An Earl Like No Other (16 page)

“Oh, Martha, you say that every year.”

“We never have to carry too much of it home with us.”

“Haying makes men real hungry.”

“I'm that glad to see Mrs. Porter made her spice cake.”

“And Mrs. Edmunds her gooseberry tarts.”

Talk of the food was interspersed with news of weddings, births, deaths, which young man was sweet on which young woman, and so on. Kate reveled in the general atmosphere of gaiety and friendship, with children of all ages scampering about, adults exchanging greetings and news. It reminded her of similar gatherings in her youth—ordinary English life she had missed during those years on the Peninsula and later in a duke's castle. She experienced twinges of regret with these memories. Surely her brothers and sisters still did such things in Surrey.

The men arrived looking a bit tired and sweaty and definitely ready for the feast. As they washed up at a bench set off to the side with basins of water and towels, Kate noted that both Lord Kenrick and his brother fit right in with the other men, sharing the horseplay and general pleasure in finishing an annual job vital to everyone. All in all, the day was offering Kate an idyllic departure from the stress of worrying about her future.

There seemed no protocol for seating at the tables. When mothers had seen to feeding their youngest children, the women spaced themselves about the tables and the men then joined them. Kate winked at Robert when she saw him sit next to Squire Dennison's pretty daughter, Delia, who just happened, Kate had learned earlier, to have been visiting the eldest Porter daughter exactly when the mowing season reached a climax. Then she felt that now-familiar visceral reaction when the earl folded his long frame into a place on the bench next to her.

“Thank you for seeing to Cassie's care,” he said softly, leaning close. He smelled of sunshine and fresh-cut grass.

“You are welcome, of course.” She consciously steered her mind to something besides the very masculine form near her.

“I'm glad to see that Ned is back in your good graces.”

She gave him an inquiring look.

“I saw him at the stables this morning.”

“Oh. He was never
out
of my good graces, my lord, but like all children, he manages to challenge his elders at times.”

“I see.” She thought he wanted to say something else, but just then the vicar called for grace and gave a pleasingly short blessing. General conversation took over with some light competition about who had done best out in the field that day. Throughout the meal, despite her attempts to quell her feelings, Kate was keenly aware of the man seated next to her. When his knee happened to touch hers, she drew in a sharp breath at the intensity of her reaction.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

She nodded but inwardly admitted to a small thrill of pleasure—then chastised herself for her unseemly reaction. She launched into another of those silent arguments with herself. Just why was it “unseemly”? After all, she was a normal, living, human being—with all the needs and desires of a mature woman. He was an attractive man. “And forbidden goods,” as you well know, she told that other self. “And you know very well your feelings go beyond ‘an attractive man' and ‘a mature woman.' You can at least be honest with yourself, can you not?” She was thankful to be pulled out of this silent debate when she heard her name. Mrs. Jenkins, seated at the far end of the table on the opposite side, was telling the woman across from her that Mrs. Arthur, who had a way with seasonings, was responsible for a marvelous pudding.

Folks had eaten their fill and were lazily awaiting the start of the games. Some still sat at the tables; others had moved to sit or recline on the grass. Conversations were more subdued in tone, but just as lively in content. After all, such gatherings came infrequently; one had to store up information and relish the conviviality.

Lord Kenrick sat with his back to the table now, leaning back on his elbows, his long legs stretched out before him. Kate too sat facing the grassy area, idly watching the people around her as his lordship filled her in on who some of them were in relation to the earldom as a whole. He pointed out the blacksmith, named Carlson, a man whose brawny shoulders might well have announced his profession. “The fellow next to him is Taylor—a genius at grafting fruit trees. Mrs. Grimes there lives with her son—helps take care of the children. She makes wonderful cider.”

“Perhaps she will share her secret,” Kate said.

Kenrick laughed. “I'm told she guards it like the crown jewels.”

Kate shrugged. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

Any response Lord Kenrick might have made to this was lost in someone's announcing, in an alarmed tone, “I smell smoke.”

“ 'Course ya do. We been eatin' roasted meat.”

“No. This smells different.”

“I smell it too.”

