The hamlet of Middleborough included less than two hundred
souls all told, and although it boasted both a tailor and a dressmaker, a
bootmaker, and two fine taverns, it could not by any stretch be counted a city.
Its chief claim to fame, as well as its main source of revenue, was its
location. Twenty-five miles of good road to the north lay London, twenty-five
miles to the south lay Brighton, and nearly every traveler between the two
cities came through Middleborough.
Thus the residents of Middleborough were accustomed to
fine carriages and matched teams bowling through their town. Most stopped at
either the White Swan or the King's Arms, but the straight, flat highway
inspired more than a few drivers—gentlemen with flashy rigs, mostly—to race
each other, at speeds which rendered Middleborough little more than a blur.
It was a fine early spring day when two such carriages
appeared on the horizon. Walking along the road, her arms filled with packages,
Hannah Preston heaved a sigh. Shifting her armload, she caught hold of her
daughter's hand and pulled her to the side. Moments later the carriages
thundered past in a blur of glossy horses and brightly painted wheels.
"Fools," muttered Hannah, barely avoiding a
muddy puddle. "One of these days, there's going to be a spectacular
accident."
Her sister-in-law laughed. "You'll be sure to see it,
situated right here at the bend in the road."
"Then it had
better happen soon," she said. "The new vicar will be arriving in a
month."
"Mama, do you want there to be a crash?"
Hannah ignored Sarah's snicker, guiltily, and rushed to
answer her daughter. "No, Molly. Of course not."
"Oh." Molly stared after the departed carriages.
"Uncle Jamie bet Uncle Tom a shilling there would be one this week."
Hannah frowned. "Your uncles should know better than
to discuss that around you."
"Is wagering a sin, Mama?"
Hannah hesitated. Her late husband would have said yes,
but as her own brothers were the guilty parties, she could hardly condemn it.
"Now, Molly," said Sarah, "you must know Uncle Jamie and Uncle
Tom love to tease. Did they know you were about when they said that?"
Molly pursed her lips and her chin sank almost to her
chest. "I listened when they didn't think I was there. Don't be angry,
Mama."
"How could I be angry? Is it your fault God gave you
such good ears?" A tiny smile crossed Molly's face, and she shook her
head. Hannah wrinkled her nose, making a silly face to encourage the smile.
"I see our gate. Shall we race?"
As she hoped, Molly took off, squealing with laughter.
Hannah hurried a few steps, then had to stop as a stone slipped through the
hole in her boot. "Ouch," she said in exasperation.
"Time for new boots?" Sarah asked.
Hannah sighed. "Time for seeking employment, to buy
new boots."
Sarah said nothing as they trudged the rest of the way
down the lane. Hannah pushed open the gate Molly had left swinging.
"You'll always be welcome with us," Sarah said quietly, but Hannah
shook her head.
"You've four children of your own, Sarah. And living
with Jamie might drive me around the bend." Sarah smiled sheepishly.
Hannah forced herself to smile back. Sarah was trying to help. It wasn't her
fault she had no room to offer. "It's enough that you helped me carry all
this home today," she added.
"I wish things were different, Hannah."
She avoided her sister-in-law's gaze. "I do, too, but
they aren't, and it can't be helped." She did wish everything was
different. She wished the new vicar wasn't waiting to take possession of the
vicarage. She wished she had funds of her own to purchase another cottage. She
wished her husband hadn't died and left her alone.
Molly was sitting on the front step, clapping her hands in
glee that she had won the race. Hannah wrinkled her nose at her little girl and
laughed. Sarah took the packages back to the kitchen, Molly at her heels, while
Hannah took her time scraping her boots.
Dark little footprints down the hall indicating that Molly
had forgotten to scrape her shoes clean. Hannah heaved a bittersweet sigh. It
was too much to expect a four-year-old to remember such rules, she supposed,
and as long as it was Hannah's own house footprinted, there was no reason for
dismay. In a few weeks, though, that would change. How she would miss this
little house.
She sighed again, taking down the rag hanging beside the
door and wiping up the footprints. She didn't want to raise her child as a
guest in someone else's house anymore than she wanted to live as a guest in
someone else's house, even if the someone else were her own father, but there
was nothing to be done about it. She had nowhere else to go, and would just
have to learn to accept it.
