Diane Gaston – A Lady of Notoriety (страница 8)

He found his trunk in one corner, his boots, smelling of bootblack, next to it. He found a rocking chair and a window.

A window! Fresh air. Hugh found the sash, opened the window and felt a cool breeze against his face. On the breeze was the scent of green grass, rich soil and flowers. He stuck his hand out the window and tried to sense whether it was day or night.

Without eyes, he could not tell.

He felt for the rocking chair and turned it towards the window. She must have sat in this rocking chair while in the room; her scent, very faint, clung to it. He lowered himself into it and rocked. The rhythm soothed him. The breeze cooled his skin. And banished the memory of the fire’s infernal heat.

* * *

He must have dozed. For how long this time? Half awake, half asleep, he became aware of a knock at the door. The door opened. He knew instantly it was not she.

‘Sir! You are not abed.’ A male voice.

Hugh shook himself awake. ‘Who are you?’

‘I am Carter, sir. La—Mrs Asher’s footman.’ The voice did not come closer, so Carter must have remained by the door. ‘I came to attend you.’

‘I am grateful.’ She’d said her footman would come. ‘Can you tell me what time it is?’

‘Seven, sir,’ Carter replied.

‘Morning or evening?’ Did they not see he could not tell?

‘Morning, sir.’

‘What day?’ Hugh tried not to let his impatience show.

‘Oh! You must not realise—’ Carter’s voice deepened. ‘Forgive me—I will explain—it is Friday. We arrived here Wednesday. The day after the fire. You slept most of yesterday. It is Friday morning now.’

He’d lost two days.

‘I will assist you, sir. Shave you and whatever else you might require.’

Shave? Hugh scraped his hand against the stubble on his chin. He must have appeared like a ruffian to her.

Carter’s voice came closer. ‘Unless you would like me to help you back into bed.’

‘No.’ Hugh forced himself not to snap at the man. It was not Carter’s fault he needed the assistance. ‘I will not return to bed. Shave me and help me dress, if you would be so good.’

Gentlemen of Hugh’s rank customarily employed a valet, but Hugh never did. He had no qualms about borrowing the services of someone else’s valet when absolutely necessary, but what he could do for himself, he preferred doing. It made him free to come and go as he wished without having to consider anyone else’s needs.

Now, though, he was not free. He was as dependent as a suckling babe.

He submitted to Carter’s ministrations with as good grace as he could muster, even though Carter needed to help him with his most basic of needs. He’d do them all without help as soon as he could, he promised himself. After he was shaved, bathed, toileted and dressed, he found his way back to the rocking chair, more fatigued than he would ever admit.

‘Thank you, Carter,’ he said. ‘What of breakfast?’ His hunger had returned. ‘Will you help me to the breakfast room?’

He sensed Carter backing away. ‘I—I believe Mrs Asher preferred you eat here, sir. Your health is fragile, I’m given to understand.’

Hugh refused to be fragile. ‘Very well, but tell Mrs Asher I wish to speak with her as soon as it is convenient.’

‘Very good, sir.’ Carter moved towards the door.

‘In fact—’ Hugh raised his voice ‘—tell Mrs Asher that I would like to see the village doctor. I am well able to pay for his services, so let there be no worry over that. I wish to see him today.’ And find out, if possible, if he was to be blind or not.

‘As you wish, sir.’ He imagined Carter bowing. ‘Breakfast as well, sir.’

The door closed and the footman’s steps receded.

Hugh rose again. It felt better to be dressed, even if he was merely in shirt, trousers and stockings. At least when Mrs Asher returned, he would look more like a gentleman and less like an invalid.

If one could ignore the bandages covering his eyes.

He made his way around the bed. If his memory served him, the table on the other side of the bed, the table he’d knocked down during the night, was where he had eaten the porridge. He found the table again, bumped into the wooden chair again and kicked the lost candlestick with his toe, sending it skittering away.

Nonetheless, he managed to arrange the table and chair for eating. It was a minor matter, but a victory all the same. He was not entirely helpless.

Even so, a lifetime like this would be unbearable.

