She was an accomplished rider and the few miles to the nearest inn took her only a short time to cover. She rode into the deserted courtyard of the George and called out for help. No one came. She had to dismount and walk into the taproom before she found anyone. An angular woman with a sharp-featured countenance confronted her. Her worn pinafore and rolled-up sleeves suggested that this was the landlord’s wife.
She barred Amelie’s passage, her arms folded pugnaciously, and her eyes snapping. ‘And what do you want, missy?’ she asked in an ill-tempered voice as she looked Amelie up and down with a thinly veiled disgust. ‘We ain’t that sort of place. Off with you. The Cross Keys is where you need to be.’
Amelie was startled. She’d never before been spoken to in that fashion. She supposed she must look a fright; she was certainly dishevelled from the long coach journey and her tumble down the bank. The hem of her dress was muddy and her shoes practically falling apart. She rather thought her face was smudged, too. It was true she looked an unlikely member of the ton, but to judge her a lightskirt!
However, she couldn’t afford to alienate the woman further and so pinned on her most appealing smile. ‘Dear, ma’am, I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m afraid there’s been a riding accident and my present state is due to having been thrown from my horse.’
The landlady’s wife looked unimpressed. Her arms stayed folded and her expression was grim.
‘We, my brother and I, were on a pleasure ride, you see,’ Amelie extemporised wildly, ‘and my horse went lame, so we had to leave her behind at a farm we passed and we decided to continue home on Gareth’s horse. Only then a coach came along at a tremendous speed and the horse reared up and flung us both into the ditch.’
That, at least, was partly truthful. The woman began to look a little more interested, but her arms remained in their fixed position.
‘Gareth, my brother, has hurt his ankle—I fear he may have broken it—and I’ve had to leave him lying in the ditch. I said I would ride to seek help.’ She gave a nervous laugh and finished lamely, ‘And here I am. Yours was the first inn I came to.’
The landlady continued to maintain her unnerving silence and Amelie cast round for something that would penetrate the woman’s iron reserve. Her eye caught the garish design of what looked to be new curtains.
‘Oh, how wonderful!’ she exclaimed. ‘Such beautiful curtains. I know my mother has been looking everywhere for colours like these, but hasn’t been able to find just the right shades.’
She prayed fervently for her dead mother’s forgiveness. The praise seemed to be welcome and Mrs Skinner unbent slightly, but it was the thought that she had stolen a march on Amelie’s unknown mother that really sealed the matter.
‘Where d’you say your brother wus?’ she enquired roughly.
‘Just a few miles along the road going west,’ Amelie said hopefully. ‘If we could send an able-bodied man with a horse and cart, we could carry him back here.’
‘We,’ said the landlady with emphasis, ‘can’t do nuthin’. You’ll ‘ave to wait till Mr Skinner gets back from Wroxhall, then we’ll see.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Amelie said placatingly, wondering with anxiety just how long that would be.
In the event it was two very long hours before she heard the horse and cart pull up in the yard. Two hours of nervously keeping watch at the parlour window, ready to run should Rufus Glyde reappear. And two hours of thinking of Gareth, alone and cold, lying in that ditch. He might be spotted by a labourer returning home from work, but it was unlikely that a passer-by would search the gully without reason. And by now he probably lacked the strength to attract attention. Perhaps she shouldn’t have left him? What if he caught a fever or, even worse, died? It would be all her fault. No, that isn’t fair, she countered angrily—it would be his fault. If he hadn’t stopped the coach, told such appalling lies about her and forced her to go with him, the accident would never have happened. He wouldn’t be lying badly injured and she’d be safe with her grandmother instead of stranded in this dreary inn.
‘I heerd you had an accident.’ Mr Skinner was as stout as his wife was thin and by good fortune lacked her chronic ill temper. He smiled pleasantly at Amelie, ‘I’m sorry I weren’t home to help, but I’ve told Will to pack up the cart with blankets and brandy and then go arsk the doctor to come quickly. When the horse is fed, Will and me will be off sharp to look for your brother.’
‘Thank you truly, Mr Skinner. I’m very worried about him.’ And to her own astonishment, she shed genuine tears.
‘Don’t you fret, miss. It’ll be all right. It’s May and the weather ain’t too bad. Happen he’ll be a little cold and mebbe in pain, but he’ll come off fine.’
‘Can I come with you?’
‘No, m’dear—best stay here. It’s getting dark and we don’t want another accident.’
She had docilely to agree. But now that dusk had fallen, she thought it would prove difficult to locate the injured man by lantern light. If she’d been allowed to accompany the rescuers, she was sure she would have found the place easily. Instead she was forced to remain at her post by the window, scanning the darkness with such intensity that it seemed she might cut a path to Gareth through the gloom and herself bring help.
In the first hour after Amelie left, Gareth remained cheerful. She’d had the chance to break free and he’d expected her to desert him. He was surprised that she’d even hesitated. He thought of her attempts to help him. It had been excruciatingly painful, but he’d borne with it because she’d cared enough to try and because she was near. What was it about this girl that led him to behave so rashly? She seemed to exercise a malignant charm over him. By rights he should be at ease in his London hotel, sending a message to his lawyer and planning his escape to the Continent. He supposed wryly that this was a kind of escape although hardly one he would have chosen.
The minutes ticked slowly by and he grew colder as the sun waned and the chill of dusk settled around him. He began to fall into a troubled dream in which a card table and a chandelier swam around the periphery of his vision while a beautiful, chestnut-haired girl danced in front of him. Gradually, he lapsed into a feverish state, the dreams becoming more vivid and frightening. The girl had disappeared and the chandelier was burning his eyes. The cards rose from the table and smacked him hard around the face. Blearily he swam back into consciousness as a hand gently slapped his cheek and a homely country voice encouraged him. ‘Come on, sir, time to go. We’ll have you in the cart in a twinkling and get you back to a warm bed.’
Mr Skinner’s plump build belied a strength that was needed to raise Gareth from the depths of the gully. Only then could Will reach down to help them both up the steep bank. Gareth was now as weak as a kitten; though he tried manfully to aid their struggle, he had to allow himself to be pulled, pushed and finally lifted from his mossy bed onto the rough boards of the cart. A twinkling had been an exaggeration, he thought, in the throes of extreme pain. At some point he must have passed out. He came to, choking on the brandy that Mr Skinner trickled down his throat. The blankets wrapping him smelt slightly fetid and the jolting of the cart sent shock pains through his leg. At last when he felt he could bear it no longer, they turned into the yard of the George Inn.
The first face he saw was Amelie’s. He could hardly believe she was there. He’d been too dazed to think how his rescuers had found him, but now he saw he had her to thank.
‘You’ve found my brother,’ cried Amelie, running forwards and gratefully squeezing Mr Skinner by the hand. She hoped that Gareth was alert enough to grasp his supposed relationship. The innkeeper lifted him carefully down from the cart and, with Will’s help, carried him up to the spare room. Gareth was no lightweight and Will could only gasp between breaths that the doctor would be with them presently. Once in the room, Gareth sank, pallid-faced, onto the bed.
With