“Stay there, I’ll be but a moment, I think,” Matthew called out.
Returning to the end with the branches, Matthew clutched at two of the sturdier-looking limbs and heaved mightily, succeeding in causing the tree to pivot by a good measure. He brushed his hands to remove any slivers of bark, and pulled again. This time, he made a good bit of headway, enough that he felt the carriage could safely pass.
A startling shout from the trees caused Matthew to look up and drop the tree branches. Lydia screamed as a party of three or four men emerged from the tall grass, sticks and fists held high. Before she could cry out for Matthew, the carriage lurched forward with a flick of the driver’s reins. She was tossed from side to side as the driver veered sharply around the fallen tree in the space Matthew had provided.
“Stop!” Lydia screamed, but the driver continued on. “Where are you going? You must help him!”
The driver did not answer, only flicked the reins and called out a shout to the horses, urging them on even faster. Lydia turned in her seat and braced herself against the interior walls, trying to see any sign of Matthew through the glass. She could not see through the blur of green grasses as the carriage rounded a bend, blocking the road behind them from view.
When the carriage slowed, Lydia looked around. What sort of plot had unfolded? Matthew set upon on the road, Lydia kidnapped by the driver, and now here she was alone with this stranger in the middle of a country highway? Her breath caught in her lungs as she thought about how she might scream for help.
The driver jumped down and peered in the window. “Are you all right, My Lady? Were you jostled by the carriage?”
Lydia simply shook her head. What would this man care if she’d been jostled when he clearly had plans to harm her?
“If you think you’ll be all right here alone, I shall go back to look for Lord Paxton and aid him,” the driver explained slowly. “Can you stay here without protection?”
Lydia nodded silently, confused. She watched as the driver took off at a run, hurrying back in the direction from which they’d come. She fell back against the seat once he was out of sight, wishing there were a way to make herself seem small and invisible. She felt vulnerable here, a target for any bandit or ruffian who might happen by.
Time had passed, she knew not how much, before she heard the shuffling of feet. Chancing to lift her head and look out the window, Lydia saw the driver dragging Matthew back with him, his head and shoulders under Matthew’s arm for support.
“Here, permit me,” Lydia called out as she left the carriage and hurried towards them. She reached Matthew’s other side and slid his arm over her shoulder as well, relieved to hear a raspy breath from him. “Can you lift him into the carriage?”
“I think I can, My Lady,” the driver replied. “But as soon as you are both inside, we must depart. It is not safe here. Can you tend to him while I drive the horses?”
“Certainly, only do what you must do to get us safely away,” Lydia answered.
While the driver aided Matthew in climbing into the carriage, Lydia retrieved her satchel. In it, she knew there were cloths for staunching the blood and wiping Matthew’s wounds.
“Matthew, can you hear me?” Lydia asked softly as she dabbed at a bleeding cut at the edge of his hairline. He made no movement or protest as she pressed her cloth there, and that worried her.
“I can,” he finally whispered, his eyes closed. “Are we away?”
“Yes, the driver has us moving on again. But what ever happened?” she asked, though she did not want to press him too hard for answers.
“I thought it to be a trap,” he said, his eyes fluttering open so that he might look around the carriage. “There was a fallen tree, but no other trees nearby. When I walked ‘round, I saw it had been cut down, not splintered as though it had fallen.”
“If I were a man, I would thrash that driver for leaving you behind to be assaulted,” Lydia said in a soft, mournful voice.
“No, I told him to go.”
“What? Why would you give such an order?” Lydia cried, lifting the corner of the cloth to see if the bleeding had slowed.
“It did not feel safe, so I told him to wait in the carriage seat. He was to drive on if there should be trouble. He had to remove you from harm’s way, lest the bandits hurt you,” Matthew said, letting his eyes fall closed for a moment.
Lydia instantly felt humbled. She looked at Matthew, unable to think of the words that would express adequate gratitude.
“Matthew, that was so very kind of you, and very brave as well. Thank you for thinking of me and putting me ahead of your own safety. You could have been killed,” she said, her voice shaking.
“I have been the cause of so much of your grief already. I could not let your life be in danger as well,” he replied before moving his jaw from side to side and wincing in pain.
“That is the Matthew I once knew,” Lydia whispered tenderly. “Always thoughtful, always so caring, always thinking of others’ happiness before his own. What happened to you while you were gone to make your heart so cold and your outlook so bitter?”
Matthew was quiet, and for a moment Lydia wondered if her question would drive him into another sullen bout of silence. Finally, he slowly turned his head to look at her and said, “Too many hurts.”
“But how will you ever overcome them if you do not acknowledge them?” she pressed, but Matthew was already looking away. “For years, I was resentful that my mother died. I despised my sister for what I thought was her role in Mother’s death. After all, had there been no baby, there would have been no childbed fever. But then I came to realize how much I was missing out by not loving my sister.”
“That is truly tragic,” Matthew acknowledged. “I almost feel selfish for carrying my hurts when, in truth, they are not nearly as horrible as losing your mother. It is only a lifetime of being dismissed and disregarded by the two people whose love I wanted more than anything in the world. I would rather be the baker’s son and live in a family filled with joy than to be the wealthy son of an Earl and feel nothing but degradation and emptiness.”
