Читать книгу No Other Love - Candace Camp, Candace Camp - Страница 10

NICOLA TURNED AWAY FROM THE FALLS, her eyes blinded with tears. The memory of that day ten years ago was as clear as if it had happened yesterday. She could still remember the sick, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach as she sat there, staring numbly at the cliff’s edge. Shock and disbelief had swamped her. Her heart was already stricken with grief, but her mind could not yet grasp the facts. Gil couldn’t be dead!

Then a new thought had entered her mind, and she had jumped to her feet, shaky but filled with hope. “Maybe he didn’t die! Maybe he’s down at the bottom of the gorge—hurt!”

“Impossible. He could not have survived the fall. You know the rocks around there.”

“But there is water, too! He could have fallen into the water.”

“No. You must not go down there. It would be too horrible a sight.”

But she had ignored Richard, running to her horse and clambering onto it to ride down and around to the entrance of the gorge. Once she reached the mouth of the gorge, she rode back up its length to Lady Falls. It was the only way to get to the area below them; the walls of the gorge were too precipitate beside the Falls. But it took an inordinately long time, and by the time she reached the spot below the cliff where Gil had fallen, it was late afternoon, and the high walls of the gorge cast deep shadows all around the pool where the waterfall emptied.

There was no body on the rocks or ground, though she and Richard, who had insisted on accompanying her, had searched all over, clambering over rocks. Nor could she see Gil’s body in the pool, dug deep by years of erosion.

“Nicola…let me take you home. This is fruitless. Surely you can see that. His body is either at the bottom of the pool or it was swept downriver. In either case, the boy is long since dead. If the fall didn’t kill him, he surely drowned. Please…”

“He’s not dead!” she had shrieked. “He’s not! I know it! I would feel it if he were. He’s alive! He fell into the water and must have been swept down the river, but he could still be alive. He just got out farther downriver.”

They rode back through the gorge at a much slower pace than they had taken coming in, searching the narrow river and its banks for sign of a man. There was no sign of him. It was almost dark by the time they reached the mouth of the gorge, and Nicola had allowed Richard to escort her home. “I am sorry,” he had said as he helped her down from her horse at Buckminster. “I was angry, yes, but you must know that I never meant him to die.”

Nicola had nodded numbly.

“I tried to save him. You saw that. But our hands were wet, and we couldn’t hold on. He slipped out of my grasp.” When Nicola said nothing, he went on. “I will send for the magistrate and tell him what happened. Don’t worry. I will make sure that your reputation isn’t harmed by it. We cannot let anyone know that you were out there with a groom.”

“I don’t care about my reputation!” Nicola had snapped. “And he’s not dead! I know it.”

“Of course.”

He had spoken quietly to her mother, who later insisted that Nicola drink some nasty tonic that a doctor had given her. Nicola had then gone to her bedroom, certain that she would never be able to sleep, but wanting some blessed solitude while she waited out the long, dark night. She had been surprised to find that she went to sleep almost immediately, and the next day, when she woke up, it was almost noon. She realized then that her mother must have given her some of her laudanum, doubtless on the Earl’s suggestion.

Shaking off her grogginess, Nicola had ridden back to the gorge and searched it from one end to the other in the daylight. But there was no sign of Gil. She went back home, hoping that there had been some word from Gil that he was all right, but there had been no message for her. She refused her mother’s tonic that evening and as a consequence spent a long, restless night, remembering each detail of Gil’s plunge off the cliff and repeating to herself all the reasons why Gil might still be alive. He was young and healthy, and obviously he had fallen into the water instead of onto the hard rocks. The pool was deep, so he would not have hit the bottom. And he had told her that he was a strong swimmer. He had to have survived. He had to.

But as the days passed and no word had come from Gil, the knowledge that he must be dead had weighed more and more heavily upon her. If he were alive, she knew that he would have contacted her somehow. She had managed to think of reasons why he might have delayed contacting her—he was delirious, perhaps, or lying unconscious somewhere, or had broken his arm so that he could not write. But as time went by, even those gloomy hopes faded.

