Page 69 of The Cornish Inheritance

Nat was lying on the bed, not in it, long legs outstretched. Was he dead or in a coma? She approached the bed. What a relief. His chest rose and fell as he breathed and he looked peaceful rather than at death’s door. Although the thought that someone about to die might look peaceful, too, surfaced.

“Nat?” She couldn’t keep the quaver out of her voice.

His lashes fluttered and he opened his eyes.

What a deep blue they were, just like those of Yves and Hetty, as blue as the sea on a summer’s day.

He pushed himself up on the bed with a wince as he leaned on his bad shoulder. “Ouch. Caroline. I didn’t think you’d come. I’m sorry. I was asleep.”

She set the tray down on the ornate table beside the window. “You need to eat something. Mrs. Teague did you a tea such as she just sent up to Yves and me.” She wanted to reach out and touch him, but held herself in check. She was the governess, he the son of the house. She must not take liberties.

“That’s very kind of you, and her.” He swung his legs off the bed and padded in stockinged feet over to the table. “This looks excellent and reminds me of nursery tea when I was a boy.”

Caroline couldn’t resist a snort. “We don’t often get eggs for tea in the nursery. Your stepmother seems to think little boys exist on thin air. Well, on thin bread and a scrape of butter.”

He sat down. “She only became like that after my father died. Poor Hetty and Yves. You’ll take tea with me?”

Mrs. Teague had sent two cups. Now why had she done that? Caroline sat down at the table, opposite to Nat, and poured the tea. “Sugar? It’s good in this sort of situation.”

He nodded and winced again. “Three spoonsful.”

She smiled. “Very bad for your teeth.”

He lopped the pointy end off one of the eggs and runny yolk ran down the side. “Just as I like them. And I don’t take three spoonsful normally. I’m just following your advice. We soldiers learn to look after our teeth, thank you.”

Caroline smiled. “As do we governesses.”

He broke off a piece of bread and dunked it in his egg. “The food of the gods.”

She watched him eat, sipping her hot tea. It was the best China tea and very aromatic. He looked much recovered with some color in his cheeks but not too much, and appeared to be using his right arm as much as the left, as though the pain had diminished considerably.

He’d finished the bread and eggs and picked up his cup of tea before she spoke again. “What happened to you?”

His eyes narrowed at her tone. “My girth broke, I assume, or the straps holding it to the saddle. Young Pascoe might be back with it by now. I might go down and look now I’m feeling so much better.” He regarded her with a thoughtful expression. “Bad luck, I assume. Duchess shied, the saddle came loose, I couldn’t save myself and by bad luck I was by a rocky gully. I rolled into it and spent much of the day lying sleeping in the sun, with a broken head and dislocated shoulder.” He wrapped one arm around his chest. “And my ribs feel as though they’ve been well trampled by a herd of wild horses. I thought at first they might be broken, but they’re not. Believe me when I say I know what that feels like.”

“They could be cracked.”

“I doubt it, as it doesn’t hurt too much to breathe. I’ve had broken ribs before and they were worse. I think in all probability they’re just bruised.”

She nodded, catching her bottom lip in her teeth. Dared she say anything to Nat? Would he be horrified at what she was suggesting, or would he be up in arms in defense of Yves, his grandfather, and himself?

Nat rose from the table. “I’ll put some shoes on and we can go down to the stables and see Young Pascoe and that saddle. Would you like to come?” A hopeful glint showed in his eyes, so winning that Caroline smiled at him.

“I would. Where are your shoes, and I’ll fetch them for you.”

With his shoes found and his feet slipped into them, they headed down the corridor to the gallery and from there down the stairs and into the passage to the stableyard. Caroline carried the tea tray to return to Mrs. Teague as they passed.

Young Pascoe was in the kitchen eating his supper, but he jumped to his feet when he saw Caroline and Nat.

Nat waved his free arm at him. “It’s all right, Tom. Sit down and keep eating. I don’t want to disturb you. Miss Fairfield and I are just on our way to the tack room to take a look at that saddle you went to retrieve.”

Tom Pascoe looked guilty and didn’t sit down. “I’m right sorry, Sir. I went and looked where you said it were, but I couldn’t find it not nowhere. I scoured the heather, and I found the gully you was in. There were fresh blood on a boulder from your head, I reckon, but not a sign of no saddle.”

Caroline stiffened. Nat had described exactly where to go, and Tom Pascoe had gone. But he’d had to sort out the flat cart first and no doubt do a few other chores in the stables. How long had the delay been? Long enough for anyone else who’d heard the directions in the hall to go and retrieve the sabotaged saddle. And dispose of it so Nat couldn’t find out what had gone wrong with it.

“Are you sure?” Nat asked, as though he didn’t quite believe Tom.

Young Pascoe nodded. “Proper sure, Sir. I looked around the whole top. I could see where you fell and rolled and hit that rock, right hard. Flattened heather where you’d lain. But no saddle.”