Authors: Angel
“Master Dom’s hurt,” he called. “Best send t’lad for the apothecary, sir.”
“Yes, go at once, Billy. Tell Mr Leaven it’s urgent. Miss Brand, are you all right?”
“Just wet. Mrs McTavish will take care of me.” Angel summoned up a wavering smile. “Look after Dom, please. I’m afraid he is very ill.”
“Forrester, take him above stairs and get him dry and warm quickly.”
“Aye, sir. Mabel! Stop gawking and go light a fire in Mr Marshall’s chamber, girl!”
The vicar turned at last to Mr Burchett, who had dismounted.
“Dick, what happened? Man, you are almost as wet as they are! Come in and dry yourself.”
“Think I’d best hurry over to Barrows End, sir, and tell Mrs Sutton what’s to do.”
“It might be as well, if you are not going to take ill yourself. But at least tell me the story first.”
“Was riding along the lane down by the lake, heard a dog barking and howling. Deep voice, Master Dom’s dog; recognised it at once.’’
“So much for secrecy!”
“Rode down to the water and there was the dog jumping up and down on the bank, carrying on deuced peculiar. Saw Miss Brand trying to carry Master Dom out of the lake, so I pulled ‘em out. One end of your boat’s sticking up, if you want to salvage it.”
Mr Leigh frowned thoughtfully. This was the second accident involving his friend in scarcely a week.
“I think I will,” he decided. “In fact, I rather think the sooner the better. I hate to leave Dom but . . . Dick, will you help me? Wait just a minute while I give the servants instructions. I shan’t stop to change and I’ll ride Thunder since he is saddled already. If you’re quite sure you’ll survive in wet breeches a while longer?”
“Right you are.” Mr Burchett was puzzled but ready for anything.
A few minutes later they were cantering back down the hill, and before long they stood on Ullswater’s bank.
“I’m afraid we are going to be soaked,” Mr Leigh realised as he saw the stern of his skiff rising a foot or two above the water, some distance from shore. “Perhaps I can manage by myself.”
“Already wet,” pointed out Dick philosophically. “Little damp never hurt a Westmorland farmer. Come on.”
They waded out, shivering, and grasped the protruding stern. Their feet had stirred up the muddy bottom so that they could see nothing in the usually limpid water, and the same mud made it difficult to brace their feet. Nor was it easy to work in four feet of icy water. At first they were unable to move the boat at all, then a hefty wrench released some obstruction and it came loose.
Or rather, half of it did. They found they were hauling the stern half only towards dry land.
It was easily emptied of water and they dragged it onto the grass. The broken end was curiously straight edged.
“Been sawed half through!” exclaimed Dick in horror.
Mr Leigh looked at it grimly, hands on hips.
“Don’t spread this around,” he warned. “I was afraid it might have been something like this. We don’t want half the world discussing it.’’
“Not a gossip!” Mr Burchett was intrigued but discreetly suppressed his questions. “Look, some sort of carving back there. ‘HER.’”
They looked at each other in sudden comprehension. The half-wit was known to be a skilled carpenter. Dick could not imagine why he should have sabotaged the boat. Mr Leigh was all too afraid he could guess: only yesterday Dom had announced in Sir Gregory’s presence that he intended to go rowing today.
“Go home and get dry,” he said abruptly. “I’ll send the boy over to Barrows End. Thanks for your help, Dick. I must get back.” He swung up into the saddle, turned Thunder, and without another word was gone.
Dick Burchett looked after him, shaking his head. A chilly breeze had arisen, and he decided to go to his aunt in Patterdale rather than riding all the way home in his dripping clothes.
Busy concocting a story to account for his soaking, he rode into the village. He had nearly reached his aunt’s cottage when he saw Sir Gregory Markham riding up the street ahead of him. Surely the baronet should know what had happened to his cousin, he thought. That was not telling half the world. He hallooed.
Sir Gregory turned back.
“What the devil have you been up to, young Dick?” he asked.
Mr Burchett succinctly described the afternoon’s adventures. “Only damme if I can see why old Herbert should do such a thing,” he confessed. “Deuced odd, if you ask me. Well, just thought you ought to know. Going to dry off.”
“Thank you, Dick.” Sir Gregory’s eye had a coldly distant look. As he turned Atlas’s head towards Upthwaite, the farmer shivered suddenly and hurried for his aunt’s warm kitchen.
