Her Ladyship's Companion (18 page)

“Robbie!” she called. She heard only the rustling in reply.

She stopped to listen. What was that? There was a sound, distinct, but not repeated. There had once been a smooth lawn running up to the building, though now it was a mud field. The summerhouse was completely ruined, the roof caved in. Melissa directed her feeble light around the outside, then inside among the fallen timbers. There was no entry visible from this side.

She circled the little wreck, trying not to trip on the straggling vines, shaking with cold. Yes. Bending down, one could enter from this side.

Two walls were still standing beneath the collapsed roof. She flickered the light around inside, suppressing thoughts of bats, snakes, and other crawling things that no doubt sought sanctuary among the rotting timbers. She knelt on the ground, making great muddy patches on the front of her dress. There was nothing in the ruin of the summerhouse but wet tendrils of vegetation, wood strewn about every which way, dripping beams and a pile of rags.

Melissa was about to leave when some trick of light caught the curve of a hand, there in the shadows, amid what she’d dismissed as a pile of rags.

No. It was impossible. Heedless of the jagged wood sticking out in her path and the exposed nails, she bent almost double and crawled across the floor to reach him.

It was Robbie. “Oh, my God,” she breathed, horrified. She rolled him over, turning his white face up to the light. For a moment she thought he was dead, so cold was his body to her touch. Then a slight movement of his eyelids, the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest convinced her that he lived. She held the lantern up over the still form. There was blood all over his soaked shirt. But the only wounds she could see were long, deep scratches on his forearm. His arms and legs lay at natural angles. She carefully lifted his head, cradled it in her lap, and pulled back the wet rags he’d wrapped around himself. His clothes were torn in a dozen places, ripped away from his shoulder with a jagged tear, but he wasn’t bleeding.

Under her touch the boy stirred. His eyes opened and he focused foggily upon her face. “Nanny?” he croaked feebly.

Unspeakably relieved that he had moved and spoken, she leaned over and pressed her forehead against his chest. “I’m here, love. It’s all right now.”

The boy closed his eyes, too weak to do more. But she thought he’d understood. “So cold. Fell,” he murmured.

“Don’t move,” she told the unresponsive body. Stupidly she added, “Wait right here.” She left him and scrambled backward out of the little hidey-hole in the bottom of the ruin and ran to the foot of the bridge.

“Jamie!” she yelled over the water. “Go back! Hurry! Get the men. I’ve found him. I’ve found Robbie, and he’s hurt. Bring help at once.”

“Right away!” Jamie called triumphantly. The light bobbed rapidly up and down toward the shore, then vanished in the trees.

In the shattered building Melissa gathered Robbie up in her arms, Without even a soggy cloak to wrap him in, sitting in the dripping water that found its way through the fallen roof, she pulled her damp skirt across him and hugged him tightly to her body, trying to infuse some of her warmth into him. In a very few, agonizingly long minutes she heard footsteps on the bridge.

“Jamie?” a voice called. “Is that you? Come away from there at once. How dare you disobey my orders?”

“It’s me, Melissa Rivenwood. I’ve found Robbie.”

“Miss Rivenwood?” The response was incredulous. A light appeared at the entrance hole, illuminating the interior of the little ruin. Thunder crashed in the distance. She could see it was Harold. “I saw your lamp across the lake,” he said. “I thought it was that fool boy, Jamie.” His lanky frame was too large to squeeze between the boards blocking the little space beneath the summerhouse roof. “You’ve got him. Who would have dreamed it? How badly is he hurt?”

“I can’t tell. I can’t see any bones broken. No bleeding. But he’s dreadfully cold. We’ve got to get him out of this rain at once.” Melissa, with Robbie’s weight a heavy burden, began to inch painfully toward the entrance.

“How did you ever think of finding him here? I never thought ... I mean, how did he ever get here? And how did you?”

“Jamie brought me. I’ve sent him to get help.” She had Robbie out now. Harold had reached out to take Robbie’s limp body from her. Now he drew back and instead began removing his coat. “Here,” he offered. “Wrap him up in that. There, that’s good. How badly off is he?”

“He spoke a minute ago. But he’s so wet, so cold. He must have been here for hours.” Awkwardly Melissa wrapped Robbie in the coat.