Day after day she had waited, and no message had ever come. Nicola knew then that Gil was indeed dead. She had sunk into depression, not eating, not sleeping, refusing some days even to get out of bed.

The magistrate had come and asked her a few gentle questions, and she had told him that yes, the Earl had reached down to grab Gil, but he had slipped out of Richard’s grasp, that yes, it had been an accident. She had realized after a time that the magistrate believed that Nicola and Richard had been out for a ride together, with Gil along to take care of the horses. She had started to protest, but then she realized that it didn’t really matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

One day, two weeks later, her aunt had come for a visit and swept Nicola back to London with her. At first Nicola had not wanted to go, still clinging to a faint, desperate hope that one day Gil would get in touch with her. But her aunt had refused to take no for an answer, and Nicola had realized finally that she could not continue to stay here, soaking in her misery, surrounded by all the places and things that reminded her of Gil and their brief love.

She had taken one last ride up to Lady Falls to say her farewell to Gil. She had stood for a long time at the edge of the Falls, looking out over the green gorge, then down, following the silver spray of water to where it splashed into the gorge below. Finally, she turned away, and as she did so, a flash of gold just below the rim of the gorge caught her eye. She looked again, her eyes focusing on the small, thorny bush that grew out of the cliffside less than a foot below the edge. She spotted the wink of gold again, and she dropped down onto her knees at the edge of the cliff, her heart beginning to pound. There, caught in the thorny foliage, was the ring Gil had given her. When Richard had torn it from her neck and tossed it away, it must have fallen into this bush and caught. It had been here for all these weeks, just waiting for her!

Almost sick at the thought that she had almost missed the ring, Nicola lay down flat on the ground and inched forward, reaching down over the edge of the cliff until she could reach the little bush. Her fingers closed around the ring, and she wriggled backward, clutching it in her hand. This much, at least, she had of Gil; she would always have it.

She had pocketed the ring, her heart less heavy than before, and had ridden back to Buckminster. The next day she had gone to London with her aunt.

NICOLA TURNED AND WALKED AWAY from the Falls, her hand going unconsciously to her pocket, where the ring lay. It had been her habit through the years to wear the ring hidden from the eyes of others on a long chain underneath her dress, except when she wore a dress, as she did today, that would have revealed the ring. At first it had served as a kind of talisman, a reminder of Gil that comforted and strengthened her, helped her through the worst days of sorrow and pain. Now she had worn it so long that it had become almost second nature, something she rarely thought about.

Leading her horse to a rock, she mounted and rode away from the Falls. She turned toward the village, riding cross-country until she reached the country lane that led to the village from the south. She stopped at the vicarage first, politely calling on the vicar’s wife. But she kept her visit short, know that the amiable, gentle vicar’s wife would have no answers to any of the questions she was filled with.

As she was leaving, the housekeeper came around the side of the house to intercept her. It seemed that the cook had come down with catarrh, and the scullery maid had a bad case of chilblains. Nicola went around to the side door and gave the cook a tonic containing hyssop and elder flowers, and the maid a small tin of arnica cream.

“Yer a sweet girl, Miss Falcourt, and that’s the God’s truth,” the housekeeper said, smiling broadly. “Me sister Em told me how you cured the itchin’ on her feet for her last month, and I told Cook as soon as I saw ye this afternoon that ye’d do the same for her.”

“Your sister Em?” Nicola asked. “Are you Mrs. Potson’s sister?”

Nicola wouldn’t have thought it possible that the woman’s smile could broaden any more, but it did. “That’s right! Ain’t you the downy one?”

“How is your sister?”

“Feeling pretty well these days, though she gets down in her back sometimes, but that comes from lifting too much. I tell her, time and time again, to let that girl of hers do more of the work, but she lets that Sally twist her round her little finger, she does. Ah, well…” She shrugged expressively. “There’s no tellin’ her.”

Nicola smiled. She wouldn’t have thought anyone could twist the redoubtable Mrs. Potson around her finger. She certainly ran her large, quiet husband and the rest of the household, as far as Nicola could see.