“Look!” It was a shout and the speaker pointed to the larger of the home farm's two barns. A wisp of smoke spiraled up from the far side of that building. It was followed immediately by the first sighting of flames.

“Oh, my God! The wool!” Lord Kenrick yelled as he jumped up from the bench and ran toward the barn, his brother and several others on his heels.

Behind him pandemonium erupted.

People who had been lazily relaxing one moment jumped up in surprise, wanting to be of help, but clearly at a loss as to how.

Having taken in the details of the location of the fire, Kenrick yelled, “Buckets! Get them from the dairy! Form a line!”

Dairymaids and stable hands ran to do so. Mrs. Porter and her housemaids gathered buckets and small tubs from the farm kitchen and the laundry. A husky young man was already manning the pump over the well in the middle of the yard.

Immediately a line of men and women formed to pass buckets of water to those nearest the conflagration. Once she had ensured that Ned and Cassie would stay near Lady Elinor, Kate joined this line.

The men who had gone into the barn struggled to remove bales of wool through the rear door of the barn as those fighting the fire did so from the side of the building from which flames were now shooting. The stench of burning wool permeated the scene. Two fairly organized lines now struggled mightily against this force that had, from the beginning of time, been mankind's greatest blessing and most feared destroyer. One line manned the water buckets; the other passed the heavy bales to safety in the field behind the barn.

She heard Lord Kenrick shout, “Robert, check the other barn. Be sure it's all right.” Robert and two others ran to do so.

It was a matter of minutes, but it felt like hours until people had formed themselves into a unified army to fight the monster. There was an occasional shout—an order or a warning—and yelps of pain now and then, but mostly they worked methodically. Kate concentrated on grabbing a bucket from Nell Davis on her left and passing it to Mrs. Weston on her right.

Suddenly, she saw a streak of movement headed toward the front door of the burning barn. Cassie's kitten! A yapping dog chased it. To Kate's horror, Cassie was right behind them; the dog veered away.

“No! Cassie! No!” Kate screamed as the little girl disappeared into the barn.

Kate jumped away from the line just as Ned ran to follow Cassie. She jerked him by his arm and in the sternest voice she had ever used with him said, “Stay here!” She shoved him in the direction of some onlookers who clutched him tightly, then she grabbed one of the tablecloths. She quickly dipped it into the nearest bucket and ran after Cassie.

Inside the barn smoke was overwhelming, stinging her eyes, blurring her vision. Her throat burned and she felt she was suffocating. She jerked off her mobcap to use as a mask; hairpins flew.

“Cassie!” she screamed. Where was she?

A wide space separated stalls on either side of the barn. Smoke was so heavy she could see only a few feet in front of her. Flaming debris fell from the loft above. She whipped the tablecloth over her head and felt more pins loosen in her hair as she did so.

“Cassie! Answer me!” she called again as she ran in a zigzag line to check the stalls. Oh, God, where was she?

The heat was oppressive; the smoke stole her breath; the stench of burning wool was almost palpable. She ignored the panic and despair and ran on. Then, in addition to the crackling fire and falling timbers, she heard a sob on her left. She whirled in that direction. Cassie was curled in the corner of a stall clutching her kitten, trembling in fear.

Kate extended her hand and tried to keep panic out of her voice. “Hurry, Cassie. We have to get out of here.”

Cassie scrambled to her feet, still holding the kitten. Kate threw the tablecloth over the child and her pet, grasped Cassie's free hand, and ran for the door, stumbling awkwardly. A falling timber crashed to the floor, blocking their way. Kate picked up child and kitten and jumped over the flaming timber. There! The door was only ten feet away. Please, God. Please, God.

Another piece of flaming wood fell from above, striking Kate a glancing blow on her head, then her shoulder. She stumbled and lost her grip on Cassie.

“Run, Cassie! Run!”

Kate was relieved to see Cassie do just that—and to see the child swept up by a male figure and passed off to the arms of someone else.

Somehow—Kate never knew afterwards exactly how—they both had made it through the door. The fire emitted a terrible roar behind her with intermittent thuds of falling timbers. Kate was faintly aware that her hair was flying about her face and the hem of her skirt was ablaze. Her lungs bursting painfully, she sucked in fresh air. Someone threw a soaked cloth over her and beat at the flames on her clothing. She started to collapse, but strong arms prevented her doing so.

