When a Rake Falls (9 page)

The women exited the room.

During their wait in the drawing room, Eve wrote her father, explaining their whereabouts. Once the letter was handed to Tut for the post, she joined the two women, and consumed four pots of tea and a great deal of yellow almond cake. Lady Buxton mostly remained silent and watched Eve with great attention, while Lydia inquired ceaselessly about the hardships of balloon travel, putting great emphasis on the effect of wind upon one's hair. She then offered Eve several recommendations of various bonnets found to be reliable in wind storms before the surgeon called them back into the sickroom.

“A week or two of bed rest and you'll be well enough to charm all the ladies in the house again,” Mr. Hulbart said as the women took their seats. “I've also given him a draught of laudanum, so he should sleep like an infant tonight.”

Eve strode to the bedside. “What is the prognosis, sir?”

Parker winked at her. “Seems my ribs took great umbrage from bouncing off a tree trunk into shrubbery. But I heal fast. Tomorrow I'll help you recover your book and then the day after escort you back to London.”

The surgeon snapped his leather case shut. “No, your lordship. You will do as I instructed and spend the next week or two in bed. If your ribs become inflamed, the consequences could be severe.”

Eve's mind raced after hearing the word “severe.” She certainly did not want to associate severe with Parker's injuries. She must insist he follow the doctor's orders and remain in bed. She even vowed to sit on him, to make him obey. “What can I do, sir?”

The surgeon turned to answer, his spectacles resting on the end of his nose. “See he gets bed rest and barley water. Any brand of restorative jelly is acceptable too. In my experience, there is nothing like restorative jelly to improve a patient's spirits. I will return tomorrow and check up on his progress.” Mr. Hulbart spoke softly to Lady Buxton for a minute or two.

Lydia stood to show the surgeon to his carriage. “I promise to nurse you later, dear Boyce.” The two of them left the room.

“Boyce, my dear,” Lady Buxton pronounced, “due to my advanced age, I have a great deal of experience with people. I can easily recognize a person thinking of noncompliance from across the room. Tomorrow, I will see that a nurse is engaged to enforce your bed rest.”

Parker opened his mouth in probable protest. “But—”

“Behave,” Lady Buxton admonished, pointing a finger.

He gave her a radiant smile. “My dear Lady Buxton, since I have given my word as a gentleman, I have an obligation to see our lady of science here returns to her father. My wounds are not serious enough to stop me in that endeavor, I can assure you.”

Lady Buxton glanced over to Eve, and to her astonishment, the older woman
winked
. “You will do as I say. I claim acquaintance with your father too, and I have confidence he will approve of my actions. We can all discuss this balloon and what's to be done tomorrow. Tonight, I insist you sleep. I will, of course, nurse you myself this evening. Tomorrow, our housemaid will do the job until a proper nurse arrives.”

Eve devised a logical plan so her hostess would leave him under her care, but there was something about the elder woman's air that spoke of resistance. The stubborn set of her jaw combined with the manner in which she stabbed her needlework indicated to her that England's most powerful steam engine could not move Lady Buxton if she did not wish it. “With your permission, I will stay with—”

“Cats,” Lady Buxton said.

“Pardon?”

“Do you like cats, Miss Mountfloy?”

“Why, yes, I have a ginger I am very fond of.”

Lady Buxton smiled, and the twinkling firelight reflecting in her eyes made her appear younger than her somber dress and gray hair suggested. “I love cats. Don't always know the mischief they are going to get into, of course. But sometimes you can predict their behavior. I have seven cats altogether and the prettiest is a white fluffy one with long fur. Her name is Annabel, and she is my favorite. A completely selfish, frivolous creature whose only talent is her fur. Three of my other cats are excellent mousers. I really have nothing against mice, you understand. Although they can ruin the walls in a shocking manner. Joe—my best mouser—once brought me three mice in one day. What a fine fellow. Nothing so worthy as a good mouser, is there, Miss Mountfloy?”

“Well, I—”

“But for some reason, I prefer the silly, useless Annabel. I spoil her shamelessly and have been known to give her sweets. I cannot help it, because she is happiest sitting upon my lap, and I value her affection. With such a true heart, I can easily forgive her faults.” She laughed. “She is beautiful too. Do you enjoy beauty, Miss Mountfloy?”

Parker's slow but steady breathing indicated he must be asleep.