Her first stop after the vicarage was the inn. It was owned by Jasper Hinton, a man as thin and small as his wife was tall and large. They were unalike in most every other way, as well, he being a nearly silent man with more liking for numbers than for people, and his wife Lydia a gregarious soul who would rather talk than eat—and it was obvious that she enjoyed her food a good deal. The inn and adjoining tavern were a natural location for local gossip and news, and Lydia’s consuming interest in people and everything they were doing made it even more of an information center.

It would also be a natural place to rest and drink something refreshing after her ride—and there was always a serving girl or ostler or scullery maid who was ill and in need of one of her remedies.

When she turned into the yard, Nicola was greeted with a great roar of delight from the head ostler, who hurried across the yard, shoving one of the boys out of his way so that he could help Nicola down himself. “Miss Falcourt! I heard you was up at Tidings these days, but I didn’t believe it. Not there, I says, never known her to go there, and she were here at Buckminster only a month ago.”

“I know. But I came back to visit my sister.”

“That’s good of ye. Here, Jem, come take the lady’s horse—and rub him down good, I’m tellin’ ye. I’ll be checkin’ to see how ye’ve done.” He handed the reins of Nicola’s horse over to the youngster he’d shoved aside and walked with Nicola toward the door of the inn. “How is your sister? She’s a good lady, though we don’t see her much.”

“No. I am afraid Deborah doesn’t get out a lot.” Nor had Deborah ever had the same interest in the common people that Nicola had had, though she was offhandedly kind and reasonable with the servants. “How is your eye, Malcolm?”

The older man looked immensely pleased. “Now, isn’t that just like ye to remember a little thing like that? It’s fine now, thanks to that salve you give me. Worked like a charm, it did.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“There’s no one with your touch with cures, miss—not now that Granny Rose is gone, God rest her soul.”

“I’m afraid I will never know as much as she did.”

The ostler nodded. “She were that good. Why, she could walk through the woods and name every flower and plant in it—and what you could use it for. Learned it from her mam, and her mam from hers before that, and so on. They were always healin’ women.”

They reached the front door, the end of the ostler’s domain, and he bade Nicola a cheerful goodbye, turning back to the yard and bellowing an order at one of his hapless charges. Nicola smiled and went into the inn. Lydia Hinton was already hurrying down the hall toward her, wiping her hands on her apron, her face wreathed in smiles.

“Miss Falcourt! Bless the day! I never thought to see you back so soon. When that chit Susan told me you were in the yard, I didn’t believe her. Come into the private parlor and rest.”

Mrs. Hinton believed in the proper order of things, and she would have been horrified to have sat down with Nicola in the kitchen for a good gossip. A young lady belonged in the private parlor, and she would never think of sitting down with Nicola until Nicola let her bring her food and drink—and then only if Nicola insisted on her doing so. So they went through their usual ritual, with Mrs. Hinton helping her off with her cloak, bringing her tea and cakes, and not making a move toward a chair at the table until Nicola asked her to join her and overrode her first refusal. Then, at last, as they had both known she would, Lydia settled down in the chair opposite Nicola for a cup of tea and a nice hour of gossip.

There were the usual amenities to be observed first—Nicola inquired about Mr. Hinton and their children, and the workers at the inn, listening with interest to the other bits of local gossip that Lydia found of particular importance—before Nicola could get down to the question that burned in her mind. But at last there was a pause in the conversation as Lydia sat back in her chair and took a sip of tea.

Nicola set down her own cup and asked casually, “And what of this highwayman, Mrs. Hinton?”

“Highwayman?” Lydia repeated innocently, and Nicola could almost see her mind racing behind her carefully blank eyes.

“Yes. The highwayman,” Nicola repeated a bit wryly. “He stopped my carriage last night, you know.”

“No!” Mrs. Hinton set down her cup with a clatter, looking genuinely shocked. “Now, he hadn’t ought to have done that, Miss Falcourt. Not to you. I mean, it’s one thing when it’s his—” She stopped abruptly, then added lamely, “Well, there’s no call to be stopping a lady like yerself.”

Nicola smiled faintly. “If you are worrying that I might tell the Earl anything you say to me, you needn’t. Exmoor and I are not on the best of terms.”