Darkness closed in on her.

J
eremy had felt himself to be in several places at once since first sighting the fire; he was at the side of the building where the flames were fiercest when the fifteen-year-old Weston lad came running up to him.

“My lord! Your girl! She's in there!”

“Cassie?” he yelled, almost disbelieving. “
No-o-o
!” He dropped the shovel with which he had been throwing raw earth onto flames and raced to the front of the building and dashed toward the gaping door that framed the inferno within.

Robert and two other men stepped in front of him, grabbed his arms, and held him back.

“No, Jeremy!” Robert screamed. “Kate's gone after her. You'd never find them in that!”

“I have to try!” Shaking off the restraining hands, he lurched toward the open door again.

Suddenly, the hooded figure of his daughter was in front of him. He swept her into his arms and beat at flames on her skirt.

“Papa! Papa!” She sounded excited, even fearful, but she did not wince in pain when he grabbed her up.

Flames gone now, he whipped the cloth off her head and breathed a sigh—no, a prayer—of relief. Even as he assured himself of Cassie's safety, he peered over her shoulder into the holocaust, frantic for a glimpse of her rescuer.

Yes!

There she was.

He thrust Cassie into Robert's arms and ran toward the emerging Kate.

Tiny wisps of smoke rose from her hair and her skirt smoldered. A wet blanket was shoved into his hand. He threw it over her head and beat out flames threatening her skirt.

He felt her struggling for breath. Then she collapsed. He picked her up and clutched her to his chest, glad to see no more live flames about her person. The stench of burned hair assailed his nose. Oh, God, please let her be all right, he prayed silently.

He shouted at the nearest man, “Go for the doctor!”

“Yes, my lord.” The man ran to a field where the horses had been turned out that morning.

Now things seemed to move ever so slowly.

“In here, my lord.” Mrs. Porter directed him to the parlor of the farmhouse where he gently lowered his burden to a couch. She winced in pain as he placed her arm across her waist. Mrs. Porter hastily shoved a cushion under her head. Their patient's breathing was labored and she coughed intermittently, but she did not regain consciousness. Two other women, including Mrs. Packwood, hovered about, clucking sympathetically and seeking to be of help.

“I've sent for the doctor,” he said, feeling foolish at stating the obvious.

“Yes, my lord,” Mrs. Porter said, “but he won't be here for an hour or so. We need to know how bad she's hurt before he gets here.”

“Well . . . uh . . .” Jeremy was at a loss for words. He did not want to leave. He wanted to stay near her, touch her, care for her—at least know the extent of her injuries. He could see burns on her hands and her hair—her beautiful hair—was frizzed. However, he needed to check on Cassie. Also, he knew how improper his staying would be and how it would reflect on Kate.

As though she had read his mind, Mrs. Porter said, “You go on, my lord. Me an' these other ladies will see to her. Me daughter's about her size. I'll find a clean gown of some sort.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Porter.”

As he exited the farmhouse, Cassie flew into his arms and Ned stood nearby, holding the kitten. Both children had been crying.

“Is my mama going to be all right?” Ned asked.

Hearing in the boy's voice the sheer terror of a child who had already lost one parent, Jeremy shifted Cassie so he could put an arm around Ned. “I think so, son. She's still unconscious, but she should come around soon.” God! He hoped that was true!

“Oh, Papa, I was so scared,” Cassie said. “Andy Phelps made his nasty dog chase Lady Lobo—an' she's just a baby!”

“Are you all right, my pet?” He kissed her cheek.

“My hand is burned. See?” She held up a bandaged hand. “Mrs. Jenkins put butter on it, but it still hurts.”

“I'm sure it does,” he said, trying to sound sympathetic through his overwhelming relief that he had not lost her. “Maybe if you put it in some cold water, the pain won't be so bad.”

“Mrs. A found me an' Lady Lobo.” He noted the use of the servants' affectionate name for the housekeeper.

“Mama wouldn't let me help,” Ned said.