Gerald Leigh reached the vicarage at the same time as Mr Leaven, the apothecary from Patterdale. He sent him straight upstairs to Lord Dominic and went to find Miss Brand.
Angel was in the kitchen with Mrs McTavish. She was huddled in a chair by the stove, wrapped in Gerald’s second-best silk dressing gown, with Osa hunched watchfully on the floor at her side. The dog did not move as he entered, but Angel jumped up, her face white and strained.
“Please, sir, may I go to him? Mrs McTavish says I must not but I can, can’t I? Please?”
“Not now, my dear,” he replied gently. “The apothecary is with him. Will you write a note to your aunt explaining the situation? I would do it, but I must change and go to Dom. Billy will take it at once.”
“Come set ye doun tae the table, lass,” said the housekeeper. “Mabel? Mabel! Fetch pen and paper tae the young lady. Awa’ wi’ ye.”
Angel managed to write only that Lord Dominic was ill and that her clothes were wet. She sat staring blankly at the paper.
“Hae ye nae mair tae write, missie? Pit thy name then.” Mrs McTavish folded the sheet and went to the kitchen door. “Gang quickly noo, Billy, tae Barrows End, an’ gie this tae Mrs Sutton.”
Some two hours later, Mrs Sutton arrived in the gig. Gerald went out to meet her.
“Miss Brand is with Lord Dominic, ma’am. I could not stop her.”
“What happened?”
“They had a boating accident.”
“Is she unharmed? Thank heaven! And he?”
“Mr Leaven is not sanguine. You know about Dom’s wounded lung? He is coughing blood and in great pain, and his leg is also painful, I think. He is only half conscious so it is hard to know just what he is saying. He complains of feeling cold.”
“I shall stay and nurse him if you will have me, Mr Leigh. Catherine is perfectly able to take care of Clement and Lyn. I have brought dry clothes for Lyn, and she can return with John Applejohn.”
“If you can persuade her, ma’am. You know how she feels about Dominic?”
“I have some inkling, but I am sorry to hear it is so evident as to draw your attention. Now, tell me exactly what the apothecary had to say, if you please.”
They had reached the front door. Gerald heard the sound of hooves in the lane and glanced back, to see Sir Gerald riding down the lane on Atlas. Behind him, clinging to his belt as he bounced up and down on the horse’s broad crupper, was Herbert, the idiot.
Gerald was no longer able to dismiss the probability of the baronet’s guilt. He stared after him until Mrs Sutton repeated her request, then relayed Mr Leaven’s words with half his mind while in the other half revolved the question of what to do. All the evidence was circumstantial. It seemed useless to go to a magistrate even if he ignored the resultant scandal. Surely Dominic would be safe as long as he was confined to his bed, if, indeed, he ever rose from it again. It seemed horribly possible that the second attempt at murder might prove to have succeeded.
The appearance of Mrs McTavish interrupted his speech and his thoughts. He told her to prepare a room for Mrs Sutton, and her relief on hearing that the vicar’s wife meant to stay was obvious. They went upstairs, and Gerald opened the door of Dominic’s chamber.
“Miss Brand,” he said softly, “your aunt is here. I will sit with him.”
Angel came out, looking wan and tired.
“I am glad you are come, Aunt Maria,” she said simply.
“My poor child!” Mrs Sutton embraced her. “John is bringing in some dry clothing for you and then he will take you home and—”
“No! Don’t make me leave him, oh please don’t!”
“I will stay and nurse him, Angel, and when he is better you may visit—“
“I’ll help you! I’ll do anything you say, only please, please let me stay! I promise I won’t be a nuisance. I won’t . . . I won’t even go in his room if you think I ought not, only I could not bear to be so far away!”
Mrs Sutton had never seen her usually equable niece so distraught. She was far from sure of the wisdom of letting her remain, but at present it was clear that forcing her to depart would distress her far more than anything which might occur here.
“Very well,” she acquiesced. “If Mr Leigh has no objection you may stay, at least for tonight. But Angel, you must promise me that if I decide it is better for you, or for Lord Dominic, that you go home, you will do so without enacting me a Cheltenham tragedy.”
“I will, Aunt. Thank you. Tell me what I must do.”
“First we must speak to Mr Leigh. And then, child, you will drink a bowl of soup and go straight to bed. You will be of no use to his lordship nor to anyone else in the state you are in.”
