

  She roused once more as the little procession made its way to the house. Chris saw the bewilderment in her green eyes as she glanced from one to another of the dark figures surrounding her. He held the lantern he carried so that the light fell on his face. Though she did not speak and he was not certain that she recognized him, the sight of him seemed to soothe her before she lapsed back into unconsciousness.

  By the time they reached the Grange he was desperately worried about that prolonged insensibility. Diggory stood on the marble flight of steps to the front door, peering with unbutlerlike anxiety into the darkness. The two footmen flanking him ran down to relieve the grooms of their burden. They carried the hurdle into a vestibule that seemed unusually full of servants, who scurried out of sight as the butler reappeared.

  “Mrs. Diggory has prepared the rose chamber for Miss Grove, my lord,” he announced. “Oh, it is not Miss Grove. I understood it to be the young lady from Grove Park who sustained the injury.”

  “Miss Caxton,” he snapped, realizing that she had never visited the Grange. “Carry her up, lads, and go carefully. Is the doctor sent for? Where is Captain Cartwright?’’

  Lady Farleigh answered him, limping out of the drawing room leaning heavily on her stick. “I sent Bernard to take a hot bath, Christopher, and then go to bed. He is not yet well enough to dash about the countryside on errands of mercy without suffering for it. The stableboy rode for the doctor, with a note from me to ensure his compliance.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I must go up and make sure Miss Caxton is all right.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort, young man. Mrs. Diggory and my dresser will manage very well between them. Lady Grove must be notified—Miss Caxton is her niece, I collect?—though I doubt the silly woman is of any use in a sickroom. When you have written and dispatched an explanation to her, you may go and see Bernard.”

  “Yes, Lady F.” Chris dropped a kiss on her smooth cheek as he passed. He had grown very fond of the dictatorial old lady, and her commands generally turned out to be common sense.

  Though he itched to dash to Rowena’s side, he realized that it was quite ineligible. He hurried to the library, scribbled a note to Lady Grove, and sent a footman to take it to the stables for a groom to bear up to Grove Park. There were advantages sometimes in having swarms of servants at his bidding.

  He went up to see Bernard, who was already in bed, looking rather pale and wan.

  “I ought to have left you with her and run back here myself,” Chris said apologetically. “I was not thinking clearly.”

  “A shocking admission for a line officer. My leg aches like the very devil but you must not suppose there is anything serious the matter. How is Rowena?”

  “Lady F. won’t let me see her. Very proper, I suppose, but deuced frustrating. The doctor can look at your leg when he’s seen to her.”

  “He need not, I only need to rest it.”

  “That’s an order, Captain.”

  “Sir!” Bernard saluted mockingly.

  “If only I had had those trees pruned of deadwood, this would never have happened.”

  “Don’t tell me you are blaming yourself? You have been following Rowena’s own instructions and you cannot suppose she will hold you responsible for her accident.”

  “No.” Chris managed the ghost of a smile. “I expect she will tell me that even a major and an earl cannot command the winds.” He paused as the door opened to admit Diggory, followed by a footman with a tray. “Ah, here is your dinner. Is it so late? I am still in all my dirt.”

  “I have had hot water carried to your chamber, my lord, but her ladyship asked me to inform you that she does not expect you to change for dinner.” The butler looked down his long nose at Chris’s nether garments, in which he had sat on the ground beside Rowena.

  At least Jessup was no longer there to add his horrified disapproval. Chris washed his face and hands and went down to dinner as he was.

  Halfway through the meal, a simple one as they had no guests, Chris heard the sounds of the doctor’s arrival. Only Lady Farleigh’s eagle eye prevented him from leaving the table to pace the hall outside Rowena’s chamber. It seemed an age before he heard the man’s footsteps descending the stairs.

  “Diggory, ask Dr. Bidwell to join us here,” ordered the dowager. “I daresay the poor man was interrupted at his dinner.”

  The doctor informed them, around a mouthful of apple tart, that Miss Caxton was suffering from a mild concussion, severe bruising and abrasions, and a slight fever as a result of exposure.

  “Nothing to worry about, my lady,” he added cheerfully. “I have left a draught to give her if she grows delirious. Someone should stay with her, but I do not expect any adverse developments. Send for me if she has not fully recovered her senses by noon tomorrow.”

  “You may be sure we shall,” said Chris grimly. He wanted to throttle the man for his blithe unconcern.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Dr. Bidwell had scarce departed when Anne arrived. She could be heard in the hall arguing with a footman. Before Chris could rise to his feet or Diggory had taken more than one step towards the dining room, she rushed in.

