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‘I did hear an animal cry last night; I thought it might have been a fox. But it is lethal to enter those woods in the dark. There are steel traps everywhere. The Justice is at war and doesn’t mind who he hurts.’
Lord Rokeby had sprung down from his horse. ‘Then I’m going to have to go in there.’
Leonora cried out, ‘No! You’ll end up with your leg mangled in one of those fearsome things.’
‘My body is already mangled, one more injury barely matters.’ He glanced at her, a mordant smile on his lips. ‘How can I leave Achille to die? He would never have abandoned me.’
‘I’ll come with you, sir. I know where some of the worst are hidden.’ Ned Fleming took his fence-cutting hatchet and fashioned two staves from his stash of wood. ‘We’ll take a big stick each to spring the traps before we step on them.’
Leonora interrupted their preparations. ‘Just a moment, my lord. Would it not be more polite and indeed sensible if you went to Sir Roderick Fopling first and asked permission to search for your dog? I’m sure his gamekeeper would know exactly where he had placed the traps?’
‘You will come to realise, Miss Appleby, that I am neither polite nor sensible. Time is of the essence and I consider this a necessary reconnaissance.’ Lord Rokeby walked round to help Leonora dismount. His humour had revived now there was a plan of action.
He raised his arms to catch her as she unhooked her leg from the pommel and slid down Dione’s side. Leonora felt his hands grip her waist to place her feet on the ground and she looked into his face. She had never been this close to him before and was surprised how much taller he was than she. His undamaged eye was as dark and deep as Dione’s and seemed to sparkle with a mysterious light as he met her upturned gaze. She recalled Nanny P’s words – he is a law unto himself – and she shivered at the thought of how far that lawlessness might go.
His gaze was unwavering. ‘Can you manage both horses, Miss Appleby, while Mr Fleming and I take a cursory look? I think Achille may be reassured if he can hear my voice.’ Both Jupiter and Dione started cropping the grass and Leonora stood with their reins loose in her hand, feeling increasingly anxious for the fate of Achille and, to her surprise, his master too. She strained to listen as the men proceeded carefully into the wood, Lord Rokeby calling Achille’s name, then silence. She heard sticks breaking under foot, then the chilling distant clang as a trap was sprung, she hoped by the judicious use of one of Ned’s staves.
Leonora was growing cold and began to stamp her feet to keep the blood circulating to her toes. Suddenly she heard a faint yelp and the sound of a man’s shout. It seemed an age but was only a matter of minutes before Lord Rokeby and Ned Fleming emerged carrying a prone Achille between them. The Earl had stripped off his jacket and riding coat to cover his hound’s body.
Leonora left the horses and ran forward, stumbling over the tussocks. ‘Is he alive?’ she called out, breathless with tension.
Lord Rokeby’s face was grim. ‘Just about. He was caught by the leg, and I don’t know yet the full damage. But he’s frozen through. I must get him home.’
Her father’s illness and death had made Leonora capable and decisive in a crisis. ‘Don’t lay him down in the wet field; I’ll fetch the farm cart. Martin can saddle Clover up in moments.’ She led Dione to a fallen stump to use as a mounting block and lacking all ladylike decorum, scrambled into the saddle to set off at a fast trot up the field.
Within five minutes, she and the cart had returned. With great care, the men laid Achille on the bed of straw on the back. It was the first time Leonora had seen the dog properly and he looked in a fearful state. His eyes were closed, and his back leg had the skin torn so badly that the bone and tendons were exposed in a bloody mess. She shuddered.
Lord Rokeby turned to Ned Fleming. ‘Could you take Jupiter up to the Manor stables?’ He looked questioningly at Leonora. ‘I presume, Miss Appleby, that is acceptable? Then I’ll walk round later to pick him up.’
The bailiff said, ‘I’ll happily ride him back to the Abbey for you, my lord.’
A grim smile lifted the corners of Lord Rokeby’s mouth. ‘That’s very kind, Mr Fleming, but I’m afraid Jupiter is a spirited ride, and he would not be as sanguine as you about the matter. It’s better if I return later, if your mistress concurs with that plan?’
‘Of course.’ Leonora was still on the seat of the cart and watched Lord Rokeby climb in beside his dog. He was in such a state of dishevelment with his hair whipped by the wind which had made an equal mess of hers, she felt sure. His cravat was askew and his fine white linen shirt besmirched with mud, snagged by the undergrowth they had pressed through, and smeared with blood.
The Earl turned back to Ned Fleming who was holding Jupiter by the reins. ‘Thank you for all your help this morning. If I didn’t need to get Achille home, I’d drive right round to Sir Roderick Fopling and demand he banish all traps from his land.’ Leonora saw his rage gush up from some deep well then recede as fast as it had come. He turned to her, his cheeks still flushed with feeling, but said in a controlled voice, ‘Thank you, Miss Appleby. We should get Achille back to Rokeby Abbey.’
As Leonora stopped the cart in front of the great door of the Abbey, she was aware for the first time what a country wench she must appear to any casual onlooker. She was hatless, virtually in déshabillé, her hair blown loose by the wind that was still tempestuous and threatening rain; her riding habit, never overly smart, was made all the more disreputable by the gobbets of mud and grass stains where she had run through the park to reach the two men bringing Achille out of the woods. In a hurried movement, she tried to stick the pins back in her hair but was soon surrounded by Stowe and assorted grooms come to carry the dog into the house. No one was concerned with how she looked and she quickly abandoned any such concern herself.
The hound was laid on his favourite sheepskin rug by the fire in the drawing room, hurriedly banked up to provide more warmth. Rokeby’s cook brought up warm salted water to bathe the gash, and his valet collected the bag of bandages, herbal tinctures and pastes that every soldier knew how to use to treat wounds on the battlefield.
Leonora felt superfluous and exposed, unchaperoned as she was and as untidy as a washerwoman, and was about to make her farewells, when the Earl looked up from his ministrations and smiled. ‘Thank you for everything, Miss Appleby. Achille’s limb is not broken and I know how to treat such lacerations, so given some luck, he will live.’
She met his relieved gaze. ‘That is the best of news.’
‘I am grateful for all your help today. One further imposition, Miss Appleby: will you keep Jupiter in your stables until tomorrow? It’ll be dark before I’ve finished here.’
Leonora nodded. ‘Of course, whatever I can do to help.’ Her emotions felt shredded and raw. Lord Rokeby got to his feet to take Leonora’s hand in a brief salute before accompanying her through to the stables. The wind had dropped and the dying sun had stained the clouds a fiery pink. Horses were settling for the night and Clover waited patiently. The Earl seemed distracted as he helped her up into the cart seat, untied Clover’s reins and handed them to her. ‘Goodnight, Miss Appleby. I won’t bother you in the morning when I collect my horse. You’ve been troubled enough by me and my concerns.’
As she turned Clover to trot towards the drive, the Earl put out a hand. ‘I forget my manners. Apologies. I owe you so many favours, Miss Appleby. Please tell me what I can do to make amends.’
Leonora was unprepared for the question and paused. Then she recalled the joy of swimming in the Rokeby lake. ‘Oh! Yes, there is something, Lord Rokeby. I would be happy to have your permission to swim in your lake.’
He looked shocked. ‘You swim?’ She nodded. He continued, ‘Real swimming, not just paddling in the shallows as ladies do at Brighton?’
‘I surprised myself with how much I love to swim. I learnt in your lake.’
‘So you’ve been there before?’