“Let me have him,” Harold ordered. “We’ll see if we can get him back across the bridge.” He lifted the boy up and waited until Melissa managed to regain her feet. Then he followed her toward the bridge, picking his way carefully through the mud. “How on earth did you ever get over here?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Melissa admitted grimly. “I don’t even see how Robbie got across. I say! Take care there!” she snapped as Robbie’s head lolled loosely across Harold’s arm. “His back may be injured.”

“Oh, very sorry.” Harold stood at the foot of the bridge irresolutely. “We’ll need someone to repair that central section of bridge. Can’t possibly get across as it is. Go on back, Miss Rivenwood. Tell them we need some lumber and a few men. I’ll wait here with the boy.”

Melissa stepped onto the bridge. Harold, in the relative shelter of the pines at the edge of the lake, shifted the small, tightly wrapped bundle uneasily. “Hurry, Miss Rivenwood,” he urged.

There were noises in the distance. “Listen. They’re coming.” She came back. “There. Look.” She pointed to where the lights were visible through the trees. Harold’s face worked with strong emotion as he watched the searchers approaching. Melissa thought he was about to burst into tears. It was that soft heart of his. He must care more for the boy than she ever knew.

“You’ve got Robbie?” Giles called over the water.

“Yes. He’s here!” she answered. “Be careful on the bridge. You’ll have to send some lumber. There are boards out.”

“Damn it, I can see that.” The tall figure ran the length of the unsteady bridge and cleared the center, where the great gap yawned, in a single leap. Then he was with them.

“Where is he?”

“Here. I have him.” Harold was reluctant, somehow, to let the boy go into Giles’s arms. Unheeding, Giles took him. He stared intently into Robbie’s face.

“He’s still alive. I’d almost ...”

“I don’t think anything’s broken. For heaven’s sake,” Melissa pleaded, “be careful with him. He’s not a sack of meal.”

Giles pulled the coat closely around the boy. Rudely jerked around, Robbie struggled back to consciousness. “Nanny!” he cried again weakly, .trying to rise.

“Lie quietly, son,” Giles said with surprising gentleness. “We’ll have you home in a minute.”

Harold was saying something, but Giles brushed him aside rudely. With Robbie in his arms he turned back to the bridge.

“Wait till we get it fixed,” Harold called after him. “You fool! You’ll both go over the side.”

At the center of the bridge Giles held the boy against his chest with one arm, as if he were feather light. He grabbed the rail. Confidently he braced his foot on the edge of the strut work and swung out over empty air. The railing groaned and started to splinter. But it held long enough to get him to the other side. He made it look easy.

Harold scuttled after him, making as clumsy and undignified a crossing as Melissa herself, had anyone stayed to see. But the crowd of grooms and farmers was milling through the woods and back to the house,

All the lamps and shouting were gone. If possible, it began to rain even harder. Lightning struck close by, somewhere out at sea. As a last indignity Melissa’s lantern flickered and died. Melissa draped herself in her sodden cloak and squelched wearily back up the muddy path to the house.

Chapter 15

I’m so confused. Nothing that’s happened makes any sense. Or none that I’m willing to admit.

Excerpt from the letter of Melissa Rivenwood to Cecilia Luffington, August 3, 1818

“It was holding up when I went over. I’ve been across it a hundred times.” Robbie peered up at his uncle defensively. “I know you told me not to go over there, but it’s my land after all.”

“We’ll discuss that aspect of the matter later,” Giles promised in a way that boded no good for future discussions. They all were gathered upstairs, anxiously monitoring Robbie’s recovery.

Robbie hurried on with his story. “Honestly, it was safe. There’s a board in the very middle of the bridge that lies between the open spaces. It’s an easy jump. Just one, two ... Then you’re across. It was steady when I went across this morning. It didn’t even wobble. If it had, I would have checked it over next time. But it was fine. Then, after the rain had started and I headed back to the house, it just went. I hit the board, and it flipped out from underneath me.”

“The board broke, Robbie,” Harold said gently. “Half the boards in that bridge are rotted through. You haven’t been kept away from the island arbitrarily.” He leaned against the wall of Robbie’s bedroom, trying to look severe and not succeeding. “Next time listen to your guardian’s orders.”