  “Lord Farleigh, please tell your servant— Oh, my lady! I beg your pardon.” She performed a hurried curtsy. “I am Anne Grove. I have come to take care of Rowena—my cousin.”<
br />
  “Alone, Miss Anne?”

  Anne looked abashed. “It was useless even to ask Minton, ma’am. She’s my sister’s abigail. And with you and Rowena here... Our coachman brought me. You see, Mama did not wish to appear encroaching and Millicent pointed out that you have plenty of servants to look after Rowena.”

  “Peagoose!” snorted the dowager, but whether she referred to Lady Grove, Millicent, Minton or Anne was unclear.

  Anne ignored the interruption. “I knew Rowena would be more comfortable with one of her family by her side. So I went to Papa and he said I might take the coach. Please say I may stay, ma’am?”

  “Certainly.” Her ladyship’s tone was almost cordial. “Christopher, escort Miss Anne above stairs.

  “Thank you, my lady.” Anne curtsied again, then glanced about the room in alarm. “But where is Bernard? Is he hurt, too?”

  Her eyes bright with interest, Lady Farleigh reassured her. “Nothing that rest will not cure. Dr. Bidwell tells us that Captain Cartwright merely overstrained weak muscles running for help.”

  Anne flushed at the pointed use of Bernard’s rank and surname.

  “I shall tell you all about it.” Chris came to her rescue, taking her arm and leading her from the room.

  He delivered her to the rose bedchamber, where he was firmly denied entrance by Mrs. Diggory. Disconsolate, he wandered back to Bernard’s room and told him of Anne’s arrival and faux pas.

  “What a dear she is,” the captain murmured drowsily. The doctor had left a sleeping draught to ease his pain.

  Chris went down to the drawing room and drove Lady Farleigh to distraction with his pacing. It was there that Mrs. Diggory found him an hour or so later. A motherly woman quite unlike her imposing husband and imperious mistress, the housekeeper had had little to do with her new master. She was astonished when he approached her eagerly and seized both her hands.

  “How is she?”

  “Miss Caxton’s still out to the world, my lord.” She tried to curtsy and he released her. “Her forrid’s a bit hot, but she’s lying peaceful enough. Miss Anne wants to sit up with her. Will that be all right, my lady?”

  “I daresay, but see that a maid stays with them.” She sounded querulous. “Christopher, help me up the stair, I shall retire now. All these alarums and excursions are too much for me at my age.”

  Chris decided he might as well go to bed, too. Perhaps in the morning he might be allowed to see Rowena.

  The old habit of sleeping lightly lest Bernard should call out came back to him. He half-roused several times, heard nothing and went back to sleep. Then came a muffled cry that brought him instantly to full alertness. He flung his dressing gown on over his nightshirt and hurried into the hallway, tying the girdle as he went.

  There it was again, clearer now, from the rose bedchamber. Without ceremony he opened the door and went in.

  By the flickering light of the fire and a pair of candles on the mantel, he saw Rowena tossing restlessly on the bed. Her eyes were open but unfocussed. Anne bent over her, trying to calm her. She looked up as he strode to her side.

  “I cannot keep her still, let alone give her the doctor’s draught.”

  “Where is the maid Lady Farleigh bade stay with you?”

  Anne waved at a dark corner. “She is so sound asleep that Rowena’s cries did not disturb her, and I did not dare leave Rowena to go and shake her.”

  The cry came again. “Pinkie, my head hurts so. Pinkie? Don’t go away again.”

  Chris sat on the edge of the bed, put his arm round Rowena’s shoulders and captured her agitated hands in his.

  “Rowena, be still and take your medicine.”

  She froze, then her eyes cleared a little and she mumbled, “Yes, Major.”

  Anne hastened to raise the cup to her lips and she obediently swallowed. Then she let Chris ease her down on the pillows and Anne pulled up the coverlet and tucked her in firmly.

  “Will you stay with me, Pinkie?” Her eyes were closing already.

  “I shall stay,” Anne promised.

  “And I,” Chris added softly. They sat in silence until her even breathing told them she was asleep, then he said in a low voice, “Who is Pinkie?”

  “Her cousin, Miss Pinkerton. Rowena keeps calling for her.”

  “Would she come, do you think, if I sent my carriage to fetch her?”

  Anne stared at him. “Would you do that? I expect she will for they are very fond of each other, and she is not happy where she is, I collect. It always troubled Rowena that she could do nothing for her.”

  “You do not know her direction, I suppose.”

  “I have often seen Rowena’s letters to her lying on the hall table.” A moment’s thought produced an address in Islington.

  “I’ll send Potter first thing in the morning. Bernard was right when he said that your intellect is superb.” He was teasing, for remembering an address was hardly a test of intellect.