“She was worried about both of you.” Jeremy briefly hugged the boy tighter. He then examined Cassie and was amazed not only that her sole injury was that burn on her hand, but that her pet had survived the ordeal unscathed.

“Can I—may I—see my mama?” Ned was obviously worried but just as obviously trying to be grown up.

“In a little while,” Jeremy told him. “The ladies are taking care of her and you know how women are.”

Ned nodded solemnly.

Jeremy continued to reassure both children for a few minutes, but then persuaded them that they—along with Rosie—should see to the care of Lady Elinor as he returned to check on Kate—Mrs. Arthur. He did not have time to consider just when she had become “Kate” in his private musings.

He looked toward the still-burning barn and saw with dismay that it was a lost cause. The fire fighters now worked to prevent its spreading to the roofs of the smaller barn and other buildings. Robert had taken charge, shouting orders and running to help protect the wool that had been saved. Matters out here seemed under control.

Back in the farmhouse, he found Kate still unconscious. Her eyes were closed; her chest heaved with each breath as she struggled for oxygen. She was now dressed in an outsized cotton nightdress and some of the ash and soot had been cleaned from her face. Mrs. Porter gave him a report as she set aside a basin and a wet cloth.

“We've cleaned her up as best we can what with them burns an' all. She has a lump on her head and burns on her hands and one arm. Havin' trouble breathin'—but that coughin' might be a good sign. I give 'er one o' my nightdresses, it bein' real loose on her, you see. There's some burns on 'er legs too, but they don't seem serious. Her skirt was wet from passin' them buckets; protected 'er legs, it did. Her hands are worst. An' 'er hair. Poor dear. She had real pretty hair.”

“Yes, she did,” Jeremy agreed. “Thank you, ladies. I'll sit with her until the doctor arrives.” He saw the three women exchange questioning looks, but he simply had to be here. “She saved my daughter's life,” he added—lamely, he thought.

“As you wish, my lord.” Mrs. Porter placed a straight-backed chair near the couch.

The mad energy of his initial reaction having abated, Jeremy sat pondering the enormous debt he owed this woman. Yes, she had saved Cassie's life. But my God! He might have lost both of them! Suddenly, he realized the magnitude of that possibility.

“Good God! You're in love with her!

“You, who swore after Willow that you would never—never—fall into that trap again.

“Yet here you are.

“What about her feelings?”

Well, she did not seem totally averse to his person. He recalled her response to that kiss in the stillroom.

And Robert? One could not pursue a woman with whom his brother was in love! But . . . Robert did not seek Kate out especially. In fact, Robert had deliberately sought out Delia Dennison earlier today. Still, there was
something
between his brother and the Kenrick housekeeper.

What a coil this was turning into.

 

When Dr. Ferris, a slim, wiry little man of middle years, arrived nearly half an hour later, his report was anticlimactic, for his assessment paralleled the ladies' examination.

“Can she be moved?” Jeremy asked. “Can I take her back to the Hall?”

“Don't see why not,” the doctor replied. “Just be careful of her head. That's quite a lump she's got there. She has a concussion, but she should come around in a few hours. Three or four, maybe. Maybe longer. The longer she's out, the more worrisome it is, though. Also, I think she strained her shoulder, but no broken bones. Luckily, her burns are relatively minor. Painful, though, I'm sure. I've put some salve and loose bandages on her hands. I'll come out tomorrow to check on her and I'll leave some laudanum now for the pain.”

Jeremy thanked the doctor and asked him to check on Cassie as well. Jeremy was glad to learn that Cassie's wound was as minor as he had thought earlier.

Leaving Robert to supervise the cleanup, and holding the unconscious Kate on his lap, Jeremy accompanied his sad little party back to the Hall. Lady Elinor asserted her position as nominal lady of the house by organizing the logistics.

“When we arrive, Wilkins will show me to my rooms and you should put Mrs. Arthur in the countess's unused chamber,” Lady Elinor told him. “It will accommodate caring for her better than having servants traipsing up to the nursery rooms. Rosie can handle the children.”

“I hadn't thought that through,” he said, “but of course you are right.”

