“What do you mean?”
“You know. When he went climbing by hisself and broke his arm. Bertram probably went off to do the same to show he’s smarter and stronger and that he won’t break his arm."
“Oh dear, do you really think so?”
“Sure. He’s always trying to prove somethin’.”
“We’d best send the grooms out looking for him. Come on,” she said, turning to run lightly down the gently sloping hillside.
Edward enthusiastically followed her, and soon both were running heedlessly down the hill. A small hillock caught Janeunaware, interrupting her stride and pitching her forward. Her arms waved wildly, her skirts entangled her legs, and she fell, tumbling down the grassy incline. Below her came twin screams from Lady Elsbeth and Nurse Twinkleham. From above, Edward screeched her name. Jane hardly heard them as she concentrated on stopping her forward momentum. As another portion of her anatomy struck the ground, each roll and thud sounded loudly in her ears. Finally, she swung her legs forward, and her wild rolling slowed. She came to rest on her back, her skirts foaming about her. She stared up at the clouds in the sky as she struggled to catch her breath.
“Aunt Jane! Aunt Jane!” cried Edward, his little piping voice higher than usual. He was the first to reach her, throwing pieces of grass and dirt across her as he skidded to a stop by her side.
Her left arm rose slowly, bonelessly, to touch his cheek. She smiled. "I’m all right. Merely winded.”
“Jane! Are you all right? Edward, run to the stables and have one of the grooms bring up the pony cart immediately."
“No, no, I’m all right, Elsbeth,” Jane assured her aunt. She struggled to sit up. Her chip bonnet, crushed and soiled, dangled from its ribbons about her neck. Her hair was in wild disarray, grass and leaves clinging to the silky black strands. "Help me up,” she said, extending her hands toward Elsbeth and Edward.
“I’m persuaded you should let Edward fetch the pony cart,” said her old nurse, searching her former charge carefully for injury.
“Nonsense, Twink. Quit fussing. I’m not made of glass,” she said, batting the woman’s questing hands away but smiling to take out the sting of her words.
“Well, my dear, judging by your appearance, you cannot wonder at our concern,” said Lady Elsbeth, calmer now that she was assured of her niece’s safety.
Jane glanced down at her dress. Grass and dirt stains liberally smeared the white floral-patterned dress, and the ruffle was torn from the hem so that it dragged on the ground. She grimaced at the evidence of her mishap, then laughed and shrugged it away. "I’m fine, and a little East Sussex dirt will not harm me. My concern is for Bertram. Elsbeth, we must send the grooms out in search of him."
“We will, dear; we will. But do not worry so. He is a sturdy little boy. Much sturdier than you, I’ll warrant. Come, let’s get you back to the house. I’m confident you’ll feel better for a hot bath, else you’ll soon be feeling aches and pains you don’t realize you have."
Despite Jane’s protests to the contrary, Lady Elsbeth and Nurse Twinkleham got on either side of her, linking their arms with hers to offer support on the walk back to the house. As they approached the manor house, a carriage rolled into view. "Isn’t that the Culpepper’s carriage?” Lady Elsbeth asked. "Of all the times Mrs. Culpepper should choose for visiting.” Jane groaned.
“Well, there is no avoiding her now. We shall just have to send her on her way, for it should be obvious to even a woman of her intellect that this is not a time for visiting,” Lady Elsbeth said flatly. "Miss Twinkleham, take Jane on into the house. I shall deal with Mrs. Culpepper.”
“Nonsense, Elsbeth. It would be rude for me to walk away when it is obvious that she has seen me. Better to brazen it out. Besides, a good gander at my condition should help speed her on her way," Jane said with a laugh.
There was no time for more, for indeed, the coach's occupants had observed them and ordered their coach to pull up. Out tumbled Mr. Culpepper, his round complexion choleric. It was apparent he was a gentleman in the throes of some emotion. Behind him came his wife, her cheeks tearstained,followed by their daughter Maria wearing a bored expression, and lastly their son Henry, who looked far worse than Jane did.
“What happened to you?” Jane blurted out, astounded to see the boy with a split lip and swollen nose. Blood mingled with dirt smeared his coat and shirt.
“Well you should ask!” declared the boy’s father. "This is the work of that hellion nephew of yours, and I’d like to know what you intend to do about it!”
“I beg your pardon,” said Jane, disconcerted. Henry Culpepper, who stood a full head taller than Bertram, was a stocky lad with a bully’s temperament. She could not imagine Henry coming out the worse in any exchange with her nephew. The sudden image of Bertram lying bruised and bloody somewhere swam before her eyes.
“I want to know how you’re going to punish the lad for this mischief,” demanded Mr. Culpepper. "My Henry could be scarred for life.”
“Scarred!” wailed Mrs. Culpepper. "Oh, no, not my baby!”
“Hush, Rebecca,” admonished Mr. Culpepper, turning away from Jane for the moment.
Jane laid a hand on his arm. "But where’s Bertram? He could be hurt, lying in the dirt somewhere.”
“Are you daft, woman?” roared Mr. Culpepper.
Jane fell back under the fierceness of his attack.
“Look, it’s the earl!” piped in Edward, but the adults, caught within their drama, didn’t heed him.
“Now see here, sir,” protested Lady Elsbeth. "Can’t you tell my niece has met with an unfortunate accident? Temper your voice.”
