Chapter Seven

 

 

 

She was swimming in the old mill pond behind the Home Farm at Bright’s Hill. The water was very black, very deep – deeper and blacker than she remembered, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not get back to the surface. She was struggling, kicking her legs hard, pushing upwards with her shoulders, but the surface above remained unattainable, unbroken. Fanny had told her so many times not to swim there, that she would surely drown, sucked down to the muddy depths...

Someone was calling her. ‘Sophie? Sophie! Wake up, can you hear me?’

Somebody wanted her, she must try and reach the surface again, but it was so dark and the cold was numbing her limbs. The voice began again, calling her. It was a nice voice, deep and strong, but still she wished it would stop. It wanted her to keep trying and she was far too tired. It was easier just to drown. It all went black again...

She must be out of the water, for somebody had raised her shoulders and  were supporting her, and fingers were stroking gently, probing into her hair. ‘Sophie, Sophie, wake up!’ She thought she heard the voice add, ‘Hell, she has a lump the size of a duck’s egg on the back of her head, John.’ Then the probing fingers touched something that sent a wave of pain coursing from her scalp to her toes and the water closed over her head again.

 

It was the sunlight streaming through the casement that finally woke her. It hurt and the jagged needles of pain forced her eyes closed again, but still the lights danced on the inside of her lids. Sophie lay still, a feeling of panic growing inside her that she fought hard to quell. This was not her chamber, not her bed. Try and remember, she told herself. Try.

With another lurch of panic she recalled strong hands snatching her from the pavement in Portman Square and bundling her into a locked carriage. She had been kidnapped and this must be where she had been taken. Cautiously she opened her eyes again, keeping them narrowed into slits against the light. This time she saw that she was lying in a bed covered with a homely patchwork quilt. The sheets were rough but seemed clean and the uneven walls of the room looked freshly whitewashed. A door at the foot of the bed stood ajar. If this was the haunt of some abductor, it was an exceedingly strange one.

A breeze puffed out the curtains at the window and Sophie realised she was not alone. In the window seat that filled the embrasure Hal Wyatt was sitting, fast asleep. He had propped his back against one wall, one foot was on the seat, wedged against the opposite side and one had slipped off so that his booted foot rested on the floor.

Of course. They were chasing Lady Elizabeth and the coach had tipped over.

Gingerly Sophie pulled herself up against the bolster and looked at Hal. He had discarded his coat and she was sure the shirt he was wearing was not his own. The homespun fabric stretched taut over his shoulders and biceps in a way that was, frankly, disturbing. She made herself look away from the vee of chest exposed by the lack of a neckcloth and saw that his breeches were mud-stained, although someone had made a not very successful attempt to brush them.

His head had fallen to one side and she saw that a bruise marked the side of his face from eyebrow to jaw, with a trickle of dried blood at the temple.

Sophie pushed back the bedclothes and swung her feet out on to the rag rug by the bed. The room lurched and her head gave a warning stab of pain, so she sat still for a moment before standing. The nightdress she was wearing must belong to a much larger woman, for it pooled at her feet and she had to gather up the fullness as she tiptoed across the boards, wincing as the movement jarred bruises that she had not been aware of.

Cautiously she stopped a pace away from Hal. Even in his dishevelled state he made her heart beat faster and her mouth feel dry. She scanned swiftly up and down his sleeping form but there was no sign of bandages or other damage beside the purpling bruise on his face. Impetuously Sophie reached out to brush the heavy lock of hair that had fallen across his eyes, tangling with the his lashes. Hal muttered something in his sleep and she snatched back her hand, but the sharpness of the movement unbalanced her and sent the pain lancing through her temples.

The room pitched and swayed and she fell forwards, landing solidly in Hal’s arms. ‘Good God,’ he said huskily, ‘I must still be dreaming. Oh, to hell with it.’ And he kissed her, full on the mouth.

Sophie gave a little muffled squeak of surprise, then kissed him back with more enthusiasm than skill. No man had ever kissed her like this before. Henry had tried, but she had always ducked away, tolerating only a peck on the cheek. But this was the real thing, and it was wonderful.

Hal’s lips were hard yet gentle and she wondered at how that could be. Stubble from his unshaven chin grazed her skin, but that was strangely pleasurable too. And he was so warm. Sophie snuggled closer into his body, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt and her thin nightgown. She opened her eyes cautiously, but his were closed and his face intent. She felt her mouth yielding, opening under the pressure of his, which was very exciting until the tips of their tongues met. The frisson of pleasure was shocking and she recoiled with a little murmur of alarm.

