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“Dear God, one of the boats has overturned!’ Fanny screamed, hiking up her skirts and flying down the slippery stone steps that wound to the bottom. Her precious Katherine was barely six and unable to swim.
With a cry of pain as her ankle turned, Fanny had to stop on the second level and support herself against the wall by the archers’ slits while the two men passed her on the stairs. Her heart pounded against her rib cage as she stared through the narrow window, searching vainly for more timely assistance that might be rendered the vulnerable children, then screamed again when, in the distance, she caught sight of Katherine’s dark head as the little girl floundered in the murky water, her white cambric dress bubbling up about her.
Despite her pain, Fanny continued to the bottom of the staircase to the lawn, her breath rasping as she saw Antoinette far away by the manor house, her sister only turning now and becoming aware something was wrong as Mr Patmore pounded down the slope.
Fanny tore after him, scanning the far distance before she saw the most incredible sight. The previously marble-like Miss Eliza Montrose had left her sanctuary and was at the water’s edge, as fleeting as a hare. Now she was plunging into the lake, and with strong, expert strokes had almost reached Nanny Brown, who was clinging to the side of the non-upturned boat. The two children and their nursemaid in the other boat surged over to the side, hands wildly clawing for Katherine, who mercifully gripped the older woman’s hand, and Fanny was just thanking God her precious child was safe, when that boat suddenly flipped, plunging the others—including Young George and Jack—into the water.
“Dear God, no!” In all her life, Fanny had never felt so helpless, so frightened, and so at the mercy of the gods. Her ankle be damned! Her feet barely touched the ground as she flew across the lawns, praying for forgiveness for all the terrible things she’d done, tho
ugh she hadn’t been so bad, surely? Fanny’s many past detractors had warned her she’d one day be called to account for her sins, but what god would punish an innocent child? Besides, Fanny’s transgressions had been done in the name of self-preservation.
Jaw clenched, eyes trained ahead, she could see in her peripheral vision that her sister was now tearing down the slope—screaming. Meanwhile, Miss Montrose had reached one of the upturned boats, but there was too much flailing and splashing for Fanny to deduce what was happening.
Then—dear Lord! Miss Montrose disappeared beneath the water. Did she no longer have the energy to save them? Were they all to be consigned to a watery grave?
“Save them! Oh, please save them!” she shrieked, placing all her hopes now in Mr Patmore, who had just torn off his jacket to plunge into the water.
But it was Miss Montrose who came up triumphant, emerging at the water’s edge, staggering out of the shallows with two bedraggled children, one under each arm. Fanny arrived the moment she dropped them ashore, before she wordlessly turned back, wading through the water, her expression dogged, her breath coming in short bursts.
Mr Patmore, who had since disappeared in a spray of water, rose from the shallows after righting one of the boats and tossing the nursemaid into it. Bedraggled Nanny Brown was too heavy, so clung to the side as he towed the boat back to shore.
Fanny was just heaving a sigh of relief when Antoinette arrived at her side, slipping on the wet grass, barely coherent as she cried, “Where’s George? Dear God, the children are all accounted for except Young George!”
The sisters shaded their eyes to gaze across the lake, glittering beneath the high sun, Fanny turning to George Bramley who was standing, dry-footed, at the lake’s edge. “Find Young George!” She gripped his lapels and shook him. “He must be under the water still! Go!” She had to push the odious creature into the murky depths to find his own son, realising with a jolt of horror that she was forcing him to save the life of the one creature who stood between him and inheriting his uncle’s title and estate.
There was no time to see how far reluctance would have stood in the way of decency and duty, for at that moment, Miss Montrose rose from the depths clutching the collar of the bedraggled young George, who sucked in a huge breath and began to splutter and then cry as he was deposited on the shore by the other children.
The three youngsters, nanny, and nursemaid had all been saved from drowning through the efforts of Mr Patmore, and, perhaps more remarkably, Miss Montrose—who stood staring down at them as if she too couldn’t quite believe what had happened.
Antoinette was weeping, crouched over Young George, while Jack the foundling lad looked as he’d just had a wonderful adventure, and Katherine was just fine, dancing about the others, taunting Young George for being a crybaby. She didn’t need her mother. But then, she never had, Fanny thought a touch sadly. Miss Independence was her Katherine.
Fanny moved forward to thank Miss Montrose, but Mr Patmore cut across her, putting his hand on Miss Montrose’s shoulder.
His voice was full of wonder. “Miss Montrose, you were remarkable. Where did you learn to be so…fleet of foot and…like a fish in the water?”
She blinked as if coming out of a daze. Then she smiled, and because the young woman had never smiled, Fanny noticed she was suddenly transformed into a beauty. “I grew up by a river. My brother and I swam in it all the time.” She began to shiver, and Mr Patmore called out. “We need a blanket. Miss Montrose is in shock. Hurry!”
A servant was soon running down the grassy slope with a blue woollen blanket which Mr Patmore wrapped around Miss Montrose, rubbing her vigorously at first, before turning her in his arms to look down into her face. And Fanny, who was about to take Katherine in her own arms, caught a fleeting glimpse of the look that passed between Mr Patmore and Miss Montrose, and was most intrigued.
Chapter 2
Eliza had forgotten what it felt like to enjoy a man’s attention. Mr Patmore had started to dry her in a vigorous attempt to warm her, but then his touch gentled, and he simply stared down at her.
The wonder in his eyes as he murmured words of praise was a rare sensation. Embarrassed, she turned away. Yes, turned away because she could not afford to be so obviously disquieted by another man when she was affianced to George Bramley, who stood a few feet away from her. Mr Bramley was also staring, but there was no softness in his countenance.
Hoping to avoid any more gestures of admiration or kindness from Mr Patmore, Eliza politely extricated herself and put her hand out to arrest the progress of the foundling home lad whom Nanny Brown was pursuing with a piece of dry linen.
His impish grin reminded her of young Miss Katherine’s, Lady Fenton’s daughter. Clearly, the two had had a great adventure, unlike Young George, who was lying on his stomach upon the grass, shaking with sobs.
“Did you drink a lot of water, Young George?” Eliza asked, looking down at the crying boy, but he ignored her.
“I said we shouldn’t go out! I said!” He pounded his fists on the ground. “No one ever listens to what I say!”
Eliza shared a wry smile with the rather lovely Mr Patmore. He was still staring at her and, disconcertingly, looked about to approach her again. To deflect him, she knelt to address the foundling boy. Eliza would not have Mr Bramley—or anyone else—accuse her of encouraging the attentions of a man not her betrothed.
“Jack—that’s your name, isn’t it? Well, you’ll have something to tell them back at the foundling home.” She’d seen him only from a distance and now, mud bespattered and with his hair matted over his forehead, it was difficult to make out his features, though she knew from various anecdotes that young Jack distinguished himself for keeping Miss Katherine’s wilfulness in check, and peace between Katherine and her cousin, Young George.
Jack stood obediently before her as he started to wring out his threadbare shirt. “Nah, I’m fine, m’lady,” he said, glancing up to reveal a pair of small white teeth in a freckled face. “But thanks for savin’ me, an’ all.”