So, he did not hesitate at all before placing Kate in the countess's chamber, which connected to his own bedchamber through adjacent dressing rooms. Cassie and Ned, both of whom had been inordinately quiet on the return journey, followed him, along with the maid Rosie.

“Is my mama going to die?” Ned asked in almost a whisper on seeing his mother lying motionless on the canopied bed in the countess's bedchamber, a light cover over her body.

“No. You must not think that,” Jeremy said. “She will be fine.” He thought his own need for her to be “fine” was nearly as strong as Ned's.

“But why doesn't she wake up?” Ned persisted.

“She is sleeping. Sleep is sometimes the way God keeps us from feeling too much pain.”

“Oh.”

Jeremy was glad the boy accepted this explanation, but knew he himself would not be satisfied until she did wake up. “Now you and Cassie go on up to the nursery.” He looked at Rosie, who nodded. “Rosie will see that you have some supper and I'll come to tuck you into bed later.”

“And read us a story?” Cassie asked.

“And read you a story.” He knew it was important to maintain routine for children in a crisis. It was, he was sure, what Kate would want for them.

Later, he turned over Kate's care to a maid long enough for him to get a hurried bath and change of clothes. In an open-necked shirt, his favorite buckskin breeches, and slippers, he reported to the nursery as he had promised. He gave Ned a reassuring report, hoping he was not being overly optimistic. The children were subdued, but readily accepted this new normality. Having read them a story and tucked them in, he returned to his post at Kate's bedside.

 

Some time later, there was a knock on the door to the main hallway. Jeremy looked up from a book he had been reading as the maid Nell opened the door and then left on an errand. Robert came in looking tired and begrimed.

“How is she?” Robert asked quietly, striding across the room to gaze down at the unmoving form on the bed.

“Still unconscious. Doctor said it could be a few hours. It's been over four. She's been a bit restless the last half hour or so.”

“That's a good sign.”

“Yes.”

Robert drew up the chair the maid had vacated and sank wearily into it. “You want the good news or the bad news first?”

“The bad. Always save the best ‘til last.”

“The barn was destroyed—well, the roof, supporting timbers, and the stalls. Hard to destroy walls and floors of stone.”

“I expected that,” Jeremy said.

“It gets worse. That fire was deliberately set.”

“What?”

“It was no accident. Arson. The evidence was pretty clear where it started. Rags and lamp oil.”

“Who—?” But, instinctively, Jeremy was sure he knew the ultimate
who
. Who stood to gain the most from his inability to sell that wool? Proving his suspicion would be next to impossible. Mortimer was rich enough and clever enough not to involve himself directly.

Robert said, “Maybe someone with a grudge. Or paid. Or both.”

Jeremy sighed. “Is there any good news?”

“Some. We saved the smaller barn—apparently the arsonist got scared before he could light his starter there.”

“But no one saw or heard anything suspicious?”

“We think it was set after the men were in the field and the women had not yet arrived. Mrs. Porter said the dogs put up a fuss early in the morning, but when she sent one of her daughters to check on it, the girl did not see anything.”

“Perhaps that child saved the small barn,” Jeremy said.

“Could be. In any event, whoever set it might have had military experience.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Timing. Someone who could time explosives could time the outbreak of a fire, but I think we should keep this whole arson business to ourselves for now. Ask around. See who knows what.”

“I agree. Interesting that this should have occurred today.”

“Happenstance, probably,” Robert said. “Bad timing, maybe—and we were just lucky to be on hand to deal with it.”

“Yes,” Jeremy agreed absently, his mind still reeling not only with the idea that he had an enemy capable of such treachery, but, more importantly, what his personal losses
might
have been.

“And—” Robert's voice rose on a more optimistic note, “we saved about a third of the wool in the big barn. Not a total loss.”

“But will it be enough?” Jeremy could not keep the bleakness from his tone.

“Don't give up yet, big brother. We'll have to reconnoiter again. This war is far from over.” Robert stood and stretched. “I'm for a bath and some sleep.” He gestured to the figure on the bed. “Keep an eye on our girl here.”

As Robert left, Nell returned with a tray of food and a glass of ale. “Mrs. Jenkins sent this up for you, my lord.”