“It’s clear you haven’t visited them before all these years…” Lydia admitted. “But blood is thicker than water, they say—”

“Exmoor and I share no blood!” Nicola snapped, her gray eyes suddenly silver with emotion. “My sister’s foolish decision to marry the man does not bind me to him in any way. I think you know me well enough to know that I have no interest in hurting anyone. Did I ask how young Harry got shotgun pellets in his thigh last month when it was clear as day that he must have been poaching? Did I tell Lord Buckminster or his gamekeeper that I had given him salve after his father had dug out the pellets and left him with a raging infection? I did not. I put it on and bound him up and never said a word to anyone. And Bucky is my dear cousin—if I did not tell him, you can be sure I would never reveal anything detrimental to Lord Exmoor, whom I despise.”

Lydia flushed. “It’s that sorry I am, miss. I know you wouldn’t be tellin’ on anyone. It was just, well, you know, you are livin’ at Tidings now, and your sister is his lady.”

“I know.” Nicola smiled at her. She understood the woman’s innate distrust of a member of the aristocracy. No matter how well one might get along with the common people, there was always the possibility that, when it came to something important, one would revert, would come down on the side of one’s “own kind.” “But I’ll tell you this: even though he robbed me, I did not give a good description of him to the Bow Street Runner.”

“Runner!” the other cried, alarmed.

Nicola nodded. “Yes. The Earl has hired a Runner to investigate the highwayman and his gang. His name is Stone, and I talked to him this morning. He looks a hard man. I did not like him.”

The other woman shook her head. “The Gentleman shouldn’t be taking such risks. I knew he’d go too far one day and his lordship would go after him. The Earl’s not a man to be crossin’, is what I say.”

“No doubt you are right about that,” Nicola agreed. “You sound as if—do you know this man? Have you met him?”

Lydia shifted in her chair, looking uneasy. “I don’t know him, exactly. I’ve, uh, well, he’s known around here.”

“I don’t understand.”

Lydia sighed, then straightened, looking Nicola in the eye. “He is liked, miss, that’s what I’m sayin’. He’s done things for people. He helps them out.”

“You mean gives them money?”

Lydia nodded. “Aye, he does. You know Ernest Macken, miss. He’s got a wife and five little ones, and he’s worked in the tin mines all his life. Well, he come up sick and couldn’t go to work for weeks. His lordship let him go, and he owns the house they live in, too, miss, and he was ready to turn them out ‘cause they couldn’t keep up the rent with Ernest not workin’. But one night they hear a thump at the door, and Jenny, she gets up and goes to the door, and there’s a sack lyin’ there, and when she looks inside, it’s got coins in it. Enough to pay their rent for six months and buy food and clothes, too.”

“And it was the highwayman who gave it to them? How do they know?”

“Who else? There’s none around here that has that much money to hand, except for the Earl or the Squire or Lord Buckminster, and none of them were riding about at night droppin’ off sacks of coin.”

“No, I am sure you are right.”

“It has happened to others, too. Some more, some less. Faith Burkitt, when her man died? His lordship would have turned her out, too. She got money at her door, too, but she got a look at the man when he left it, and she said he was dressed all in black, with a mask on his face.”

“He is a sort of Robin Hood?”

Lydia nodded vigorously. “That’s how people round here feel, miss. He helps them out, which is more than you can say for anyone else, and he hurts the Earl only, and there’s none as would cry over that.”

“No, I am sure not. I would not imagine that Exmoor is a good landlord or employer.” As the Earl of Exmoor, Richard had inherited not only tin mines but a good deal of the land in the area, both farms and much of the village, as well.

Lydia made a face. “The old Earl wasn’t a bad sort, and they say his father before him was the same. But when the new Earl came in…” She shook her head gloomily. “The wages at the mines are a sin, and that’s God’s own truth, miss. Not long after he got hold of them, he cut the wages. Says they weren’t makin’ enough profit. It was enough profit for the old Earl, now, wasn’t it? Then he raises the rent that the mine workers who live in his houses have to pay. It’s hard enough on the farmers, especially when they have a bad year, but what about the miners? He’s payin’ them less, and they’re havin’ to pay him more. It’s a sin, that’s what it is.”

