Chapter Fifteen
Having parted fromHarry at the gates to the Hall, Miranda rode slowly home. His attempt to insist on escorting her to her own front door had fallen on deaf ears. She might be gentle, but beneath that mild-mannered exterior beat a determined heart, and his exhaustion hadn’t escaped her. Her adamant refusal to do as he wished didn’t seem to have annoyed him too much, and she’d been pleased to see a sparkle in his otherwise tired eyes.
However, he’d rather amusingly laid down the law when they reached the gates of the Hall and virtually ordered her to leave him. Only after he’d assured her that one of the Millers would be bound to be in the stable yard to help him dismount in safety had she decided to oblige. Although a doubt remained as to his veracity, she had to admire his determination to be independent. She also had to admit to a certain curiosity about his war wounds, but doubted he’d be prepared to show them to her.
And now, as she rode slowly home, she was thinking about how he’d described the so recently ended war in Europe. It had perforce been only the part of the war he’d experienced for himself. So his description had been very much concerned with what he’d seen with his own eyes. In common with most people in Britain, had she but known it, she knew almost nothing of what war and battles were really like. She knew men died in terrible ways she couldn’t begin to imagine. She also knew how everyone was relieved Bonaparte hadbeen recaptured, but, apart from that, she found her ignorance of what the soldiery of Britain had gone through embarrassing.
Even in London, when she’d had her coming out nineteen years since, the part of society she moved in had been insulated from the horrors Harry had so eloquently described. London routs and balls had gone on as though nothing whatsoever was happening so few miles away in Europe. Only the peppering of bright army uniforms had hinted at the strife. The English Channel had served to isolate Britain from those horrors, cushioning her people in what she feared might have been a false sense of security. Of course, people had been horrified when the Terror had reigned in France, and she’d heard veiled references to it and the odd, frightened whisper that it might come to England next. But she’d only been fifteen and living at home with her parents in the depths of Warwickshire when the French had guillotined their queen. The English midland counties, for a girl her age who was still in the schoolroom, had felt safely separated from the anarchy happening in Europe.
In comparatively few words Harry, a man who’d seen the worst of it due to his profession, had brought it alive for her. The haunted look on his face as he’d told her how he’d come to be wounded had been enough to make it all too real. He’d made the famous Battle of Waterloo feel as though it had involved her, even though it hadn’t. Because the man telling her about it had been there, experienced the cannon fire and muskets, the mud and blood. And because, despite herself, she liked him and felt compassion for him and what he’d suffered. Liked him rather more than she should. And she could see before her what damage it had done to him.
What had he been like before war had left its scars on him? With all of that lodged in his head, no wonder he had dark shadows beneath his eyes. If, when she closed her eyes, she could see that morass of death, she wouldn’t be able to sleep.
A rumble of distant thunder disturbed the peace of the day and sheglanced upwards. Clouds were massing overhead and a wind shook the branches of the trees along the edge of the lane. A change in the balmy autumn weather was in the air. She clicked her tongue at Traveler and he broke into a trot. The first trot she’d had today. The moment she’d seen Harry on a horse she’d realized how painful it was for him and purposely suggested both the mounting block and keeping their pace to a sedate walk.
She didn’t want to get wet, and Traveler must have sensed the urgency to get home before the rain began, because he stepped out well in his trot, covering the ground with ease. Another click of her tongue and tap with her heel and he broke into an easy canter. Within minutes she was approaching the farm gate. With no one about, and feeling daring and, for once, young, she pointed her horse at the gate and pushed him on. He gathered himself for the leap, soared over the gate, and landed neatly on the gravel on the far side.
What fun. She should do that more often.
The front door opened and Lissy and Megs came running out, their loose hair blowing out behind them. They’d complain bitterly tonight when Betsey had to comb it out and braid it for bed.
“Mama, it’s going to rain,” Megs called, somewhat unnecessarily as large spots were beginning to fall. “We’ve come to help you get Traveler into the barn.”