The next thing she was aware of was Hal’s horrified blue eyes staring into hers. ‘Sophie? Oh, my God, I am sorry. I had no idea... I thought I was dreaming.’ He released her abruptly, then caught her again as she swayed on his knee. ‘What happened? What are you doing out of bed?’

‘I got up and I lost my balance and fell over and landed on top of you. I am sorry, I did not mean...’ But she could not find the words and could only gaze down to where her bare toes just showed below the hem of the borrowed nightgown. Still clasped in Hal’s arms she was aware of the blush that seemed to start at her toenails and reach to the crown of her aching head.

He got to his feet with an inarticulate oath, sweeping her up easily as he did so, and deposited her back in the bed in one stride. Sophie found the covers pulled up to her chin and tucked in tight before she could breathe. Well, he could not have made it plainer if he had written it in letters two feet high, she thought. He had half-woken from a dream to find his arms full of a woman and had reacted instinctively as any man, or at least, as any rake, would. But as soon as he realised who he was kissing he could not wait to tuck her up safely in bed again like a small child.

It was humiliating, and made even worse by the fact it was entirely her own fault. Hal looked furious as he stalked towards the open door, his fingers raking through his unruly black hair. Pulling the door wide he yelled, ‘Mrs Warren! Come up here, please.’

Sophie winced as the pain shot through her temples with the volume. ‘There is no need to shout,’ she protested as he began to pace irritably up and down the small room.

‘I’m sorry. Is your head very bad?’ He stopped at the foot of the bed and looked at her with concern on his face, but made no effort to come any closer.

Sophie explored the back of her head with tentative fingers. ‘Ouch! Well, it hurts no more than yours would if you had a bump this size on it and someone was shouting.’

‘Yes, I know it’s a large lump, I felt it when you were knocked out.’

A plump, harassed-looking woman appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Yes, sir? Oh, you’re awake, miss, how about a nice cup of tea?’

‘Thank you, Mrs Warren,’ Hal said swiftly before Sophie could reply for herself. ‘I am sure my sister would find that very acceptable, would you not, my dear?’

‘Er...yes, lovely,’ Sophie replied feebly. Thank goodness one of them was thinking clearly and had remembered their assumed identities as brother and sister.

As soon as the woman was out of the door Sophie demanded, ‘Where are we? What has happened to Elizabeth? And what name have you given Mrs Warren?’

Hal settled himself once more in the window seat, unconsciously tracing the bruise on his cheek with one finger. ‘We are in a small inn just outside the village of Hockcliffe. The carriage is in a ditch, unless John has managed to get it towed out by now, and I have no idea where Elizabeth is. I have told the landlady that I am Mr Hal Wyatt and you are my sister.’

His face was bleak but Sophie knew there was no reassurance she could give. They had been so close to rescuing the runaway: now it seemed as if nothing could stop Elizabeth’s elopement and the certain ruination of her life.

‘How long have we been here?’

‘About seven, eight hours. Long enough to ensure they will get away.’ He raised angry eyes to hers. ‘He will have to marry her, but that is not irrevocable.’

‘Divorce?’ Sophie’s eyes widened at the thought. ‘But, surely, that takes an Act of Parliament?’

‘Divorce?’ He laughed shortly. ‘Divorce was not what I had in mind.’

Sophie swallowed hard. She did not doubt that in his present mood Hal would kill Justin Fanshaw, if – when – he got his hands on him. She could not let that happen. ‘But you are still not too late. Go after them at once.’

'The carriage is wrecked.'

‘You do not need a carriage, you will travel faster on horseback.’

Hal started to reply as Mrs Warren arrived with the tea tray and the news that the doctor to see Miss Wyatt was expected at any minute.

As soon as the door was safely closed behind her again, Sophie said, ‘Surely there is a horse to be hired? You must go, you are losing precious time. I can imagine how Elizabeth is feeling. She will be frightened, worried and horribly sure she has done the wrong thing. She needs you.’

Hal looked at her. ‘You need me,’ he said flatly.

‘But I asked to come, it is not your responsibility. I am not your responsibility.’

Hal thrust out his booted legs and pushed his hands into his breeches’ pockets. ‘Of course you are my responsibility. I was damn fool to bring you, and now I have to look after you.’

Sophie took a gulp of cooling tea. It did not do much to improve the way she felt. This was all going horribly wrong. She tried again. ‘Mrs Warren seems a respectable woman, I am sure this is a perfectly safe place to leave me. When I am feeling better I can hire a maid from the village and a carriage to take us to London.’

