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She squeezed her son’s hand. ‘No, darling. We think he’s just broken his leg.’

‘He snoozling?’

‘It looks like it, I know, but he’s not sleeping. Perhaps he fell out of a tree and he’s bumped his head.’

‘Lawks!’ the young James said with feeling.

Sybella could not hide her smile but said sternly, ‘That’s not a very polite thing to say, you know.’

‘Well, Nurse says it.’ His mother was saved from having to reply to that riposte by the arrival of Dr Bristow. She stood up to greet him and ushered James out, calling to Nurse.

Dr Bristow was grey-haired and elderly and had not been in the district long. His competence had slowly won over a naturally distrustful country populace who still turned to folk medicine to cure their ills. He quickly examined his patient with deft hands. ‘You say his name is Freddie, possibly a Mr Frederick Lynwood. From Shotten Hall.’ He agreed that the young man’s left leg was broken below the knee. His head wound did not worry him overmuch, but he was concerned that his young patient had not regained consciousness. The pain of having his leg set might remedy that, so he requested a strong man and a quantity of brandy, needed for its anaesthetic qualities. Sybella called George and asked Dr Bristow if he required her help.

The old man looked up, surprised. ‘Mrs Lovatt, it’s not a pleasant thing to see. But I could do with an extra pair of hands if the young gentleman should come round in the middle of the manipulation.’ Sybella nodded and braced herself. She poured out the brandy, ready to tip it down young Freddie’s throat. George had helped set broken bones before and he had quietly cut off the young man’s boot and tore his breeches to expose the whole left leg. The doctor grasped his foot and George steadied the knee as together they began to pull the contracted muscles apart so the bone could be joined correctly. Freddie groaned. Sybella’s sympathetic heart could only bear the brutality of what had to be done to him by concentrating on her task of alcoholic anaesthesia. She gently lifted his head and poured some brandy into his mouth. He coughed and spluttered and tried to dash the cup from his lips.

‘Freddie, you’re going to be all right. You’ve broken your leg and the doctor has to set it.’ His eyes were wide with agony and alarm. ‘Drink more of this brandy. It’ll help with the pain.’ This time, he gulped it down without a struggle and closed his eyes. He was gripping the back of the sofa, his knuckles white, as the doctor and George continued to manipulate his bone into position in order to splint it correctly and save his leg. The young man’s groans rent the silent house. Lucie heard and winced. She hurried back into the kitchen, where Nurse was making James his luncheon, listening to his speculative chatter about the dangers of climbing trees when you’re big.

Dr Bristow seemed pleased with his handiwork once Freddie’s leg was neatly splinted and bandaged. His head was cleaned and also bandaged. The doctor shook George’s hand. ‘It’s obvious you’ve done this before. Thank you for your help. I think the boy will heal completely. He’s young and healthy.’

‘Thank you, doctor. We managed to save many a leg in the Peninsula, I’m pleased to say.’ The old man then turned to Sybella and said he’d be back in a day, leaving her with a small bottle of tincture of opium to be used when the pain was on him. She looked down at Freddie’s face. He was less pale and his eyes were open and feverish-bright. He was astonishingly good-looking, with his inky dark curls and an expression that seemed to combine a brooding moodiness round his mouth and a mischievous brilliance of eye.

‘Well, you’ve come through that ordeal with flying colours. Dr Bristow has just treated you and splinted your leg. You are at the Manor. I am Sybella Lovatt, and you were found by my sister on the road.’ He began to struggle to sit up, but she gently pressed his shoulder back. ‘The doctor wants you to be put to bed here and will return tomorrow. Can I ask for your name, and whom I should contact?’

‘I’m Freddie Lynwood. I’ve been staying at the Hall. I’m afraid no one’s there but the basic staff and my valet and groom. My guardian, Mr Brabazon, is due in a week’s time.’ He rattled this off through gritted teeth, his hand holding his bandaged leg.

‘Should I let your valet know so he can attend you here? And where would a letter find your guardian?’ His face grimaced with pain and Sybella moved quickly to offer the tincture the doctor had left. He took it like a lamb and closed his eyes.

After a while, the young man visibly relaxed as the anodyne worked its magic: he apologised. ‘My valet is called Simon Toller. And my guardian, Mr Anthony Brabazon. I don’t know at which of his properties you might find him, but if he’s in Town, a letter to his club, White’s, will always reach him.’ He was drowsy and his eyelids fluttered as if he was about to fall asleep.

‘I’ll get those notes off now. George and Gem will carry you up to a bedroom and we’ll let your valet, Simon, undress you when he comes over from the Hall. He can stay in the dressing room so he’s available for you through the night.’

‘Thank you, Miss Lovatt, for your care.’

‘It’s actually Mrs Lovatt, but it’s of no consequence.’ She smiled down at him. Just then, the door opened quietly and Lucie came into the room. She had changed her riding dress and was back in her simple blue muslin. ‘Mr Lynwood, here’s your rescuer. My sister, Lucie Carey.’ Sybella put her hand out and led her to the sofa. A renewed energy seemed to flow back into the young man’s mien.

‘It’s actually Lord Lynwood, but it’s of no consequence,’ he said with the hint of a wicked smile. But then, when he saw Lucie’s concerned face leaning over him, he exclaimed, ‘You were my attendant angel!’ His eyes rested on her face and she smiled.

‘You gave me such a fright. I didn’t know if you were dead.’ She then gasped, afraid that she should not have spoken so frankly.

He chuckled. ‘I felt I actually had died and you were welcoming me to heaven.’

Lucie’s cheeks flushed slightly and she changed the subject. ‘We can’t work out how it happened. Were you climbing that great oak tree?’

Lord Lynwood was rueful. ‘Well, yes. My friends had just left and on a whim I thought I’d see if I could still get to the top like I did as a boy. But of course I don’t weigh what I did as a boy!’

‘We used to climb that tree too. When we were children.’

‘Oh, so trespassers too!’ His dark eyes were on her face.

‘I’m afraid so. We were quite lawless.’

Sybella intervened. ‘Lord Lynwood, you’re looking tired. I’ve asked Gem and George to carry you up to the Jacobean bedroom. I would think Mr Toller will be soon on his way from the Hall with all your necessary clothes.’

The sisters closed the door and sank onto the sofa. The oak-panelled room was comfortable and warm; the furniture had been chosen by their mother and was old-fashioned and homely, with chairs and a sofa arranged conversationally around the big medieval fireplace. Her portrait was on the wall, showing her stately and beautiful with her dark wavy hair worn unpowdered, her creamy bosom embellished with lace and baroque pearls. An enigmatic smile played on her lips and the sisters liked to think she was watching over them with those expressive dark eyes, pleased with what she saw. She had died five years before, when Lucie was thirteen and Sybella just twenty: in that fell moment, the flame of their family life had been extinguished.

Sybella put her arm around Lucie. She glanced at the noble lord’s ruined riding boot at their feet, and sighed. A new sense of protectiveness towards her younger sister arose in her breast. ‘So strange how everything can change in a blink,’ she said quietly, not yet aware how far-reaching this change would prove to be.

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