By the time he was in there and tied up in his stall with a manger of hay and a measure of oats, the rain was rattling like gunfire on the barn roof. Summer was well and truly over, it seemed.
It rained all night and all the next day, the sky a threatening dark gray, when they could see it, so Miranda wisely told the girls to stay indoors. Much to her surprise though, first thing in the morning, despite the rain, they received a knock on the door. She opened it to find young Dick Fisher, their old gardener’s boy, standing there, water dripping from his hair as he’d taken his hat off and was clutching it to his chest. Despite being only sixteen, he was easily as tall as Harry andhis head was nearly brushing the roof of the porch.
“Sir Henry’s sent me down to work for you, milady,” he announced, sounding proud to have been selected. “Said you was to get me to do all the outside work. Anything you wanted. I’m your servant now, not his.”
He was Arthur the boot boy’s older brother by three years, and the difference those three years made was enormous. While Arthur was still very much a child, Dick already had the well-muscled appearance of a young man capable of real hard work. Brown eyes were set in a sun-tanned face liberally decorated by freckles, and only his cheekily upturned nose made him seem younger than he was.
“Dick!” Megs exclaimed in delight, peering around Miranda. “Have you brought Arthur?” Her usual partner in crime.
Dick shook his head. “No, Miss Margaret. He’s to stay at the Hall and do his work there. He’s indoor and I’m outdoor so Sir Henry sent me.”
Megs’ face fell. Perhaps she’d been hoping to return to her old habits, although not, hopefully, in the rain.
“Come inside before you get any wetter,” Miranda said, a little unsure she should be accepting his help. It felt a bit too much like charity. Not on Dick’s part but on Harry’s. Had she led him to think she needed it? Although, of course, she did. Not that she wanted to admit it. However… “I don’t know what he’s done this for, Dick. He knows I can’t pay you, and your mother needs your wages.”
Dick remained on the doorstep, a little sheltered from the rain by the porch. “He says you’re not to worry about that, milady. He’ll still be paying me, so my ma won’t go short.” He gave a shake of his tousled head. “And as for coming in, thank you, milady, but Sir Henry said as I was to do the outside work for you ladies. So I’d best start now. I’ll go and set about them stables if you don’t mind.”
Anger stirred in Miranda’s heart. Anger that Harry seemed to view them as a charity case. She opened her mouth, her intention being tosend Dick back to the Hall, but before she could, Lissy arrived at the door. “Hello, Dick. Thank goodness you’re here. I really wasn’t looking forward to doing stables this morning in the rain.”
Dick ducked a bow and grinned at her. “I don’t mind. Better than gardening in the rain, Miss Melissa. At least I’ll be mostly inside.”
“I can help with the stables,” Megs piped up. “I don’t mind getting wet.”
Miranda, regretting the decision before she even made it, but glad she’d taken a moment to consider it, shook her head. “If Cousin Harry has been kind enough to send Dick to help us, then we must make the most of it.” She wasn’t a fool. No point turning down help when it appeared, whatever her pride suggested. “And that will mean you girls can do lessons this morning instead. Go and find your books. All of you.”
Megs groaned.
Ignoring her youngest, Miranda turned back to Dick. “Thank you, Dick. It would be a great help if you could sort out the stables this morning. I fear none of us will be venturing out today in this rain so perhaps when you return to the Hall you might convey our thanks to your master.”
Dick tugged his wet forelock. “I will that, milady. And it’s no trouble at all for me to come down here every day. Sir Henry said as I should, and like I said, I prefer it, to be honest. I’d best be getting on with my work now, if you don’t mind.”
And off he went, splashing through the puddles in the yard.
Miranda closed the door and turned back to the kitchen. To find it now only held Betsey and was devoid of any of her daughters. Still, they didn’t have many places to hide. She’d find them and start their lessons. Not an undertaking she was looking forward to. If only she still had the wherewithal to pay Miss Mastin to do it for her.