Eve rose to check on him, and when she turned to answer the older woman, that lady watched her with a soft light in her eyes. “I think my balloon is beautiful. You should see it ascend into the air. No sight in the world is more magnificent than a balloon climbing into the heavens.” After Eve described her hopes for ballooning to assist mankind, the two women lapsed into silence. Finally, the excitement and toil of the day overwhelmed Eve, and she fell asleep in her chair. She woke upon hearing voices.

“Yes, my dear,” Lady Buxton pronounced, “his lordship's ribs are still in his body.”

Lydia giggled. “But, Mama, I worry so about his ribs. I just had to see if they were inflamed. I am not sure what inflamed ribs looks like, but for his own safety, I had to check.”

Eve straightened in her chair, rubbed her eyes, and found Lydia had pulled Parker's coverlet down to his waist, her hand rested upon his bare chest.

Likely still under the effects of the laudanum, he remained asleep.

“While I had never actually met his lordship previously,” Lydia said, “I find we have many acquaintances in common, so I consider him a most excellent friend. There is no gentleman in London who is said to be more amusing. And I do worry so.”

“I can imagine how amusing he is, my dear. Poor puss sacrificed all your London friends when you married Buxton, and now you're stuck way down here with only an old lady to amuse you.” The older woman took her daughter-in-law's hand. “You have a good heart to be concerned over his lordship's welfare. Now come away, and let's see if, between the two of us, we can find a room and some more suitable gowns for Miss Mountfloy to wear during her stay.” She tucked Lydia's arm under hers and addressed Eve. “I insist you sleep tonight in the room we have prepared for you. Tut will ensure you have everything you need. I will also arrange for Christine to be your maid while you are here at the priory. You cannot be an effective nurse for his lordship, you know, without a meal and a little rest.”

“Thank you,” Eve said.

“So wait here, and we will return when everything is ready.” Lady Buxton followed Lydia out of the room.

Eve concentrated on her plans to search for the
Results
book tomorrow. She had no worries about Parker's care, since tomorrow the ladies of the house would probably go out of their way to spoil him. But she could imagine numerous variables that might cause the book's destruction. Rain could damage the pages or animals might shred it to pieces for nesting material. She gulped. They could lose a year's worth of data in an instant. By the end of the day, she fell asleep only when she pictured herself holding the book.

* * *

The next morning, Eve attempted to open the casement window and discovered every muscle in her body announced its displeasure from yesterday's adventure. With her mind not fully awake, she yanked the leaded window open and flung it to the side. A soft wind refreshed her spirits, and she delighted in the promise of fine weather for the day ahead. With her mind now as clear as the pale blue sky above, she refocused on important matters. First was an assessment of Parker's condition, followed by the necessity of finding her father's
Results
book.

Upon entering Parker's room, she discovered him fast asleep. If he remained unable to move for a week, she must find another accomplice to help her search. Since her father would suffer financially from the book's loss, she hoped he and his assistant, Charles Henry, would arrive soon and join in the search. However, Charles Henry could not identify the terrain in the approximate area where the book was lost, while Parker could. She placed a finger on his neck to confirm his heartbeat.

Upon her soft touch, he opened his eyes. He stared fixedly at the ceiling and blinked several times. He turned his head and smiled after he recognized her. “Feel like I've gone ten rounds with Gentleman Jackson and lost. How long have I been here?”

“You have probably slept since yesterday evening.” She examined his face to determine if the bruises were healing normally. The hours he had spent without a shave had altered his normal boyish appeal. Now his dark lashes, uncombed locks, and whisker growth framed the brilliance of his grass-green eyes. She fought another overwhelming urge to place her hand on his cheek. This new desire to touch him must be an inherent female urge to provide comfort, she decided. At least, the hypothesis sounded logical.

“And you?” he asked. “I must say you look quite anxious. With all that crashing about, hitting trees, and dirty landings, I don't see how any person can travel by balloon and maintain acceptable standards of dress. Have they taken good care of you? Call Tut and let me have a word with him.”

“I'm well.” Eve lifted her fingers off his neck. “You will be pleased to hear that the ladies of the house have given me a half-dozen gowns to wear until mine can be cleaned and mended.”

“You gave quite a fine story for Lady B. Maybe you should write a book for me to edit and publish.”

