Authors: Jamie Carie

The Duchess and the Dragon (35 page)

BOOK: The Duchess and the Dragon

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The man shrugged. “I guess so. Can’t rightly say. This is the only mine I’ve worked in.” He pointed to a stooped man. “’Enry, over there, he’s a well traveled sort. Worked in all kinds of mines.”

Drake nodded to the man. “Thank you.” He looked at the boy again. “I would like to take you to a doctor in town. Will you come with me?”

The boy grinned up at him, showing surprisingly white teeth against the dirty face. “I wouldn’t want to miss the preacher, sir. Can we go there first?”

How could he disappoint the first light he’d seen in the lad’s eyes. “Of course.”

Drake questioned the “well traveled” Henry, heart dropping as the man confirmed that, yes, this was the typical condition of the mines. Then he looked into the main tunnels, gauging their size and depth. There was no doubt in Drake’s mind. Something drastic had to be done. The air was dank and probably full of gases. He would not be surprised if lung damage showed up early and permanently. Some of the tunnels had standing water. And, so he was told, the further down one went, the worse the conditions became. Disgusted, Drake made his way back to the boy. Lifting him onto his horse, he mounted behind him. The boy moved stiffly but didn’t complain as he grasped the gelding’s mane and smiled up at Drake.

“I’ve dreamed of riding, sir. We’re so high off the ground.”

Drake looked into those deep brown eyes and felt some piece of a wall inside him crumble. His childhood . . . his life, so full of self-indulgence, every desire gratified before he had had the chance to really feel it—it all seemed so horrifying in the face of this child’s simple joy.

He didn’t want it anymore. He wanted something
real,
something important to live for. He wanted to help someone.

Starting with this boy.

IT WASN’T LONG before Drake and his new charge began to merge with the streams of people going to hear George Whitefield. There must have been thousands riding and walking and driving carriages toward the vast grassy clearing. Curious now, Drake directed his mount over toward the main crowd.

Thousands sat on the warm grass, listening to the young man who was already speaking. Amazing how well the man’s voice carried. He stood upon a large, wooden platform, hands upraised, hair blowing in the breeze. Drake felt himself pulled in by the man’s voice, so full of fervor and authority.

Drake dismounted and helped Robbie down to the grass.

Whitefield was speaking of his own life, how he had joined a group of young men at Oxford University called the Holy Club. They were diligent, holding to a disciplined life of early devotions, journaling to examine their spiritual life, fasting, and visiting the prisons and poorhouses. They read voraciously and studied every translation of Scripture. He asked the audience of miners, farming men, and townspeople if they didn’t think such a man would please God?

The crowd shouted a hearty “Yes, preacher!”

But the young man shook his head.

His eyes flashed, so piercing and bold Drake thought they were directed right at—and through—him. Whitefield told them that even after such efforts, he still felt something was missing. Drake nodded inwardly. He knew that feeling.

Whitefield’s voice rang out. “I believed that, somehow, I was not doing enough. And so I took a new resolution upon myself, to work harder. I even stopped attending the Holy Club, for fear I loved it too much.” His words brought to life the image of nights spent in sweaty prayer, of eating less and less to the point of constant fasting. This young man gave everything he could to the poor.

“One frosty morning,” he said, “after hours of prayer outdoors, I realized one of my hands had turned black. I scarcely cared, but my friends urged me to my bed, and there I lay for the next seven weeks.”

Drake was appalled and, at the same time, admired this man’s devotion. He looked about him, saw the engrossed faces, saw how quiet all around him were, how they strained to catch every word.

The preacher began laughing. It was as if joy bubbled up within him and overflowed. Robbie laughed too, looking up into Drake’s face. Those around him smiled, and a few laughed for no apparent reason other than basking in Whitefield’s joy.

“While I lay on my bed near death,” Whitefield went on, “unable to do anything to please God, I began to hear God speak. ‘
If any man thirst, let him come to Me . . .
’ The words pierced my whole being and I broke, crying out, ‘I thirst!’ It was so simple—absurdly simple.” Whitefield’s voice rang out like a liberty bell. “To finally be saved by such a simple prayer. And then . . . I laughed. And once I began laughing, the floodgates of heaven burst upon me.

“Listen, now, my friends, to Ezekiel 36:26: ‘A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you a heart of flesh.’”

Tears streaked the blackened faces around Drake. Some stood, but many had fallen to their knees and were crying out, hands lifted to the heavens. Drake looked down at Robbie—the boy’s eyes shone, full of hope. A deep shaking started within Drake, frightening him with its intensity.

Then he, too, collapsed to his knees in the grass. His heart rushed so in his chest, he thought he might die. Eyes closed, he saw his life, all the events leading to this moment. He saw his mother, glowing and smiling down at him, so very pleased. He saw himself as a child playing in a stream, with his shirt and socks hidden on the bank so he wouldn’t be caught. He saw his father, Ivor, a stern face glaring down at him. But then he saw beyond the face into his father’s eyes—and saw Ivor as a frightened little boy.