* * *

Daphne had left the two prospective maids in the company of Mrs Pitt after finally sorting out the matter. She’d thought she could simply hand them off to the housekeeper and be done with it, but the woman was shockingly dependent upon Daphne to make even the smallest of decisions, like what their duties should be, whether they should live in the house—yes, they should. Why have maids if they were not around when you needed them? Mrs Pitt also would have offered the girls a pittance for what would be very hard work, tending to the fires, cleaning the house and otherwise seeing to her needs. It was also very clear that they needed new clothes.

And that they were hungry. They both kept eyeing the bread Mrs Pitt had taken from the oven, and neither could pay attention to the discussion. So Daphne told Mrs Pitt to feed them, which led to a long discussion of what to feed them and what to feed Mr Westleigh and how was she—Mrs Pitt—to cook all that food, now that there were two more mouths to feed and two more workers to supervise.

By the time they’d finished, Daphne had given Mrs Pitt permission to hire a cook, a kitchen maid, another footman and two stable boys to help John Coachman. Mr Pitt was sent into the village to speak with some people he and Mrs Pitt thought would be perfect for the jobs, and Monette was getting her cloak and bonnet so she could accompany the girls to the local draper for fabric to make new dresses and aprons.

What fuss. Her husband would have been appalled at her being so bothered by such trivial matters. Even at the convent at Fahr, someone else saw to the food, the clothing, the cleaning.

As tedious as it all was, Daphne walked through the hall with a sense of pride. Her decisions were good ones after all. And she could well afford to pay all the servants even if she stayed here a year instead of two weeks.

As she crossed the hall, Carter descended the stairs.

She smiled up at him. ‘How is Mr Westleigh this morning, Carter?’

He reached the final step. ‘Much improved, ma’am. He wishes to speak with you.’

Oh, dear. And she wanted to avoid him.

‘What about, do you know?’ Perhaps he’d changed his mind about contacting his family.

Carter frowned. ‘He wants to see a local doctor. I believe he is most unhappy about being bandaged and confined. He wants to see a doctor immediately.’

It was a reasonable request. He’d been nearly insensible when the surgeon at Ramsgate examined him. If only she’d known a few minutes earlier, she could have asked Mr Pitt to fetch the doctor.

‘Could you go to the village and locate the doctor? Or find Mr Pitt and give him the errand? He left for the village a few minutes ago.’

Carter’s brows knit. ‘Shall I take Mr Westleigh his breakfast first, ma’am? I told him it was coming.’

The poor man must be famished. He’d only eaten a bowl of porridge since they’d arrived here.

She sighed. ‘No. I will take him his breakfast. Perhaps there was something else he wanted to say to me.’

Carter came with her to the kitchen where Mrs Pitt gave him the doctor’s direction and fixed the tray for Mr Westleigh.

Daphne carried the tray up the stairs and knocked upon Westleigh’s bedchamber door.

‘Come in, Carter.’ His voice sounded stronger than the day before.

She opened the door and entered the room, kicking the door closed behind her.

He was seated at the table and chair where he’d eaten the porridge, and was dressed in a clean white shirt and dark brown trousers that showed off his broad shoulders and lean hips. She swallowed, suddenly remembering his strong arms carrying her in the inn.

‘I can smell the bread from here.’ He gestured with his hand. ‘I will eat at the table.’

She crossed the room. ‘It is Mrs Asher, not Carter.’

He tensed, as if he’d not liked mistaking her identity, and stood as a gentleman does when a lady enters the room. ‘Good morning,’ he said stiffly.

‘Please sit,’ she responded. ‘Carter said you wished to see me, so it is I who brings you breakfast.’

He lowered himself back in the chair. ‘I appreciate you coming so quickly.’

She placed the tray of food in front of him. ‘I sent Carter to fetch a doctor and we did not wish you to wait. Are you hungry?’

‘Ravenous.’ He carefully ran his hands over the food.

She’d instructed Mrs Pitts to serve foods he could eat with his hands and spare him the struggle of manoeuvring utensils. They’d settled on warm bread sliced open with melting butter inside, two cooked eggs, cubes of cheese and a pot of tea.