Louise Allen Historical Collection (66 page)

Bella watched from her window as Elliott rode out, his gun slung over his shoulder, his shot belt across his chest, the pointers running at the horse’s heels. Despite the cold, dank fog he preferred to be away from her. She could not blame him, only herself. Something had snapped, something that, looking back, she supposed she must have kept tightly chained up for years and years.

Years of being the peacemaker, the dutiful daughter. Years of obedience and austerity, of loss and sadness. Then Rafe had betrayed her and she had not even had the words to hit back at him. Now Elliott’s words had finally broken the fraying ropes around her restraint and it had spilled out, the confusion and hurt and distress. If she could only have told him she loved him…but that would have been even worse. Would he have lied or would he have told her, kindly and with pity, that he could not return her love?

The urge to go and pick up her child and cuddle her was almost overwhelming—someone, at least, loved her unconditionally and she could love her back without reserve.

No, there were three: Marguerite and her two sisters.
Where are you, Meg and Lina?
she asked herself as she had, so often. Surely she would know if they were no longer alive? She had to hang on to that thought.

The hurt and the anger stirred again, making her feel sick. She so rarely allowed herself to be angry, let alone give way to it as she had just now.

Bella leaned her forehead against the cold glass. Today she would huddle like a wounded animal in her lair, holding her baby. Tomorrow…tomorrow she would go to London and take Marguerite with her.

Then when she had done all she could to find her sisters she would apologise to Elliott, promise to never speak of her feelings again and, somehow, come to terms with what her marriage was now.

Then Marguerite woke and began to gurgle. ‘I’m coming, sweetheart,’ she called. ‘Mama’s here.’

Breakfast was harder than she could have imagined because Elliott behaved so impeccably. He was polite, he smiled and when she sent the servants from the room and tried to speak of the day before he simply shook his head. ‘No, it is all right, Arabella. We will forget it and go on. Your nerves were overwrought after the house party.’

She wanted to apologise, to try to explain—not how she felt, but why her self-control had given way. But if he wanted to pretend it had never happened then what could she do but go to London with all that unsaid between them?

There was a tap on the door. ‘My lord, excuse me.’ It was Henlow and behind him Bella glimpsed some men in working clothes clustered in the hallway. ‘Turner has sent to say there is flooding all down the Cat Brook. He’s worried the dam at the mill race might give way.’

‘I must go.’ Elliott stood and went out into the hall. Bella could hear him giving orders as the door closed. ‘Send for my horse, Henlow. Jem, all the men off the Home Farm, a wagon, picks and shovels—’

Bella went out into the hallway and tried to appear brisk and cheerful. Her acting abilities were apparently not proof against the butler’s knowledge of what went on in the household.

‘His lordship will deal with it, my lady. He is the man to have by your side in a crisis. And he will no doubt return in a good mood. I have always observed that hard work balances any inequality of temperament he may be feeling.’

Inequality of temperament, indeed!
That was doubtless a buder’s code for flaming rows and fists thudding on doors. Was that what he thought of her moods, too? Inequalities of temperament?

‘Not that his lordship is much prone to…moods, if I might make so bold, my lady. His late lordship was of a most unpredictable and changeable humour and without his lordship’s sweetness of temper and strength of character,’ Henlow said, looking as though he was sucking lemons. ‘He will come about, my lady.’ As though worried that he had said too much, he turned on his heel and hurried off through the green baize door.

Bella went upstairs. Everything was prepared and now she did not even have the worry of evading Elliott. She put the note she had written on the mantelshelf, donned her warmest pelisse, her bonnet and gloves and went to find Mary Humble, who was dressing the baby.

‘Come along.’ She picked up two of the valises. ‘His lordship has had to take most of the footmen off to attend to some emergency with the mill race, we can take these down ourselves.’

The maid followed, baby in one arm, the bag of necessities for the journey in the other hand. She had listened with sympathy to Bella’s tale of a family emergency taking her to London urgently. His lordship would follow as soon as he could, Bella had said. But she had to get to her sister.

She repeated the tale in the stable yard and Wilkins, the senior groom left in charge, had no thought of arguing with her ladyship. The coachman came down as the team were harnessed in the travelling chaise, the luggage strapped on behind, all except for the baby’s necessities, and one of the undergrooms swung up behind. With a yap Toby leapt in too.

Bella leaned back against the squabs and let the sway of the carriage lull her as she scratched the terrier behind his ear. She would have to come back, she knew that, but just at the moment all she wanted was to be away from Elliott before she blurted out her love for him, drove him even further from her. That, and to do something, anything, to find Meg and Lina.

‘We will stay at a hotel, Mary,’ she said, producing the London guide she had removed from the library. ‘I will see which sounds the most suitable.’

The carriage began to slow as they turned off the main drive on to the lane that ran down to the bridge and then back up before they reached the turnpike road that led towards London. Bella glanced out at the fog and then back to her book. It was not easy to read.

‘The Pulteney sounds the finest,’ she observed, trying to sound cheerful and positive. ‘But it is probably very expensive.’ The carriage levelled out, the sound of hooves on wood signalled they had reached the bridge. ‘Let’s see which—’

There was a rending noise, a creaking and cracking. The coachman shouted and the groom up behind yelled back, then the carriage tipped and fell sideways and down. Bella grabbed for Marguerite as they crashed to a halt. Cold water rushed in, but her groping hands met nothing but the folds of Mary’s gown.

It was almost dark, cold, the baby was screaming. They were in the river.

E
lliott splashed out of the river edge, his boots sodden. ‘Too late. The dam’s gone. Nothing we can do here now, we can’t repair it with this much water going down.’

