Authors: Elizabeth Johns
“I’m sorry.” He was close. His gaze was disconcerting, and full of consternation.
“For what?” she prodded, breaking his intense gaze.
“You are the one who is angry, and I must spell it out?”
“I want to make sure you understand fully what I am angry about.”
“For letting that encroaching arch-wife and her daughter near me.” He threw his hands up. “This is ridiculous!”
“You expected me to believe your intentions towards me are honourable after I saw you with that…
that harpy
? I have no intention of being a woman that looks the other way.”
“I did not encourage her to behave so.”
“You did not discourage her.”
“What was I supposed to do?”
“Tell her, no thank you? Spit in her face?”
He gurgled laughter. “You’re more spirited than you led me to believe.”
“Jonathan Swift warned you. Or did you not say that you’d read the book? She quoted, ‘
It is observed that the red-haired of both sexes are more…’
She paused, omitting the word ‘libidinous’
,
but blushed anyway.
‘…Mischievous than the rest, whom yet they much exceed in strength and activity.’”
“You left out a word. And my favourite part,” he said with a sly grin.
“You are proving my point.”
“How is that?”
She cast him a look of exasperation. When she received a blank stare in return, she shook her head. He had no idea.
“I don’t know what to do.” She shook her head and resolved to remain strong, despite the fact that she felt some otherworldly pull to him; she could not allow herself to give in.
“Why won’t you let me take care of you?” He knelt down before her at eye level, his expression guarded, his eyes confused.
“I could not live with my conscience!” she blurted out.
“I see.” He stood and turned away.
They heard a loud crack and a tree came crashing through the window, shattering it and sending shards of glass flying in every direction.
***
Nathaniel and the men had a difficult time making their way back to the house through the storm. Trees were down everywhere and the rain was soaking the ground up to their ankles, making walking a challenge for five disabled veterans with varying injuries. When they finally arrived, they were wet through and exhausted. However, they were not to have time to rest. They could hear the household in chaos when they closed the front door. The winds were howling, the shutters were rattling, and Cook and Josie were shouting orders louder than Wellington’s finest.
Nathaniel surveyed the scene: the army of servants hauling furniture and food stores to dry ground; the women hauling children up the stairs. It was difficult to see clearly by candlelight. He attempted to move forward and join in the efforts, but when he moved his feet were heavy and resistant. He looked down to see a sludge of mud covering his boots. Only one thing was certain—they would not be leaving for England any time soon.
“What can we do to help? Where is Lady Fairmont?” he asked.
“She is handling the children upstairs. The great room is flooding. We need more lanterns and, of course, help saving as much of the food as we can,” Josie explained.
Abe went off looking for the lanterns, and the other men joined together in an assembly line, passing what stores of food from the larder that could be salvaged.
Buffy and Nathaniel made their way through to see that the children were safe and no injuries needed attending to.
“How much longer will this last?” Nathaniel asked.
“I've no idea.” Abe said, “Usually no more than a day. But sometimes it can be near a week.”
The storm had been producing rain for over twelve hours. The fierce winds had been raging for several. Nathaniel had no idea how they would manage for days with the river flowing through the house. He hoped the foundations would hold until the water receded. It would be madness trying to manage two hundred servants and children in this mess if they survived, but he had lived through worse. It was eerily similar to some of the experiences on the Peninsula, save for the heavy numbers of women and children he was responsible for here.
They managed to salvage most of the food stores, thanks to Cook and Josie's quick actions. The women were doing their best to calm the children and put the anxious ones to sleep. The men had done all they could to secure the house and everyone was accounted for, save Andrew and Miss Lambert. He said a quick prayer for their safety, but their fate was out of his control. When the rain stopped, he would send a boat for them and hope the cottage had stood fast.
***
“Mr. Abbott?” Gwen asked worriedly as she nudged the heavy body on top of her and heard a slight groan. “Sir, are you hurt?”
“Miss Lambert? Is that you?”
“Yes,” she replied warily.
“Have I died and gone to heaven?”
“I do not believe so. What would make you think such a thing?” she asked in disbelief.
“I've dreamt for months about this very thing,” he said in a cheeky voice.
“I am certainly delighted to know your dreams have been fulfilled, but I am having a hard time breathing and am acutely uncomfortable,” she retorted.
“Beg pardon.” He scrambled up. “Why didn't you say so sooner?”
“I thought you might be hurt,” she replied.
“No. I don't think I am, only a little dazed.”
“Tackling persons occasionally has that effect,” she said sarcastically, which she knew he would appreciate.
“I was trying to protect you,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Thank you.” Her cheeks grew warm at the tender look he gave her. He helped her up, then walked gingerly over shards of glass that were strewn everywhere, to stoke the fire in order to provide more light in the room.
“Amazing how much glass comes from one window,” he remarked as he looked around. “We should probably retrieve our boots from the porch. It is not safe to walk in here.” He tiptoed through the glass towards the door to find their boots.
Gwen agreed as she scanned the small cottage. Rain was blowing in through the broken window, they were wearing makeshift togas, and she had risked several lives because of her stupidity.
She teared up, and felt even more helpless and lost. She was thankful Mr. Abbott was safe, and if they lived through this awful storm, she only hoped he would forgive her.