  “He said that?” The dim light could not hide her pink cheeks and the way her eyes sparkled. “That is the nicest compliment I have ever had. And all the better that he did not say it to my face.”

  “You are an unusual girl, Miss Anne.” Chris grinned and shook his head. “Nonetheless, you must be tired and I have had a few hours’ sleep. Might I suggest that you lie down on the chaise by the fire? I will watch your cousin and I promise to wake you if her condition changes. I am quite an expert nurse, I assure you.”

  “Of course, you have had a great deal of practice. I hope you will not think me forward if I thank you for taking care of Bernard?”

  “Not at all,” he said gravely.

  She settled on the chaise longue and soon drifted off to sleep. He saw her pelisse draped over the back of a chair and spread it over her, then stood a moment looking down at her. He envied his friend. There was nothing to stop Bernard offering for Anne, and everything to stop Chris offering for Rowena. Beautiful as Millicent was, he did not love her, and he knew very well that she did not love him, yet for her money’s sake he must woo her. It made him feel a villain.

  Rowena moaned and he hurried to her. Despite Bernard’s reassurances he still blamed himself at least in part for her mishap. She looked frail and lost in the middle of the wide bed.

  He suddenly remembered the young man who had sent her horse to her; perhaps she would want him informed of her illness. Jealousy flared as he wondered just how close Rowena had been to her old neighbour. Nonetheless, if she wished to see the fellow he would do his best in the morning to contact him.

  For now, though, all he could do was to make her as comfortable as possible. Anne, in a laudable attempt to keep her still, had tucked in the bedclothes so tight that they must be pressing painfully on her bruises. Chris loosened one side. As he leaned over to tug at the other, she moved in her sleep, pushing down sheet and coverlet. His hand brushed her breast, clad only in a thin cotton bedgown.

  He started back as if he had been burned. An unaccustomed warmth spread through him. Lady Farleigh was probably right, he should not be here.

  He stayed. He found some lavender water and bathed her hot forehead, avoiding the small piece of court plaster. He murmured soothing words when she stirred and held her hand when she moaned, and when, towards dawn, she opened her eyes, his face was the first thing she saw.

  “Chris.” Her smile wavered.

  “Thank heaven, you have regained your senses. How do you feel?”

  “My head feels as if a blacksmith is at work inside.”

  “My poor girl!”

  “What happened? Where am I?” Rowena’s voice was scarcely audible and she had closed her eyes again.

  “You are at Farleigh Grange. Do you remember walking... Oh, Lord, the maid is stirring and I ought not to be here. Call to her if you need anything, and your cousin Anne is asleep by the fire, too. I shall come and see you later, I promise, and explain everything.” He quickly pressed her hand and slipped out of the room.

  There was a small
desk in his dressing room, an exquisite piece of French buhl that had probably cost enough to pay a dozen day labourers for a year. Chris sat down and struggled with the composition of a letter that without unduly alarming the elderly spinster, would bring Miss Pinkerton racing to her young kinswoman’s side.

  By the time it was done to his satisfaction, he heard servants moving about. The door swung open to admit a chambermaid bearing a coal-scuttle. When she saw him sitting there in his dressing gown she gasped, set the scuttle down with a thump on the carpet and bobbed a curtsy.

  “Beg pardon, my lord. I di’n’t know your lordship were awake. I c’n come back later.”

  “Never mind the fire, just go and tell Potter I need him, if you please.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Again she curtsied, then turned and fled. He heard whispering and giggling in the hall and wondered how many chambermaids he employed.

  “Go and ask Mrs. Diggory,” one voice advised, and there was a pattering of feet.

  Noting with annoyance the dirty mark left on the priceless Aubusson carpet, Chris picked up the scuttle and made up the fire. He had often done it in Spain, after all, and the room was chilly.

  It was ten minutes before Potter arrived, dressed with somewhat less than his usual military neatness.

  “I thought we was done with reveille at dawn, my lord,” he said with disapproval. “Them maids is in a right flutter what with you being up at this hour and telling ‘em to wake his lordship’s own personal vally de chamber. That’s like sending a raw recruit to wake a drill sergeant, that is.”

  “Enough of your lip, corporal. I’ve marching orders for you.”

  “Sir!” Potter sprang to attention.

  Chris gave him the letter for Miss Pinkerton. “You’ll take the travelling carriage. It’s up to you to make sure the old lady is comfortable, but see that you get her here by tomorrow night. Miss Caxton wants to see her.”

  “Not like to stick her spoon in the wall, is she, my lord?”

  “No, but she is far from well.”

  “Poor lass. By all accounts she’s well liked up at Grove Park.”

  “That’s enough, corporal! Let’s have a little discipline around here, even if I’m no longer an officer, merely an earl.”