Authors: Elizabeth Johns
Andrew resisted waking from a heavenly dream where Gwen and he were trapped in the summer house. He rolled over on a tiny bed he did not recognise.
“Mr. Abbott!”
Perhaps it wasn't a dream, for the voice calling his name seemed near. He popped one eye open and surveyed his surroundings, as was his custom from his time in the army. A habit he could not break. He came upon his Titian- headed goddess wrapped in a toga with her red locks dishevelled about her, standing on the sofa. Maybe it was a dream after all. He smiled and closed his eye willing his dream to completion.
“Andrew, please wake up!”
That was definitely her voice shouting, and she was definitely in the room with him. He sat up clutching his blanket, recalling his wits enough for modesty.
“Good morning, beautiful.” He smiled sleepily.
“Good morning,” she said as if she were greeting him for tea. “Would you be so obliging as to fetch my clothes before they become damp again?”
He suddenly recalled why they were there and looked down to see the floodwaters rising towards him.
“Certainly.” He lifted his 'skirts' and trudged gingerly towards the fireplace where the clothes had been hung.
The bottoms of her skirts and his pantaloons were already wet, but they would be better than attempting to wear a blanket while swimming. He had upended his boots on the bedposts and sighed at their sad state: he would be making no society appearances for some time at least. He handed Miss Lambert her clothes and climbed up on the bed to don his.
He turned away from her. “No peeking, Miss Lambert.”
“I would not dream of it.”
“I believe I've been properly set down!” he said appreciatively.
“Is that possible?” she retorted amiably.
He smiled and was tempted beyond measure to turn and peek if only to tease her. He had no doubt she was even dressing with propriety by trying to hide under the blanket.
“Do you need help? What is taking so long?” It took all of his restraint not to go help as he heard her struggling.
“I don't fancy you have ever attempted to put on women's clothing. Nor have done it one-handedly.”
“Well, there was this one time at Eton...no, perhaps that story is best left unspoken. Do you need my help?”
“Need it? Yes. Want it...” her voice trailed away.
“Miss Lambert, I'm turning around,” he warned.
He turned around to find her with a face that was extremely pale and watching blood stream down her arm.
He immediately rushed over and picked her up and took her to the bed, wading through water up to his knees. He tore what remained of her petticoat and began applying pressure to her wound. He looked around the cottage, and hoped the water would cease rising. They would soon be on the roof, and he did not know how he would manage that feat with her weak and bleeding.
“Is it stopped?”
“I think it is slowing.”
“I must have aggravated it attempting to dress. I managed one arm at least.”
“You did shockingly well. I am going to tie this tight, and then attempt to save the food and see if any of the boats survived the storm.”
“Boats?”
“Only small row boats we keep for fishing and recreation, but it would be better than drowning.”
He took the hamper of food and hung it on the hook by the door, and brought her a chunk of bread and an apple from it.
“You best eat. You are losing strength as it is, and I am not certain how long we will be stranded here. If I cannot find a boat, we will be obliged to climb to the roof or hope the table floats.”
Andrew had difficulty opening the door due to the water pressure. Once the door was opened, he understood the old adage about floodgates. He could see the water flowing rapidly outside, but the skies were clearing. He had very little practical knowledge about rivers and flooding, he acknowledged to himself. He looked around at the fallen trees and the swollen river and had no idea how long it would take to recede. He had never seen anything like it.
He hoped the manor house was high enough to evade the waters, but he could not worry over that when he needed to get Miss Lambert to safety.
He made his way around the cottage holding on to the sides of the structure, hoping the boats were not all set adrift in the storm. The river currents looked too dangerous to cross, and he had no desire to be swept away to explore America at the moment. The larger boats were nowhere to be seen, but a small rowboat hung on a hook on the wall. He shook his head at the oddity of the small boat being the one that had survived, but was thankful nevertheless. He pulled the boat down and guided it by its rope as he made his way to the front of the cottage looking for a safe place to tie it and wait out the worst of the flood.
***
She could only stare at him out of the door as he splashed through the water. She hoped he returned quickly, because she did not know how to swim.
It felt like an eternity since he had left her. She eyed the water warily as it crept towards her. She would soon be obliged to cling to the bedposts, and she needed to use the necessary. How she was to manage that awkward order of business in the midst of a flood or stranded on a boat, she could not imagine.
When Mr. Abbott at last returned, she was willing herself to calm down.
“Thank God!”
“Did you think I left you after going through all this trouble in the first place?”
“Of course not, but I need to...to...”
How could she put it politely?
Understanding crossed his face. “Oh. Why didn't you say so?”
“You weren't here, and one does not normally speak of such things,” she said exasperated.
“You could walk, the water is not so deep.”
“I did not know where to go and I can't swim!” she said in a slight panic.
“I don't know where you'll go either,” he said most helpfully. “I suppose...no, that won't do.” He pondered as she stood watching him in horror, fearing she would be obliged to embarrass herself beyond belief.
“I've got it.” He held up his finger proudly. He splashed through the now waist-high water and picked her up carefully.
“How's the shoulder?”
“Better I think, as long as I don't move it.”
He carried her outside staying on the porch around to a small ledge and set her down on it.
