The Highborn Housekeeper

‘What is it, ma’am? Are we at the right place?’

‘Oh, yes, but the only servant is suffering from a heavy cold. No use to us at all. We shall have to get Mr Shaw into the house ourselves.’

Hester nodded. ‘Between us I am sure we can manage. The sooner he is in his own bed the better.’

They wrapped the cloak more securely around the man and William and Robert carried him up to what was clearly the main bedchamber. Everything was tidy and Nancy noted that the bed was made, but the fire had gone out and the room was distinctly chilly.

‘This will never do,’ she declared as the men laid their burden on the bed. ‘William, you and Robert must go and find kindling and fuel to light the fire. And if there is a fire in the kitchen, then reheat the bricks and bring them back here. This man needs all the warmth we can give him.’ She waved at the servant who had let them into the house. ‘Take him with you, he will show you where to find everything and he is of no use at all here.’ When the men had withdrawn, she turned to her companion. ‘Hester, you must help me get him out of his wet things. Come along now.’

‘This is no job for you, madam! You must leave it to me—’ Hester protested, scandalised, but Nancy cut her short.

‘You will never manage him alone, he is a dead weight.’

She set to work on unbuttoning the filthy shirt. Together they removed his clothing and Nancy used the towel hanging near the washstand to buff some warmth into his cold limbs. He was no weakling, she thought, as she rubbed vigorously at his arms. A smattering of dark hair shadowed his deep chest, tapering downwards until it was hidden by the sheet that Hester had insisted upon pulling up decorously over his lower body.

She tried not to press too hard on the bruises that were beginning to show. No wonder he had struggled to walk. She helped Hester to put him into his nightshirt and covered him with quantities of blankets before she started to clean his face.

She refused Hester’s offer to help. The man was her patient, she felt a certain responsibility for him.

‘Perhaps you could fetch the lavender water from my dressing case,’ she suggested. ‘We can sprinkle a little on his pillow. And if you go to the kitchen perhaps you could bring up the hot bricks, too.’

‘Very well, I will go now. And if the bricks aren’t ready, I might be able to put some hot water into a few wine bottles,’ said Hester, moving towards the door.

‘Yes, yes. Anything to help warm him.’

Left alone with the man, Nancy set to work with a damp cloth, cleaning the wound on his head. Tenderly she smoothed the dark hair from his brow and wiped away the blood, then set to work removing the dirt from the rest of his face.

He stirred, as if awakened by her touch, and opened his eyes. They were a deep blue, she noted. He began to shift restlessly in the bed.

‘Hush now,’ she murmured, perching on the side of the bed and placing one hand on his chest. ‘You are safe.’

He began to mutter, incomprehensible but clearly agitated. She quickly dried his face, crooning as she might to a fractious child. At last he grew calmer; his gaze steadied and became fixed upon Nancy, but he was looking straight through her. Something knotted inside her, constricting her breath. She dearly wanted him to know she was there.

He had freed one hand from the bedcovers and she caught it in her own.

‘Safe,’ she repeated, smiling down at him.

He grew still, the eyes remained glazed, but his long fingers wrapped themselves about hers, their grasp surprisingly strong. He lapsed into unconsciousness, but Nancy did not move. Even when Hester returned and placed the hot bricks wrapped in flannel under the covers, she remained curled up beside her patient.

‘Come away, Miss Nancy, ’tis not seemly for you to be sitting on a man’s bed.’

‘Why? He does not know I am here.’ She saw Hester was looking anxious and smiled. ‘Very well, you may bring over a chair for me. But I must stay close. I think he finds some comfort in holding my hand and it makes me feel as if I am doing something.’

‘You have done too much for the fellow already,’ muttered Hester.

She said no more, for the men had returned and they set to work on the fire, which was soon blazing merrily in the hearth.

‘There,’ said Hester, ‘I think we can safely leave Mr Shaw with his man now, Miss Nancy, and be on our way. Come along.’

But Nancy did not leave her seat. She dragged her gaze from the unconscious man in the bed to the woebegone figure of the servant, leaning against the wall, coughing and wheezing into his handkerchief.

‘Oh, I think not.’ She looked up at Hester, a rueful smile in her eyes. ‘I really do not see how we can leave these two poor men to fend for themselves, do you?’

* * *

Gabriel was surfacing from some deep, black pit. His eyelids fluttered but he did not open them fully, for the light was painful and the slightest movement of his head made it throb. In fact, as consciousness returned, he was aware that his whole body ached like the devil.

He lay still, not struggling to recall what had happened, but allowing memory to return. Still, icy night, the cold bone-deep. The empty lane to Darlton, black shadows and the sudden rush of his attackers. He had thought it was footpads, but those two assailants proved to be no more than a diversion for whoever came from behind and knocked him unconscious. Then he was on the ground, among the trees and being harangued by a female to get up.

Gingerly he opened his eyes. He was in Dell House, in his own bedchamber. Presumably she had brought him here, as she had promised. Another memory stirred. Someone wiping his forehead with a damp cloth, the soothing smell of lavender. The woman’s voice, softer this time, bidding him to be still. Now he did make an effort to remember. He closed his eyes again, concentrating. Yes, he had seen her. She had come towards the bed, into the lamplight. A full, womanly figure, dark-eyed, red-lipped, with an abundance of glossy dark hair. She had leaned over him, her face full of concern. The same woman who had found him in the copse. Or had he dreamt the whole?

He heard the click of the door, soft footsteps and Thoresby appeared beside the bed, carrying a tray. The man was so much more than a servant, Gabriel counted him a loyal friend and he was relieved to see him.

‘John.’

‘Good morning, sir. I am glad to see you awake at last.’

Gabriel frowned. ‘You were laid up in bed. I feared influenza.’

‘Thankfully it was nothing worse than a bad cold, sir, and I am much better now.’ John Thoresby set down the tray on a table that had been pulled close to the bed. With the smallest movement of his head Gabriel could see it held a bowl of something looking suspiciously like porridge. However, that was not his most pressing concern.

‘But you were too ill to get out of your bed.’

‘That was five days ago, sir.’

‘So long!’ He tried to sit up and winced as pain shot through his bruised body.

Thoresby came to help him, gently supporting his shoulders and rearranging the pillows. Gabriel muttered his thanks and leaned back, closing his eyes until the pains in his body settled into no more than a dull ache.

‘There is laudanum, sir, if you wish it.’

‘No. Just a little water, if you please.’

He insisted on holding the glass himself and managed to take a few sips, even though his hands shook. He was glad to relinquish it when he had finished and he leaned back against the pillows, his eyes closed.

‘John, there was a woman.’

‘Ah, yes. Mrs Hopwood.’

The name struck a chord.

‘She brought me here?’

‘Yes, she did. And very relieved I was to see you, even though I could scarce drag myself to the door when she knocked. I knew I shouldn’t have let you go out alone.’

‘Damn it, John, you were too ill to be of use. Feverish, too. That is why I left you sleeping. But never mind that now. The woman. Did she stay here?’

‘Oh, yes, sir, she stayed,’ said Thoresby. ‘She is still here.’