“Yes, ma’am. But you will wake me if . . . if anything happens?”
“I will,” promised Aunt Maria.
With the aid of the apothecary’s drugs and a soothing syrup from Mrs McTavish’s stillroom, Lord Dominic’s cough was brought under control that night. When Angel was allowed to see him in the morning, he was sleeping, breathing laboriously, his thin face hollowed out and so white his scar was virtually invisible.
“I believe the worst is past,” her aunt told her in a whisper, “as long as he does not take a fever. But we must take very good care of him, and his recovery is certain to be slow.”
“May I stay beside him?” Angel was calm and collected, a little pale but perfectly composed. “You look fagged to death, Aunt Maria.”
“Well, someone must watch him,” she said dubiously. “Mrs McTavish was up with me most of the night, and I don’t believe Mr Leigh or Forrester had much sleep. There is always the maid, but I am not sure I should trust her. Yes, you may stay. If his breathing changes, if he coughs more than once or twice, or seems feverish, you must call me immediately.”
“Of course. Now you go and have some breakfast and lie down. I shall manage very well.”
Angel sat down in a chair beside the bed and studied Dom’s face. Translucent lids hid his usually sparkling eyes, the mobile mouth was slack, lips half parted in the struggle to breathe. His suffering hurt her.
She had never realised that love could hurt so much.
He opened pain-filled eyes and reached for her hand. “Linnet.” His lips formed the word; no sound came to her.
“Don’t talk, Dom. It might make you cough. If you want a drink, nod your head just a tiny bit.”
He shook his head. His eyes closed again and his brow furrowed, but he kept his clasp on her hand. She sat there, silently willing her strength into him through their joined palms.
Later in the morning, Catherine came. Angel reluctantly left Forrester guarding her patient and went to talk to her cousin.
“Beth wanted to come with me,” Catherine said. “She came to the vicarage to see you and was shocked to hear what had happened. At least, she knew of the accident from Sir Gregory, but he had not realised Dom was seriously ill.”
“You did not let her come?”
“I thought it best not to. I will take her news, and to see her brother can only add to her distress. He is not in danger, is he?”
“Aunt Maria thinks not now, though he was. Catherine, it was quite the most awful experience of my life!”
“Tell me what happened. I only know that you were out on the lake.”
Angel complied. “And never again shall I sneak off without telling someone where I am going!” she ended with a shudder. “If Dick Burchett had not come along . . .” A sudden thought struck her. “I did not tell you,” she said slowly, “that when we first got into the boat we saw that Herbert had been carving his name inside it. And he was there the last time, when Dom was nearly shot. You don’t suppose he made a hole in the boat or something?”
“Why on earth should he do such a thing?”
“I’ll wager Sir Gregory paid him! How else should he know about the accident? And he was there when Dom said he was going rowing yesterday.”
“Angel, I am sure you are mistaken. Sir Gregory is not trying to kill Lord Dominic; you cannot believe it.’’
“I’ve a very good mind to ask him outright.”
“He is not here. Beth said he left for Derbyshire unexpectedly yesterday evening.”
“In the evening? That just proves it! He is afraid of being suspected.”
“It is not true! You don’t know him, Angel. You must not say such things!’’
“Even if I do not say it, I think it. At least Dom is safe while he is gone. I’m sorry, Catherine, but you cannot make me change my mind. It is not as if you know him very well.”
Catherine was silenced. She gave Angel a message for Mrs Sutton, and went to find Mr Leigh to present another from Beth. He agreed with her that she should not come to Upthwaite.
“I cannot say when I shall be able to see her,” he said sadly. “If I can get away for an hour or two I will send her a note to ask her to meet me on Dowen Crag.”
“I’ll tell her. And you will let her know at once if Lord Dominic's condition deteriorates? It would not be fair to keep her from him if it comes to the worst.”
“Of course. Comfort her for me, Miss Sutton.”
Catherine promised to do so, but the next few days were so busy she saw Lady Elizabeth only twice, and that briefly. She was unused to having the whole charge of the household upon her shoulders, and there was no one to share the chores.
Gerald, meanwhile, on top of his parish duties, lent a hand from time to time with the nursing, and tried to make sure his hard-working guests took a stroll in the garden every day and relaxed in the evening. On Friday he managed to meet Beth and was able to reassure her. Dom had not developed a fever, the apothecary was satisfied with his progress, and he had eaten a whole egg for breakfast.