And then he saw
her
. Serena. A bright light illuminated her face and then faded, and he saw her as warm and living and real. He could almost reach out and touch her. But she vanished, replaced in his mind’s eyes by the coal miners and the filthy wretchedness of the children, of Robbie—

And suddenly, Drake knew.

His mission was as clear as if God had spoken it aloud. In those few moments, everything fell into place: the man he had tried to be and the man he was created to be. It was as though a key were turned, a locked-up place opened, and all the people, all the events that led to this moment suddenly made sense as never before.

Throwing his eyes open, he gulped in air. The preacher was praying for the souls of all those in the audience, and Drake grasped hold of that prayer with all that he had.
Yes.
The word resounded within him.
Yes! Yes!
His spirit soared, his hands lifted toward heaven without any fear or shame.

Save me, Lord Jesus. Save me, too!

God’s response came, swift and sure, and Drake had never felt so light . . . so alive.

So deeply, deeply loved.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Drake rose from the damp earth, laughing. He couldn’t seem to stem the tide of joy that had overtaken him. He hugged Robbie’s thin, broken frame and felt nothing but overwhelming love for the lad. He would help him. He would help them all.

It was then that he saw her. Serena. Across the way, sitting in a carriage beside Richard.

His father.

At first Drake didn’t know if she was real or some further apparition of his mind. But everything within him silently called out to her,
Serena! Wife of my heart.
And as he stared, he knew. She wasn’t in his mind, she was here!
I’m sorry. I am so sorry.
He stumbled toward them, forgetting all but the woman before him.

When he was but a few feet away, she turned her head and their eyes locked. He saw her inhale sharply, shock on her face, and then Richard saw him too. Drake traversed the crowd, desperate to reach her, watched in despair the hurried gestures she was making, asking Richard to take them away.

“Wait!” He stumbled, righted himself, and then began to run. “Serena . . . wait!”

The glossy black carriage flashed in the sun as it turned and spun away, jostling over the bumpy ground.

He tried to catch them, ran after them, then slowed to a walk and finally stopped. “I am so sorry!” He said it to the wind, but not with despair. He would find her and beg her forgiveness. He
would
win her back.

It took a little time to find his horse and Robbie. The boy chattered about Whitefield’s preaching all the way into town.

The Bristol doctor was not surprised by the boy’s wounds. After examining Robbie and putting salve where the chains had worn the skin raw, he took Drake into the outer room and spoke in low anger. “He will be lucky to live to see twenty. I must tell you, sir, the cases only get worse, and the little girls . . .” He shook his head.

“I do not imagine many of them even seek your care.”

“No, they don’t. Not until it’s too late.” He motioned toward the closed door where the boy lay. “What he needs is rest and decent food. The children that work these mines are so tired, they fall asleep while walking home at night and their parents have to go and search for them alongside the road. They haven’t the strength even to eat. They sleep all day on Sunday to rest for the week ahead. It is absolute barbarity.”

Drake could only agree. “I plan to see the king hears of this. I will speak to Parliament myself.”

The doctor squinted at him. “You are of the nobility, then? Good, good, we need men like you to take up the cause of these children. I would be glad to help . . . write up my findings, appear before Parliament, anything at all.”

Drake patted him on the shoulder. “Yes, any cases you can document would be helpful. The boy can stay here overnight? I have other business that needs attending, but I would like to check on him tomorrow.”

“Certainly. He will be given the best care.”

Drake handed the man some coins and returned to the boy. He picked up Robbie’s bony hand and squeezed it, something he wouldn’t have done even yesterday. “You stay here and rest, Robbie. The doctor is going to take good care of you.”

“But sir, if I don’t return, they’ll dismiss me. I have to have work.”

Drake shook his head, near tears. That the child wanted to go back proved how destitute he really was. “No, you won’t be going back, Robbie. As soon as you are able,
I
am going to give you a job, a good job, with plenty of food and a good place to sleep at night. And you will go to school. You will learn to read and write and do sums so that someday you can have a life of your own choosing. Does that sound fair, son?”

“Fair, sir?” Robbie’s eyes filled with tears. “It sounds a dream, sir.”

Drake nearly lost his composure but pulled himself together and smiled down at the lad. “Good.” Drake ruffled his hair. “Now rest and I will see you in the morning.”

DRAKE STOOD OUTSIDE the front door to his father’s house. He took a deep breath, said a little prayer, and knocked. His father answered, his face impassive and impossible to read.

“Come in, your grace, we’ve been expecting you.” He gave a slight bow of his head as Drake swept past him into the hall.

“Please, call me Drake.” Suddenly a new thought occurred to him. “For all I know, you were the one to come up with the name . . . did you?”

There were many questions in that query. Richard shook his head. “I told your mother to name you David. I always thought to have a son named David.”

BOOK: The Duchess and the Dragon

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