“Yes, it is,” Nicola agreed. It was this sort of inequity that filled her with righteous indignation and had fueled her venture into charitable projects in the East End. It had also gotten her into enough arguments with others at parties that she was generally termed a radical and a bluestocking by her peers. “It is not surprising that the people have no qualms about his being robbed. Lady Exmoor told me it was mostly his wagons that were preyed upon by the brigands.”

Lydia nodded. “Aye. Oh, a carriage now and then that’s traveling through. But not local people much. Once he stopped the doctor when he was driving in his new gig to see a patient, and when he saw who it was, he just waved him on, didn’t take a cent from him.”

“He sounds like a saint.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s not that, miss. He’s a man, after all, and I’ve never met many of them that were saints. But he’s after the Earl only—there’s no mistakin’ that.”

“I wonder why.”

“Why? After what the Earl’s done? Who better?”

“I’m sure that is true, but thieves are not usually so selective. It sounds as if he has something against the Earl personally. Is he from around here?”

Lydia shook her head. “No. He moved in a few months ago. At first there was just him and the men that came with him, but after a while, some others joined him.”

“You mean local men?”

Lydia nodded, her gaze measuring.

“Oh, dear.” Nicola frowned. “I am afraid of what might happen to them. The Earl is dead set on catching him. Now with the Runner trying to find him…”

“I wouldn’t worry too much, miss. ‘The Gentleman’ is a slick one. There’s none that know where he lives. The local men meet him at a certain place, but that ain’t where he and the outsiders stay. There’s four of them, and they live someplace hidden. He’s never told a soul.”

“What—what is he like?” Nicola looked down at her cup as she spoke, turning it idly.

“Like? I’m not sure, miss. I’ve never seen him but the once.” She edged closer and lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “One night Ste—that is to say, a man comes to the inn, and he won’t speak to anybody but me Jasper, so Jasper goes down there, and I gets up to see what’s what. So I creeps down to the landing, and I’m sittin’ there in the dark on the stairs, where no one can see me. Well, Ste—this man—says to Jasper that he needs a tot of whiskey for someone outside. It was rainin’ and blowin’ something fierce, not a fit night out for man nor beast. So me Jasper says why can’t the man come inside, it’s a sight dryer, and he says he just can’t, and finally Jasper goes and pours a glass of whiskey. Then I hears the sound of boots and spurs on the stones outside, and the next thing you know, this man steps into the doorway. I next to keeled over with terror, I’ll tell you!”

Mrs. Hinton pantomimed her shock, one hand going to her chest, her eyes widening and her mouth dropping open. “He was a big man, like to fill the doorway, towering over me Jasper and this other man. And he’s dressed all in black, he is, from his head to his toes, and he’s even wearing a black mask over the top half of his face. Well, I knew who he was, of course, as soon as I saw him, and I was that scared for Jasper, because, well, no matter what everybody said about him, you just never know, do you? Then in this elegant voice, he says, ‘Thank you, sir, I won’t trouble you to bring this outside on such a stormy night as this.’ And he took the glass from him and knocked it back—and paid him with a gold coin! I nearly fell off the stairs when I saw that. Then he bids a very polite farewell to Jasper and turns to go, but as he turns, he says, not even looking over at me, ‘And good night to you, too, Mrs. Hinton.’ I couldn’t believe it! He’d spotted me in that little bit of time, but neither of the other two had caught sight of me the whole time they were standing there.”

“So you’ve never seen his face? Has anyone?”

“Not me, miss. Some of the girls in the village say that he’s handsome, but they’re just silly romantic chits. I dare swear they’ve never seen him even in a mask, let alone without it. He stays to himself, he does. I don’t know anyone who knows anything about him—not even where he comes from.”

Nicola was sure that if Mrs. Hinton didn’t know anything, then no one did. “I wonder if he is really a gentleman,” she mused. “He certainly sounded it.”