“I'll just go around the corner and you say when you are finished.”
She looked around her in disbelief. “You expect me to go here?”
“It is the best I can do.” He shrugged. “You get used to using Nature in the Army.”
“I am not in the Army, and I cannot just go like a man! Forgive my indelicacy, but I did have a brother, and our bodies are rather different, if you recall,” she said with her face flushing beet red.
“I cannot believe I am having this conversation.” He was blushing now.
“Trust me, nothing could have prepared me for this moment,” she murmured.
He cleared his throat. “Your only other option is to jump into the water. I will let you choose.” With that helpful array of choices, he turned and escaped around the corner.
She took a deep breath. She would never be able to look him in the eye again. She only thought she had been humiliated before. It seemed as if the entire forest was watching and listening. She looked around at this small ledge and decided to try her ingenuity and pray he could not hear as she hummed nervously. She was too miserable not to.
When she decided to overcome her mortification in favour of departing the ledge, she finally called out to him.
“See now. It isn't so terrible being at one with Nature,” he said as he scooped her into his arms.
“May we not speak on Nature? I am not terribly fond of her at the moment. I'm certain that years later I will laugh about it, but I would rather be safe in England and forget all of this.”
“If only it did not require journeying by ship.”
He carried her to the small boat he had tied to the post in front of the house and placed her inside. He had fetched the hamper of food, the blankets he could salvage, and her bonnet inside for her and climbed in across from her.
“So we row back to the house?”
“No. We wait.”
“We wait?” she wanted to scream.
“The creek is flowing too fast to cross. We would be swept away.”
“How long will we be in this boat?”
“I've no idea. If it doesn't rain anymore, perhaps only a day or two. If we are really fortunate, the men might be able to come for us in a larger boat if they have enough strength to fight the current.”
“Why are the waters still rising since the rain stopped?”
“I suppose it has something to do with the tides as we are near the ocean. In the meantime, we have each other’s delightful company.”
“Indeed.”
She put her hands to her face and winced from the pain in her shoulder.
“What were you doing here anyway?”
“Painting.” She had forgotten about the painting. “My painting! I suppose it is lost.”
“No, I will go after it. If the dashed thing was important enough to risk your pretty neck in the storm, I will see if it is salvageable.”
“It was on the mantle.”
“There might be hope for it there.”
The poor man slipped over the side of the bobbing boat into the water as she held on for dear life. He returned shortly holding the beloved canvas above his head.
“If nothing else, it will provide shade,” he remarked as he placed it in the boat and climbed in.
She cast an annoyed look at him and he grinned unabashedly at her.
“You are ever cheerful in a dire situation.”
“Might as well make the best of it.”
“I suppose the Army was worse than this. I would be best to cease waxing on about our plight.”
“You may wax on about anything you like.”
“Perhaps later. I am feeling a trifle fatigued. I would give anything for a dry bed at the moment.”
“We will have to make do with a dry boat.”
She cast him an unappreciative glance.
“I meant nothing improper whatsoever. However, if you wish to lie down, I can swim for a while.”
“That will not be necessary. I appreciate the sacrifice. Besides, who will keep my painting dry?” she parried.
“I have my uses. Lean this way and I will attempt to make a pillow from the blankets.”
They gingerly arranged themselves in the tiny boat, but she was too fatigued to argue when he placed her head to rest on his shoulder. He had placed the painting at an angle so as to shield them from the sun, and the roar of the water and the rocking of the boat lulled them both to sleep.
Gwen awoke some time later to her sleeping limbs intertwined with his. She was startled to the point of nearly overturning them in the small vessel.
“Hush, my lamb. It will be all right.”
She looked around and instantly recalled their situation, wondering how long she had slept, and how much longer they would be obliged to remain in this tiny conveyance. Were the situation different between them, she might not have minded being stranded with him. Neither of them had any inclination to discuss the future after last night’s proceedings, for the moment grateful that they had survived thus far. They fell back into easy banter, trying to while away the boredom.
“What shall we do to pass the time? Do you fancy any naming games or fishing?” he suggested.
“And how would you propose we catch the fish?”
“Oh, ye of little faith!” he said, offended.
“Feel free to amuse yourself—and me—while you make the attempt,” she taunted.
“I’m not certain what I should do with a fish if I should catch it.”
“For myself, I’m perfectly content to never see another fish.”
“All this talk of food is making me hungry. Is there anything left in the hamper?”
“I cannot bear the thought of eating.” She did not care to have any more mortifying episodes.
“You need to eat to maintain your strength,” he insisted.
“I will when I must,” she maintained.
“A soldier learns to eat when he can,” he argued.
“One would think a wise soldier would learn to ration,” she sallied, though quietly.
“Food rots.”
“You win. I am too tired to care.”
She conceded to a small sip of wine and a biscuit and put her head back down on his shoulder.
Thus the pair was rescued, arguing as brother and sister, two days after Gwen had set out in her fit of pique. And though it had been bliss to be in Mr. Abbott’s presence, and he had uttered no words of reproach, it only made the realisation that she was not fit to be his wife all the more poignant. A proper lady would have known to remain in England; a proper lady would not have not made rash decisions or put so many in jeopardy by venturing out in a storm.