‘And your brother?’

‘George?’ It was the first time she had given George a thought since this mad adventure began. ‘What can he do? Send me back to Bright’s Hill in disgrace again? I can assure you, that would be a great improvement on my life in London.’

‘You have simply not comprehended the true situation you are in. You must see – ’ He broke off at the sound of voices on the stairs.

Mrs Warren appeared with a middle-aged man at her side. ‘This is Dr Leys.’

He peered at her over the top of his eyeglasses. ‘Now then, young lady, what is all this I hear about a  carriage accident? Come, sir, out with you while I talk to your sister. Get some fresh air and I’ll clean up that cut on your temple before I go. Mrs Warren, please remain...’

 

Half an hour later Dr Leys called Hal back upstairs. ‘Well, your sister is a lucky young woman, sir. The bump on her head is large, but she has no fracture, and no sign of a brain fever. Another day in bed, quiet, some fortifying broth – go and kill a chicken, Mrs Warren, and start boiling it – and she will be as right as rain. Now, sir, downstairs to the parlour and I will take a look at you. Good day to you, Miss Wyatt, and remember what I told you.’

‘Yes, doctor. Thank you.’ It was a relief to lie back and not to have to remember who she was supposed to be.

 

Sophie dozed, soothed by a cordial Dr Leys had given her for the headache until she was woken by the sound of carriage wheels in the yard below. When she made her way cautiously to the window she saw John leading a pair of farm horses harnessed to their carriage. Other than some scars on the woodwork. it seemed intact.

Hal came out to talk to the coachman and Sophie pushed open the window, leaned over the sill and prepared to eavesdrop shamelessly.

‘The blacksmith’s done a good job, my lord, that axle’s like new and I’ve checked over all the traces and couplings. The horses, though, are no use to us, they’re all lame. I’ll have to go onto Stoney Stratford and hire a new team, then come back and pick you and the young lady up, Your… er, sir.’

Hal shook his head. ‘Yes, you will need to do that, but not today. We can go nowhere while my sister is confined to bed.’

Sophie stiffened. Stubborn man, he had not listened to a word I said. Well, I am not going to live with Lady Elizabeth’s fate on my conscience for the sake of an aching head.

Moving carefully she lifted her clothes off the chair and began to dress. She had to rest once or twice while putting her stockings on, but at last she was ready to tackle the stairs. She held tightly to the banister rail, got down safely and found Hal sitting brooding in the parlour, a pile of notepaper, a quill and standish and a flagon of ale on the table in front of him.

‘What the – ’ He leapt to his feet as Sophie appeared.

‘We are going after Elizabeth,’ she said more firmly than she felt. ‘We have wasted enough time already.’

‘But the carriage is not ready.’

‘Hal, I was listening at the window and I know all we need is for John to fetch the horses. If he goes now, we can have dinner and set out when he returns.’

‘No, it is out of the question. And you are going back to bed, if I have to throw you over my shoulder and take you there.’ He advanced towards her purposefully, clearly ready to carry out the threat.

‘If you do, Hal,’ Sophie said, more calmly than she felt, ‘I shall scream and when Mrs Warren arrives I shall tell her that I am not your sister and that you have abducted me and are a wicked seducer and she should send for the constable immediately.’

Her legs suddenly unsteady, Sophie flopped down on the settle and dared him to challenge her.

A short silence followed then, surprisingly, Hal grinned. ‘You know, Sophie, I am becoming increasingly resigned to my fate.’

‘What do you mean?’

Hal shook his head. ‘Never mind.’ He turned to the door. ‘John! Mrs Warren!’

He insisted that she write a letter to her brother before they set out, which she did, but only after a spirited argument which he won by pointing out that it was unfair to leave Fanny to break the news. This had not occurred to her, so after much chewing of the end of the quill, Sophie produced a brisk note, informing her brother that in order to accompany her new friend Miss Wyatt on a trip to relatives in the North she had deceived poor Fanny. She blithely informed him that he need not worry about her and she would no doubt write again at a later date.

‘I suppose that might keep the Bow Street Runners off our trail,’ Hal said as he handed Sophie into the carriage and settled the rug around her knees before taking his place opposite her. The team that John had brought from Dunstable was fresh and it seemed he was having trouble holding them steady. The carriage wheels rolled back and forth on the uneven cobbles of the inn yard as they backed and fidgeted in the traces.

‘Whoa!’ the coachman shouted, then, ‘Shall I let them go?’

Sophie, who had not felt nervous until that moment, felt a jolt of fear.