“His hands aren’t those of a gentleman,” Lydia said decisively, shaking her head. “I saw ’em when he pulled off his gloves to take his drink. They’re big and callused and scarred—the hands of a man who’s worked all his life. Not even a gentleman who rides without his gloves has hands like that.”

“Then how did he learn to speak like that?”

The other woman shrugged. “He’s a mystery, Miss Falcourt, and that’s a fact. Personally, I think he likes it that way. He don’t want people to know about him.”

“Mmm. I suppose that the less anyone knows about him, the less likely anyone would be able to turn him in.”

“Oh, won’t no one turn him in, miss, I’ll tell you that. He’s a hero here.”

“Even if Exmoor offers a reward?” Nicola asked. “There is always someone in a town willing to talk then. I’ll venture that it won’t be long before Richard turns to that. He is determined to capture him. He takes the man’s acts as a personal affront.”

“Well, be that as it may, he’ll have a hard time catchin’ that one. And anyone who does turn him in better watch his backside around here.”

“I hope you’re right. I should hate for any of the locals who ride with him to be caught. It would mean hanging for them, you know.”

“Aye, I know.” Mrs. Hinton looked somber for a moment, but then her ready smile was back. “But they won’t get caught. I’m tellin’ you, he’s canny.”

Having exhausted Mrs. Hinton’s store of knowledge on the subject of the mysterious highwayman, Nicola turned their conversation to other matters. Finally, Mrs. Hinton rose, saying that she’d taken up enough of Nicola’s time.

“But, if you don’t mind, miss,” she asked, knowing the answer as well as Nicola did, “some of the girls complain about their ‘time of the month,’ and Granny Rose used to give them something that fixed them right up. Would you be knowing the recipe?”

“I do indeed. I brought some with me, if you’ll have someone fetch my bag from my horse.”

“Of course, miss. You’re a good woman, if you don’t mind my bein’ so bold as to say that. Granny Rose would be proud of you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hinton. That makes me very pleased.”

So for the rest of the afternoon Nicola stayed in the private parlor of the inn, listening to the ills of first the servants, then various other townspeople who had heard that she was there and dropped in to seek her help. She dispensed advice and remedies, and when she did not have the decoction that she thought would best cure an ill, she made a note of it and promised to send something to them the next day. Several people came for loved ones who were ill at home, and these Nicola accompanied back to their houses to see the patients and take note of their symptoms herself.

The afternoon lengthened, then died away, and it was growing dark when she turned away from Tom Jeffers’s house, where she had gone to see his mother, who lay frail and shriveled in her bed, slowly drifting away from life. Nicola had known at once that there was nothing she could do for the woman except give her a tonic to ease the pain the old woman was suffering.

She walked back down the street toward the inn to retrieve her horse, but before she reached it, she saw a man’s figure hurrying down a side street toward her, and instinctively she knew that he came for her.

“Miss! Miss!” he gasped, short of breath. “Wait! Don’t go.”

She stopped, letting him catch up to her. “Why, Frank.” She smiled at the man, whom she recognized now as the husband of one of the former housemaids at Buckminster. The couple had been married five years now and had four children. “How are you?”

“Not good, Miss Falcourt, not good.” He stopped, breathing heavily. “I’m sorry, miss. We just heard you was here. It’s the baby—he’s sick. He don’t sound good, like he can hardly breathe. Lucy was up all night with him, but he just keeps getting worse. Can you come? Lucy fair brightened up when she heard you was here. ‘The young lady can fix him,’ she says. Can you, miss?”

“I’ll come, of course.” She smiled, hiding the sinking sensation in her stomach. She didn’t have Lucy’s touching faith in her skills. She knew that illness in children was worse; they were so small, so fragile. A fever that an adult might endure could carry a child off.

She followed the man to his cottage, where he ushered her into the low-ceilinged room. It was dim inside, lit only by a guttering tallow candle and the fire, which provided heat for the house, as well. A woman sat on a stool before the fire, a small child about two years old wrapped in a blanket in her arms. She rocked back and forth, crooning tunelessly. When she saw Nicola enter the door, she jumped to her feet, a smile spreading tremulously across her face. “Miss Nicola! Oh, thank you!”