She heard him rummaging through closets and cupboards, and then he presented himself in his muddied top boots holding a broom and her shoes. He grinned at her, set her shoes before her, and began to sweep up the glass.
“This is rather fun,” he said as he gathered the glass into a pile.
“Not when you are obliged to do it every day for a living,” she remarked.
“No, I suppose it wouldn’t be.”
“How did it look outside?”
“A bit calmer, though the water is much closer now. I recommend we try to rest while we can. I suspect the adventure is not yet behind us.”
“I suppose not, though I've no experience with hurricanes. I'd no idea rain and wind could continue at this pace for so long.”
“I've been in some bad storms, but this certainly goes beyond imagination. You take the bed, I'll sleep here,” he ordered.
“That is not necessary. I'm smaller, I shall sleep here.”
“Miss Lambert, do not be difficult.”
“I'm being practical,” she insisted.
“Certainly. Then I will be forced, as a gentleman, to take the floor, and that means I will need to put a blanket on the floor and the only ones available are around you and me. That will leave the perfectly comfortable bed unused, and my person in my God-given skin. It matters not to me, I was used to sleeping in such conditions when I was in the army.” He folded his arms and shrugged.
“Gentlemen’s rules are what killed my father. I've no use for them. If you insist on stupidity, enjoy the floor.” She turned away from him and positioned herself on the small sofa. She let out an involuntary shriek of pain and Mr. Abbott was instantly by her side.
“What is the matter? Are you hurt? Let me look!”
He began to fuss over her, checking for any signs of injury.
“The pain was in my shoulder. It is likely only a small shard of glass.”
He pulled her forward and looked at the back of her shoulder. He was quiet.
“Well?” She studied his face with worry.
“There is certainly a shard of glass.”
“Then kindly remove it.”
She tried to look over her shoulder and saw only blood running down her arm. How had she not noticed?
He was already searching through the small cottage for something to stop the blood. He found a napkin in the food hamper and applied it as gingerly as he could.
“Why couldn't I have paid more attention to Elly? She loves this kind of thing. I'm not overly fond of blood myself. I can't see a deuced thing in this light and the flow won't stop.”
“Here, let me hold it. I'll apply pressure. See if you can gather some water to wash it, and then perhaps you may be able to see the glass better.”
“Yes, I remember that's what they said to do in the Army. Don't think we need a tourniquet yet.”
“A tourniquet? I should hope not! For a shard of glass?”
He looked at her shoulder unconvincingly.
She could almost laugh at the absurdity.
He returned with a few small pieces of linen. He wet one and began to wash her shoulder.
“I am not certain how to remove this.”
“You do not think you could pull it out with your fingers?” she asked.
“I'm not certain. I will try, but I am afraid to do more damage. There are no proper tools for this sort of thing here.”
“Try, and if you cannot, then we will try to stop the blood until we return.”
If she could reach she would try herself. “You will not hurt me. Go on,” she said reassuringly.
He took hold of the glass and pulled.
She was determined not to move or cry. But it hurt badly. Much worse than it had before, and worse than anything she had ever felt before. It was difficult to breathe.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded through gritted teeth. “Is it still bleeding?”
“Yes. I will need to pack it with any linen we can find and we will half to wrap it as tight as we can.”
“We can tear strips from the bottom of my petticoat.”
Once the bleeding was controlled, she looked around curiously for the offending shard while Mr. Abbott flung himself exhaustedly across the bed.
“Where is the piece of glass you removed?”
“I do not think that is a good idea for you to see it.”
She wanted to know how a little piece of glass had hurt so bloody badly.
“I wish to see it.” He raised his head up and looked at her sceptically, then walked over to the table where he had placed it. He handed it to her and she gasped.
“Dear me! I was wondering what the fuss was about. I confess I thought I was mistaken in your experience on the battlefield.”
In her hand was a rather large piece of glass that looked like an icicle.
“If this had hit a few inches in the other direction I would be dead.”
“I realise that. Now you might understand why I was terrified. I did not know how deep the glass was embedded. I’ve enough battlefield experience to be afraid.”
“Now you understand how I felt watching you try to cross the bridge.”
He eyed her thoughtfully.
“Indeed. I was less frightened in the river than I was just now.”
“Mr. Abbott, I am dreadfully sorry I put you in this position. You should have left me here.”
“You should know I could never do such a thing.”
He came over and knelt before her. He took her hands and looked into her eyes for a few moments thoughtfully.
“I would rather be here with you than anywhere else.” Her heart stuttered at the quiet intensity in his voice. He stood up and kissed the top of her head, and walked over to the bed as if not wanting to see her reaction.
She felt empty as he walked away, and she longed to call him back to her. His words pierced her heart, and she was more confused than ever before. She snuggled down into the sofa, ignoring the pain that was now shooting down her arm, and prayed for the rain to slow and her emotions to calm.
She must have fallen asleep, for she woke disoriented, and her foot hanging over the side was...wet. She sat up and looked about as a small amount of daylight crept into the room. Did this mean that the rain had stopped, or had the river flooded into the cottage? The water level was currently at the bottom of the sofa cushion. She looked over to the bed where Mr. Abbott was sleeping blissfully unaware.
Chapter Eighteen
“Mr. Abbott!”