“Listen, I expect to be out of the house within the hour. But I'm disappointed that you will be unable to join me.”

“Out of the house? Join you?”

“If I don't find my father's
Results
book, our research will be lost. I hoped together we could find the field I crashed in by locating the damaged turnips, and then you might be able to retrace your steps into the woods. If we discover the location of your fall, we can begin our search for the book from there.”

With a short groan, he managed to sit upright. “Not as bad as expected, although not quite as pluck as anticipated. Yes, yes, well enough to drive you to the woods. Afterward, when I return you to your father, all will be set to rights—daughter, balloon, book, minus a few birds with a tale to tell. You know once we reach the woods, maybe we'll see our friend the pigeon.” Crossing one arm over his lap to adjust the coverlet to a greater degree of modesty, he moaned in heart-wrenching pain.

She stood, looking at his neck and upper chest. “You are in no condition to drive me anywhere.” He sported several bruises on his chest; the dark red marks stood out in contrast to his fair skin and light brown chest hair.

He imprisoned her hand. “Miss Mountfloy, I want to…” A serious expression settled upon his face, and it was quite unlike anything she had seen before.

Unsure of the feelings that now took hold of him, she worried he might be blaming himself again for her predicament. Both of them agreed to the journey. And while at the time she yelled at him to rescue the book, not her, she now realized how ridiculous it was to value a book over human life. “You want to sing, is that it?”

He grinned. “I am so pleased you want to hear me sing, but not now. I just want to make everything right for you. Unfortunately, I am unable to do so at present. Maybe tomorrow will be different. Can you postpone your search until tomorrow? I'm sure I can help you after another day of rest.”

Waiting was not an option. She could not risk the book being damaged. “Don't worry. I'll drive out and survey the area. Tomorrow we will see how you feel. I know you have every reason to get well soon and resume your pursuit of Lady Sarah.”

His lovely eyes widened and shone bright green. “Yes, yes, indeed, but your concerns are my first priority. It was my ambition that led to the loss—temporary, I'm sure—of your book. I'll write to my brother, Richard. He will help us.” He pulled her hand to his lips, then kissed it.

It took all of her control to keep her eyes open. She also fought the urge to caress his cheeks or run a finger along the length of his lips. But most unlike her—silly goose she had become—the hollow in his throat pleaded for a soft caress. She stared at it and could not look away.

He gracefully kissed her hand again. This time his lips lingered on her skin.

Her breathing stopped, and she felt her knees go weak.

After a swift knock, the door opened.

Eve dropped his hand like a hot coal, eliciting a short laugh from him. Obviously, she must analyze her remarkable defect in breathing at a more convenient time.

Lady Buxton entered, followed by Lydia. Lady Buxton hesitated, evaluated the situation, and then strolled into the room. “Is our guest feeling better today?”

This morning, Lydia wore a yellow muslin gown covered with a lace overlay that appeared to float in obvious disregard to the forces of gravity. The fabric's lightness would even befuddle Newton. She stood by Parker's bed and adjusted her sleeve. “Oh, feeling better today, dear Boyce? You must get well, you know, for all our sakes.”

He grinned. “That is very sweet of you, Lydia, but I must impose upon your hospitality for a little while longer. Not quite up to my normal sangfroid at the moment. But I hope you will assist my friend here finding her father's
Results
book in the woods. It fell out of the balloon, you see, and she must recover it.”

“Don't fret over the boy, Lydia. Sit down.” Lady Buxton turned to face Eve. “How can we be of service, Miss Mountfloy?”

“Thank you, ma'am. Perhaps I may borrow a cart today? I would like to visit the crash site and retrieve anything that might have been lost.”

“What is this book Lord Parker mentioned?” Lady Buxton smoothed her stiff bombazine skirt around her.

His lordship eagerly answered her question. “The book contains her scientific results that I must recover. Indeed, I must ensure Miss Mountfloy, together with her book, is returned to her father. The book fell from the balloon just before I suffered my mishap, so I am the only person who can find it. I'd hate to think scientific progress could be lost because of me.” He moved his arm to pull back the coverlet but stopped and groaned. “Perhaps not today though.”

“So once you find this book,” Mrs. Buxton inquired, her mouth slightly open, “you will leave us?”

Lady Buxton stared at her daughter-in-law before turning to Eve. “Then the book must be found immediately. Tut!”