Tears began to fall from her eyes, and she hurried forward, holding the child up for Nicola to see. “You’ll help him, won’t you, miss? You won’t let him die!”

“I will do my best. Now, what’s the matter with him?” Her question was almost unnecessary, for it was easy to see the flush of fever on his cheeks, and as Lucy handed him over to Nicola, he coughed, a harsh, deep, barking sound.

“It sounds like the croup, Lucy. I think he will be all right. We just need to keep that little throat from closing up on him. Put some water on to boil, will you?”

Lucy nodded wordlessly and went right to work. Nicola sent the father for a small blanket, while she paced up and down, holding the child and murmuring soothing noises as he continued to cough. When the water was steaming, she had Lucy pour it into a bowl and put it on the table. Then, forming a small tent with the blanket, she sat down and held the child so that his head was under the tent. As the child breathed in the steamy air, his cough began to quiet, then subsided.

Lucy began to cry again, mopping away her tears with the corner of her apron. “Oh, miss, I knew you could help him.”

Nicola smiled. “Just do this when he gets an attack. The steam opens up his throat so he can breathe better. Put warm poultices on his feet tonight. I’ll give you a bag of wild plum bark for you to make him tea. Give it to him several times a day.”

Lucy nodded fervently, repeating “yes, miss, oh, yes, miss” like a magic incantation. When the baby’s cough had died away, she took the child and put him tenderly to bed, then returned to Nicola so she could demonstrate how to make the hot poultices for his feet. Lastly, Nicola dipped out a small amount of dried bark into a sack and handed it to her.

“I shall send you more if you need it. I have given out all the rest of it this afternoon, but I can get more when I get back to Tidings. So let me know. Any time he has another coughing fit, you be sure to put him under the tent with steam.”

“Oh, I will, miss, I will. Lord love you, miss.” She grabbed Nicola’s hand and would have kissed it had Nicola not pulled her hand away and given Lucy a hug instead.

“Send for me if something happens,” Nicola told her. “Promise me.”

“I will. I promise.”

After several more protracted thank-yous from Lucy and her husband, Nicola managed to leave. Frank insisted on walking her back to the inn’s stable, just to make sure she was safe, for it was late in the evening by the time Nicola finished.

The ostler at the inn seemed equally troubled at the idea of a lady riding back to Tidings in the dark evening, but Nicola brushed aside his offer of an escort. She knew that no one who lived around here would do her harm, nor was she afraid of the legends of fire-breathing hounds and ghostly carriages that kept most local people firmly inside their houses after dark. There was the highwayman, of course. The thought of him sent a strange chill down her spine. But, she reasoned, he would not bother with such paltry game as a lone female rider. It was a trifle chilly, but her cloak would keep her warm.

She left the village, letting her mare pick her way, for the sliver of new moon provided little light. It was a cloudless evening, and the stars were already shining brightly in the sky. Nicola rode along, letting her thoughts drift as she contemplated the dark velvet sky. She felt tired, but satisfied. It was always rewarding to be able to help someone, especially when it was a child’s life at stake. Lucy’s baby, she thought, would recover, though it might take a while for the illness to run its course.

Ahead of her a copse of trees lay beside the road, and as she neared it, a man on horseback rode out from the shadows beneath the trees. Nicola sucked in her breath, her heart beginning to pound, and pulled back automatically on her reins, stopping her horse.

The man rode toward her without haste, and Nicola watched him, her mouth dry. He was dressed all in black, and under his hat his face was unnaturally dark. She knew without a doubt that it was the highwayman. So she had been wrong. He would stoop to accost a lone woman. Her hands tightened on the reins as she debated whether to turn and flee toward the village, but she could not bear to play the coward in front of this man. Besides, she reminded herself practically, his horse looked powerful, and she suspected that he would catch up with her if she did run. Better to stand and face the danger. That had always been her way.

She waited, chin lifting unconsciously. The man stopped a few feet from her and swept off his hat, bowing to her. A smile played on his lips. “Well, my lady. A bit dangerous for you to be out this late, isn’t it? Alone? In the dark?”