Robbie ignored that advice. “Anyway, the board slipped out when I stepped on it, and I couldn’t catch hold of the side of the bridge fast enough when I went over.” Several long, superficial gashes on his arm showed where he had clutched desperately for the wooden railing and had scraped against exposed nails. “So I fell. There’s a lot of sharp stuff under the water, old tree limbs and things, I guess. I’m always getting fishing line tangled up on it. I hit some of that, and it knocked the wind out of me. And when I was in the water, I couldn’t make out which way the shore was.”

“The first thing we’ll do when you’re back on your feet is take you down to Ludden and teach you how to swim properly,” Giles said. “Then I’ll spend the next ten years keeping you out of the tide race along the coast here. Robbie, you’re going to drive me to an early grave.”

Robbie grinned. The prospect pleased. He was little the worse for wear now that he was wrapped up warm and dry in his bedroom. Nanny had brought hot bricks for his feet, and everyone was fussing over him. The Providence that protects children and fools, into both of which categories Robbie fitted, had decreed that he escape nearly unhurt, but Melissa, listening to the husky rasp in his voice, feared a cold—or worse, pneumonia—from this wetting and wished a doctor would come.

“I can swim already,” Robbie said loftily. Then his face clouded. “But it was awfully cold. That was why I had trouble swimming. And you can’t see where you’re going with the rain so bad. When I got out of the water, I was sick. And I didn’t know where I was. I don’t even remember going into the summerhouse. I was so cold that every time I tried to get up I got sick. I remember that. I kept thinking that I’d just wait a few more minutes and then I’d get up and go home. Then I fell asleep until you carne and got me.” He smiled confidently up at his uncle Giles. Melissa shuddered, knowing that with his exposure to cold and rain, it was a “sleep” from which he would never have awakened.

“You must thank Miss Rivenwood for your rescue. I wouldn’t have found you on the island. In future I won’t assume so lightly that my orders have been carried out.”

Robbie said self-consciously, “We never meant any harm going there, Uncle Giles.”

“No. I don’t mean you, idiot. I mean the half dozen men I sent into the woods with orders to comb it inch by inch. I forgot one of the first things I learned in the army, Robbie. I never specifically spelled out that I meant the island, too,” Giles ruffled the boy’s red hair. His face was grave. “It might have cost me dear this time. Not,” he added quickly, “that you’d be any loss, you understand. But you know how it is. I’m used to you. So settle down to sleep, stripling. And don’t get into any more trouble for a week at least.”

Lady Dorothy was a commanding presence in the adjoining schoolroom. To a cowering nurserymaid she barked, “Warm, you hear me. Warm all night long. Good fire. Change the brick every half hour. But don’t knock about the place like a great looby. He’s got to get some rest, too.”

Her penetrating tones could be clearly heard in the bedroom, increasing Robbie’s sense of self-importance. Melissa wearily joined her, trying to think of a tactful way to promote a little of the quiet that was so much spoken of.

“So, Miss Rivenwood.” Lady Dorothy greeted her caustically. “What kind of explanation do you have for running off into the night alone? Don’t you realize you could have been injured? Next time you’re going to do something foolish like that, come to me. I’d have seen that you got the help you needed. You’d be surprised how many foolish things I’ve helped people do in my time.”

Melissa, cold to the bone, still dressed in her wet and muddy garments, tried to gather her thoughts together to give some coherent answer. It was a vain attempt. She stood stupidly mute.

“There’s no point in freezing to death now. That reproach we can do without. Nanny, get her some sort of robe. That blanket will do nicely. Put her here next to the fire. I’ve no doubt Giles will recall her existence and remember to badger her eventually. We’d best have her in a state to answer questions. Not that I don’t have questions of my own. But nobody listens to anything I say in this household anyway,” the old lady grumbled, wrapping the exhausted girl capably as she talked, installing her in the rocker next to the fire. “A cup of tea is what you need, young woman. You and Robbie both. If it ever arrives.”

Her comment fell, not by chance, on the ears of the nurserymaid as the poor girl precariously balanced a great tray through the schoolroom door.

Bedford followed. “I’ve sent a boy off for the doctor, my lady. In this weather, though, he probably won’t set off before daybreak.” It was approaching midnight, and the storm had grown more fierce. “He’s an elderly man and the road—”

“I know Dr. Cathcart’s age, Bedford.” Lady Dorothy was annoyed. Melissa apprehended that the doctor was no favorite of hers. “We can do as much for Robbie as that quack. Let him roost safe in bed all night if he wants.”