Parker nodded. “She should have a chaperone for her own safety too, Lady B.”

“Of course, son, you are not to worry.”

“I cannot spare my servants today. They are all busy,” Lydia said. “But Christine is free to assist dear Eve—”

“Thank you. I'll begin my search this instant.”

Everyone let out words of protest at the same time, but the assembled company eventually acquiesced.

After donning a serviceable flax-colored dimity gown, Eve headed to the stables first to check up on her balloon. She found it neatly folded in the corner, next to the basket. Upon examination of the pile of instruments by its side, she discovered many of them missing. They likely fell out of the basket like Parker. A knot in her stomach formed when she considered her father's disappointment at the loss of his instruments, so she must do her best to recover all of them when she searched the woods.

Soon traveling in the same elegant gig Lydia had driven the day before, she and Christine headed for the turnip fields. They passed the home farm and then came to a fork in the road.

Unsure of exactly which road to take, Eve stood to survey the entire area. Off in the distance to her right, she observed a line of the priory's servants headed in the direction of the trees where the woods began. To her left, Spanish turnips grew in a field that might be the one she was looking for, so she urged the horse left, down the lane to the fields.

After ten minutes, they met Mr. Muckles and Jem, each carrying a hoe. Mr. Muckles touched his hat and greeted her.

“Are you weeding turnips today?” Eve inquired.

“No.” Mr. Muckles spat over his shoulder. “Missus has special work for Jem and me off in de woods o'er dere.” He pointed off to her right.

Eve twisted around and noticed he chose the same stand of woods the servants had entered. “What kind of job?”

“A sort of fetch'n job, miss.” He put his hand on Jem's back and pushed him forward. “Now you enjoy your ride. Maggie dere is a fine beast. She'll lead you into no harm, dat one.”

She watched him disappear before heading the gig further down the lane. “Do you know what this fetching job is, Christine?”

“No, miss.” Christine pulled the brim of her bonnet lower to shield her face from the sun—or Eve's scrutiny.

She had no reason not to believe Christine, since she appeared a forthright, honest housemaid. Still, it seemed strange the housemaid possessed no idea of the other servants' assignments, since Lydia had claimed they were all busy today. She suspected the servants had been ordered to search the woods to find the book.

Urging Maggie forward, they came upon the first evidence of disturbed turnips. She left Christine and the gig at the edge of the woods and gingerly walked into the turnip field. A long swath of disturbed earth cut across numerous, perfectly manicured rows. The dirt gash ended in a fifty-foot area completely leveled by the wagons used to rescue its occupants and remove the balloon.

Upon careful examination of every square inch surrounding the spot where the balloon had rested, Eve could not find her lost instruments or anything of value left behind. The area contained a few pieces of rope and the remains of a ballast bag.

Returning to the gig just under a cool canopy of the woodland's trees, Eve bid Christine to stay where she was while Eve searched the woods. She began by inspecting the light undergrowth for a path but found none. Heading directly toward the estimated spot of the brown tree, she stepped into the undergrowth. The fern and bracken shrubbery soon became thick. The foliage reached her waist, and she had trouble wading ten feet, much less the thousand or so feet she estimated was needed to reach the brown tree.

After what seemed like hours of gradually moving toward the center of the wood, carefully searching under every bush, she sat against the trunk of a hornbeam tree to catch her breath. By her calculations, she should have been near the spot of the brown tree, but she had kept her eyes on the canopy above her and failed to see any such tree. She concluded all future searches would be laborious and require a large number of people.

When rested, she started her search again. A long time passed and ended in failure to find the book. Somehow, the woods appeared even denser. Pushing sharp bushes aside, she cut her hands until they bled and began to pain her. Feeling tired and cold, she sat at the base of a sweet chestnut tree, dumbfounded over her predicament. From the air, the stand of woods appeared a mere island amongst the fields, but now, deep within it, the thick clump of trees seemed as though they must have been over a mile in diameter. A person could easily get lost in woods a couple of miles wide.

She needed to remain calm and not panic. Logic recommended she retrace her steps in the direction she had taken to find her way out. She kicked herself for not making a mental map of the landmarks, like trees, during her journey.

How could she be such an idiot to get lost?

