With a sigh, Hope lifted her head and regarded the sleeping foxhound with something approaching envy. If only life were that simple. Climbing to her feet, she decided to go and fetch her book instead. Reading would take her mind off her foolishness and at least she could make the most of Patience’s rare visit to the schoolroom.
Just as she was about to leave, the door to the yard was flung open. It was Jimmy, the Duke of Blackmore’s unofficial messenger, and he looked frantic.
At twelve, the rascal was beginning to fill out a bit, showing promise of the handsome man he might become if he could but desist in his inclination to cut a wheedle at every opportunity. If not, Hope very much feared he may well find himself on the wrong end of the morning drop. Why Nicholas trusted him so much, she had no idea.
But now the boy was looking at her with an expression she hadn’t seen on him before.
Self-reproach.
‘If’n yer pardon Miss Shackleford, is the Revren about?’
Hope frowned. ‘I don’t think so Jimmy, he usually does his parish rounds in the morning. Is something wrong?’
The young rogue stood irresolute for a moment, clearly fighting an internal battle. Then abruptly, he blurted out, ‘It’s ‘is grace’s lodger - the one in the cottage. I think he might be dead.’
Chapter Eleven
It took Hope a few seconds to realise Jimmy was actually referring to Gabriel and as soon as she did, her heart plummeted. ‘What? How?’ she stuttered feeling sick.
‘I dunno miss. Looked to ‘ave ‘it ‘is ‘ead. There was blood everywhere.’ The boy looked about to burst into tears, making him look suddenly much younger. All his bluster had gone, and he just looked scared.
‘I can’t tell ‘is grace, ‘e’ll never trust me again. It was my bloody job to keep an eye on the bastard.’
‘Language Jimmy,’ Hope said automatically while her mind was frantically thinking what to do. Had his enemies found him and left him for dead? There was no time to look for her father, or anyone else for that matter. She would have to go.
‘Tell Seth to hitch Lucifer to the cart,’ she said, before running into the pantry to gather anything she could that might help. As she was tossing items into her basket, she wondered hysterically if some of Mrs Tomlinson’s bread and butter pudding might be useful in plugging a head wound.
Five minutes later, she was throwing on her cloak and running out into the yard. Luckily Seth, their one and only stable hand had taken one look at Jimmy’s face and refrained from arguing with the lad’s request. Jimmy was already seated on the slatted bench along the front of the cart. Hurriedly climbing up beside him, Hope took the reins and seconds later they thundered out into the lane.
Unlike her sisters, Hope was actually more at home with horses. Or perhaps that was a slight exaggeration. The truth was she could get their single horse Lucifer to do what most of the rest of her sisters couldn’t. Her father had always said it was because she looked like her mother who was evidently the only human the evil-tempered beast had ever remotely tolerated. That’s not to say she would ever dare to actually climb on his back.
Still, it meant that she was able to wield the reins confidently enough to at least get the horse to go in the direction she wished. It also helped that Lucifer hadn’t properly stretched his legs since before the Christmas holidays. Indeed, the wind was fairly whipping past them as they careered up the road and if Jimmy had been fearful before, a quick glance showed her he was now absolutely petrified.
All thoughts of a romantic nature had long since fled as Hope concentrated on getting them to their destination as quickly as possible. She did not allow herself to even entertain the possibility that the Viscount might be dead. Surely the Almighty would not have put him through so many trials only to have him die just at the point where safety finally seemed within reach.
Luckily the route to the cottage did not take them through the village. Although it was likely she’d find her father somewhere about, their breakneck speed would also attract undue attention and to Hope’s knowledge, the Reverend’s doctoring skills were no better than his sermon writing. Clearly Malcolm was the one they needed, and she intended to drop Jimmy off at the bottom of the drive leading to the Duke’s Estate so the boy could fetch Nicholas’s valet as quickly as possible. As she careened to a halt outside the imposing entrance, she told Jimmy in no uncertain terms that if he did not appear with Malcolm within the hour, she would string him up herself.
‘Do not even think of scarpering,’ she shouted as the boy climbed down.
‘Keep yer ‘air on miss,’ he grumbled, relief at surviving the journey clearly making him cocky, ‘I’m ‘ere not in bloody Torquay.’
‘And don’t swear,’ she yelled behind her as the still frisky Lucifer launched himself forward.
A mere fifteen minutes later the horse was galloping down the track that led to Pear Tree cottage, the cart bouncing along behind him. Torn between exhilaration and sheer terror, Hope pulled hard on the reins as they approached the small building and for a few heart stopping seconds didn’t think Lucifer was going to slow down, but just as she began to think she might have to jump, he finally came to a trembling stop.
For a few seconds she simply sat there stunned, then recollecting why she was there, she quickly jumped down, grabbed her basket and hurried into the house. ‘I’ll make it up to you Lucy,’ she shouted as she pushed open the door. An equine snort was the only answer she received.
The interior of the cottage was dim, and she had to pause for a moment to get her bearings. ‘Lord Northwood?’ she called. ‘Gabriel?’ There was no answer. Heart clattering, she took a step into what looked to be a sitting room.
There on the floor, she could see the shape of a man. He was unmoving. With a small cry she placed her basket on the ground and knelt beside the prone figure. Jimmy had been right, there did seem to be a copious amount of blood on the floor. Swallowing a sob, she bent forward and hovered her hand over his mouth to see if he was breathing.
She was unable to stop the small moan when she couldn’t feel any air escaping from his mouth, but just as she was about to begin massaging his chest, a method she’d read about being used on people suffering from an apoplexy, his mouth opened and emitted a soft snore.
And that wasn’t all that emanated from his now parted lips. The stench of alcohol was enough to fell even the most hardened drinker. Coughing and spluttering, she leaned back.
Her relief to find him alive was now warring with vexation. She glanced around and finally noticed twoemptybottles of brandy. Zooks, had he drunk them both? She looked back down at the comatose figure on the floor. While he was evidently still alive, she still had no way of knowing how bad his head injury was. Clearly, he’d fallen whilst in his cups and hit his head on something. She knew little about head wounds but was naturally aware they could be extremely serious.
She bent down again and moved his head to the side exposing a sticky mass of red on the side of his head. With all the blood, there was no way of knowing how bad it was. Getting to her feet, she ran into the small kitchen and breathed a sigh of relief to find some water, still barely warm hanging over the embers of the fire.