‘We’d better take a look at the bridges lower down, my lord,’ Murrow, the estate carpenter, said, pushing his hat back on his head and wiping the sweat and mist droplets off his face. ‘They’re none too strong. I warned his late lordship about them, often a time, but he wouldn’t spend the money.’

‘We’ll go down now. Who’s that?’ A rider was thundering down the muddy slope. ‘Wilkins?’

The groom slid off the horse he had been riding bareback. ‘It’s her ladyship—the carriage. The bridge collapsed, my lord.’ He pointed downstream.

‘The carriage? Her ladyship is at home.’ But even as he said it the fear was knotting in his stomach. Elliott took the horse’s mane and swung up on to its back.

‘No, my lord. She said she was going to London.’

Oh God. Arabella.
‘Murrow, get all the men down there. Horses, timbers, ropes.’ The carpenter was a good man, he’d know what to do. Elliott turned the horse and gave it its head down the river bank.

When Bella found her footing she was in near darkness and in water. Confusion almost panicked her and then she realised where she was.

‘Marguerite! Mary!’ The carriage resounded with the baby’s screams.

‘Here,’ the maid gasped and Bella twisted to find the girl holding the baby over her head.

‘Give her to me, I am taller than you. Can you find the seat and stand on it?’ The carriage was tilted crazily and there was something massive across the only window she could see.

‘I think so.’ The girl floundered and then rose a little out of the water, her head and shoulders cramped under the roof.

Bella tried for a foothold and managed to get a little higher too. Marguerite’s blankets were wet, but not soaked through. ‘We can put her into the luggage netting,’ she said. ‘If we drop her…’ The maid scrabbled to hold the net open at one side as Bella pushed the wriggling, screaming bundle into it. The net, attached to the inside of the roof, was at an odd angle, but at least it was clear of the water.

For a moment that was reassuring, then she felt the icy cold in her legs and the weight of her waterlogged clothing beginning to drag. How long could they survive in this? ‘Help!’ she shouted. ‘Help!’

The coachman and groom must be hurt or surely they would be doing something. ‘Are we going to drown?’ Mary quavered.

‘Of course not,’ Bella said. But they could die of cold if someone did not find them soon. ‘Just hold on, keep as much of yourself out of the water as possible. Shh, Marguerite, shh, Mama’s here.’

The carriage shuddered, slid, and she had the sickening realisation that if it moved any more they would be trapped as it sank.
Oh, Elliott, I am so sorry. I love you. Please come, my love, please come.

The wreckage of the bridge loomed out of the fog as a bulky figure staggered towards him, a small, frantically barking dog at its heels. Elliott swung off the horse as Toby leapt for his arms. The sound of a baby screaming in fright and discomfort was clear over the rush of water.

‘Philips, where’s her ladyship?’

‘Inside, my lord. And her maid and the baby. Groom’s a bit battered, but he’s not so bad—he went for help. A big rush of water hit the bridge just as we got on to it.’ He ran beside Elliott to the bank. ‘It’s wedged, but the timbers are giving way, my lord.’

‘I can see,’ Elliott said, putting the dog down and fighting the urge just to hurl himself into the torrent. ‘We need ropes, horses—oh, good man, Murrow.’ The carpenter brought a wagon down the hill at a reckless canter, dragged the team to a halt and men began to leap down and unharness the horses.

‘Arabella!’ he shouted until he thought his lungs would burst and then, faintly, he heard her voice.

‘Elliott! Safe…but slipping.’

‘We’re coming.’ He tied a rope around his waist and pulled off his boots, his coat, grabbed another rope and plunged into the water. Behind him he heard Murrow do the same.

It was not deep, but the current was strong and full of wood and branches torn down by the rains. Elliott fought his way to the carriage and made his rope fast, then clambered over the tilted side to cut the traces. The bodies of the horses broke free and were swept downstream, taking some of the strain off the body of the vehicle.

He clambered back as more men joined the carpenter, tying on ropes. ‘Arabella?’ The window, facing up at the sky, was closed. He dare not break it. There was movement inside and it opened halfway. ‘Arabella!’

‘Is it safe to take the baby?’ she said, her face white; her lips, he saw with horror, were almost blue.

‘Yes, give her to me.’ He reached in and the squirming, furious bundle was pushed into his hands.

‘I’ll be back in just a moment. Hold on, Arabella.’ Elliott slid and scrambled over the tilting carriage, trying not to rock it, trying to hold tight to the baby. When he reached the water there was a chain of men holding the ropes, breaking the flow for him so he would get to land.

‘I’ll take her, I’ve got grandbabies,’ said Philips, reaching for Marguerite.

Elliott brushed back the blanket off her face and she stared at him, big blue eyes in a red, indignant face and his heart turned over. ‘I love you,’ he murmured and pushed her into the gnarled hands. ‘Get her dry and warm,’ he said as he turned back to the water.

‘We’ve got ropes on it, it won’t shift now,’ Murrow told him. ‘If we can just get that baulk of timber off we can open the door.’

It took three of them, balanced on the carriage, to shift the timber and force open the door. Arabella pushed Mary Humble out, then held up her arms for Elliott.

‘I knew you would come. I knew it. I only had to be strong enough to hold on until then.’

‘I will always come for you,’ he said, pulling her into his arms almost roughly. ‘I’ll always come for both of you.’

Somehow they reached the bank. Servants from the house were there now with towels and blankets and hot water. ‘How do you feel?’ He stood there, half-naked, the fog wrapping chill tendrils round him and felt only the touch of her presence. He lifted a hand and stroked his fingers down her cheek and Arabella turned her face into the hollow of his hand and kissed it.