Furious at herself for inadequate planning, she stood and wiped off the collection of leaves now ornamenting her dirty gown. The question became: which direction had she left Christine and the gig? Taking the blame for failing to bring a compass, she tried to locate the sun's position through the treetops. Her theory was that if she could determine the direction of the sunlight, she could use that as a fixed point to head in one direction without going in a circle. This worked for several yards, but she found herself in spots where the thick canopy of trees hid the sunlight falling on the treetops. This made it difficult to determine the correct orientation of the sunlight and thus the appropriate direction to escape the woods and return to the gig.

Blast
. A quick search of the ground for evidence of her previous tracks revealed that they too became easily lost within feet, so retracing her steps would be difficult to almost impossible.

Her next theory was to walk in the direction of a light breeze. If she could feel a breeze on her cheeks, it might be coming from the direction of open fields. So she struggled forward, wading through the shrubbery. At least an hour later, she came upon the same sweet chestnut where she had rested earlier. Now truly exhausted, she collapsed on a large root and caught her breath.

She had made a terrible mistake, but self-recrimination would not help. Cold and hungry, she felt like taking a small nap before she resumed her efforts to escape, but warning bells went off in her brain. Similar to high altitudes, sleep preceded unconsciousness, and she had no desire to expire beneath this lovely tree.

Blast
. She stood. The day had lengthened into afternoon, and she could no longer think about the book or search for it. Her strength failed her completely and even a single step became difficult. Her only choice at this point was to wait for help, counting on the fact that Christine knew her last location and would return to the priory to tell them of her disappearance. She sighed and forced herself to concentrate. What else could she do to free herself? Mr. Muckles and Jem came to mind, weeding the fields. Perhaps if she yelled, they might hear her. “Mr. Muckles, help! Help, somebody, help!” She yelled in this matter for at least ten minutes, stopping each time to listen for a reply. Finally, her voice became hoarse, so she put her fingers to her mouth and whistled. Startled birds rising from the canopy of trees provided the only results of her whistling experiment.

With her strength exhausted, all she could do now was wait—wait and pray someone would find her. Indeed, she resolved to remain in one spot, so if a rescuer searched for her, they wouldn't miss each other. She made herself comfortable on a bed of leaves in a slight clearing under a large ash tree.

Approximately an hour later, the sunlight began to fade with the coming dusk. She wondered when Christine would return to the priory and summon help, and about the difficulty of any rescue party actually finding her before the light faded altogether. Finally, her thoughts turned to Parker. What did he mean in the balloon when he asked to show her freedom? Now she might never have the chance to discover the meaning of his words.

A tear gathered—surely one of exhaustion, that's all. She glanced up at the last gleam of sunlight dancing on the treetops. She closed her eyes and remembered him singing a lovely song about clouds. “Roll de roll de. Roll de roll di.”

If she was never found, would Parker feel sad at her eventual death from the cold nights? Would he miss her? Would he continue his race without giving her demise a second thought? She knew that if the tables were turned, she'd be heartbroken. A tear fell as she thought about him: his laughter during the ascension, his silly songs, and his love of nature. Her heart actually began to pain her.

If Parker stood before her now, what would she do? Seek happiness and reach out for him? She vowed that if she ever saw him again, she would run into his arms and kiss him senseless.

Like Tom in his final moments, she would act upon the emotions filling her heart and not the logic of her head. Tom had had a sweetheart when his ship had foundered—something to live for. He had recognized that same reason to live in others, so he had risked his life to save them. His efforts had saved many men wanting to return safely to their loved ones and sweethearts too.

Upon hearing of Tom's sacrifice, her father, in his grief, had mocked Tom as weak and sentimental. Now she realized her father's reaction had stopped her from opening her heart to find her own sweetheart, and had led to her single-minded pursuit of knowledge for the betterment of mankind.

Her chest constricted, giving her the feeling of being caged and unable to breathe. She remembered the butterfly. Her efforts to gently catch it while the animal rested on a tall gladiolus in her garden; then, carefully placing the butterfly in a small, dark cage with only enough space between the wicker strands to receive air. Rapidly blinking to clear her vision from unshed tears, she recalled Parker's tender words to the animal to travel safely. Then she remembered her last sight of the little creature, its wings folded in death, resting in Parker's palm as he lifted it into the breeze.

Hot tears gathered and fell. She would never contribute to the world's knowledge or find the happiness of a wife and mother. Here, in the cold, against this tree, in a day or two, she would die within walking distance from her bed at the priory.