“Oh good grief,” mumbled Ferguson.
“How lovely,” said Lady Hazel, clapping her hands in glee. “The Christmas decorations are here.”
“Sir,” Charles gently tugged on Richard’s sleeve. “We should be going, sir.” He looked at the men carrying what must be half the forest into the front hall and then back at Richard. “Now, sir.”
There was obvious and abject terror in the lad’s eyes. Biting his lip against a laugh, Richard managed a nod. “Very well. Lead the way.”
A barely audible “Thank God” was the only response.
Making a hasty departure, Charles led Richard up the impressive staircase and along a corridor. Everything was gleaming, he noted, the scent of polish drifting on the air. A beautiful house, without a doubt, and old too, since some of the decorative pieces, ceiling frescoes and so on, looked almost medieval in style.
But it was also clearly lived in, and enjoyed, since the carpet was slightly worn, there was a pair of ladies’ boots outside one door, and several maids were singing a Christmas carol as they worked in another suite.
Up one more flight of stairs, and Charles stopped at a door, turning the handle and throwing it open with style. “Here we are, then, sir. The Vine room.”
And it lived up to its name. More of a suite than a room, Richard was delighted to see a comfortable sitting area by the windows at one end, partially screened by some sort of wrought iron trellis covered with gold-leaf vines.
The bed was huge, and the linens thick, even though there was a tidy hearth set with wood, and within moments of their arrival, Charles had a fire going.
“This is quite lovely, thank you,” said Richard, unwrapping his cloak with a breath of relief.
“I think you’ll find everything you need, sir, but ring if there’s anything else…” Charles indicated the bell pull.
A tap on the half-open door revealed a very solid woman dressed formally in a dark gown and pristine white lace collar and cap. She looked formidable, especially as she was carrying several towels and followed by a maid with a bowl of steaming hot water.
Richard gulped.
“Good afternoon, sir, I’m Mrs Trenchard, the housekeeper. Miss Holly tells me you’ve had a bit of a bother, one might say.” She walked right up to him.
He sat down on the bed, blinking. “Er…yes…”
“Well then, let’s take a look and see what we can do, shall we?”
With that maternal order, Richard surrendered, and after quite some time of occasionally painful prodding, washing, and bandaging, declared himself comfortable at last.
“All right, Mr Richard,” said Mrs Trenchard (the forceful persuasion she’d used to get him out of his shirt had reduced him to the age of nine, and eliminated any formality), “the one thing you need right now is a good nap. So I’m going to ask Charles if he’ll come back in an hour and wake you.” She consulted the clock on the bureau. “That will give you time to dress and join the family for lunch.”
“That sounds perfect, Mrs Trenchard. Thank you for…” he waved his hand vaguely at his head.
“Happy to help, sir, and between you and me, I’ve taken care of bigger and worse bumps on the head than that one, I can tell you.”
Richard couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m sure you have.”
“That’s good. To see you laughing means you’re well on the road to recovery. So rest now, sir.”
He nodded, and under her watchful eye, pushed the covers aside and lay down with a sigh of genuine relief.
“One hour, Charles,” reminded Mrs Trenchard. “Now you get a good nap, Mr Richard.”
“Yes, Ma’am. I promise.”
She picked up her bowl and his garments, and departed, followed by the maid and Charles. At last, the room was quiet, and Richard found that he was, in fact, quite warm and tired out.
His last thought before sleep caught up with him, was that the only thing the housekeeper hadn’t done was tell him he was a good boy. Which was a shame, because he rather thought he had been…
Chapter Five
In Which our Hero takes a Well-Deserved Nap, and our Heroine cannot Lie