Behind her, the gate squeaked. "I beg your pardon,
ma'am," called a slurred voice. "Do you know where I might find a
doctor?"
Hannah turned, squinting to see the stranger with the
upper-class accent. Tall, well-dressed, and decidedly drunk, she decided as he
swatted at a pestering fly. "What's happened?"
"There's been…" He cleared his throat. "A
bit of an accident, really."
"What sort of accident, and where?" The doctor
lived on the other side of Middleborough, over a mile away. She hoped there
weren't serious injuries.
The stranger flapped one arm toward town. "Over
there, around the bend. Tremendous crater in the road, did you know? Very lucky
to have missed it myself." The momentum of his arm had carried the man off
balance, and he lurched into the gatepost.
"What happened?" Hannah asked. The crater had
been a rock only a few days ago, when some men from town had dug it out after
receiving numerous complaints. They must not have finished filling it in yet.
"Why, he hit it, of course. Flew right out of his
rig."
Hannah nodded. She was accustomed to helping others, and
although people flung from passing carriages were rather rare, they were still
God's creatures, and entitled to Christian charity from the vicar's wife.
Vicar's widow, she remembered with a pang. "I'll come see what I can
do," she said.
Sarah appeared at the back of the hall, no doubt drawn by
the strange voice. "There's been a carriage accident," Hannah called.
"I'm going to see if I can help. Could you stay a little longer and give
Molly her tea?"
"Of course," said Sarah. Hannah hurried down the
path to the gate, where the man was now tilting strongly to one side.
"Is he badly hurt?" she asked, starting off in
the direction he had indicated.
"I've no idea," he said, not sounding very
concerned. "Should I fetch a doctor?"
"Let's look at him first. I'm Mrs. Preston, the vicar's
wife, and have seen all sorts of injuries." She could smell the spirits
clinging to him, and suspected his friend would smell the same. In Hannah's
experience, drunks seem to lead charmed lives. Hopefully this one would be so
lucky.
Although he was several inches taller, Hannah's companion
seemed to have trouble keeping up with her. She asked a few more questions, but
he could offer nothing of interest except the fact that the carriages had been
racing. They rounded the bend in the road, and came upon the scene.
The horses seemed unhurt. They still stood in the traces,
quivering but otherwise calm. The carriage, a flashy yellow phaeton, was now a
one-wheeled vehicle, the axle resting on the ground. Another carriage was
parked nearby, the horses tied to a tree branch. There was no sign of anyone
else.
"Where is he?" Her guide blinked owlishly.
"Over here." He led her down a gentle slope,
away from the road and toward the field. A pair of legs in blue trousers and
tall polished boots protruded from underneath a blueberry bush. "He rolled
some way," explained the man.
"What's his name?" she asked, picking her way
closer.
"Reece. Right. Lord David Reece." He didn't
appear too lordly right now. Hannah went down on her knees next to the man and
pushed aside the branches until she could see a dark head.
"Lord David?" she said loudly. "Can you
hear me, Lord David?"
"Wake up, Reece," called her companion, kicking
one of the prone man's boots. "I've brought someone to help."
"Please don't kick him, sir. His leg could be
broken." Hannah turned back to the victim, reaching out to shake his
shoulder gently. "Lord David, can you—?" As she touched him, he
twitched, then erupted from under the bush with a furious bellow.
"God damn, that hurts! Leave me be!" He swung
his arm in a wide arc, knocking Hannah breathless and backward. He howled
again. "Bloody Christ! What the hell happened to my arm?"
"Sir!" Hannah scrambled to her knees. "I've
come to help."
"You'll go to hell for sure now, Reece," said
the first man, laughing. "You're swearing at the vicar's wife."
"My apologies," grumbled the injured man,
cradling his arm to his body. "Christ, it hurts!"
Hannah ignored that. "Where are you hurt?"
"My arm," he moaned, hunching over. She put out
her hand again, and he flinched. "Don't touch it, I think it's broken.
This is all your fault, Percy!"
"Well, I like that!" exclaimed his friend.
"You wanted to race. I never made you hit the hole in the ground."
"Sod off," snarled Lord David, turning a bit
green.
"Gentlemen!" Hannah glared at both of them.
"You may argue later, but for now shall we get out of the road? My cottage
is just down the road, so we'll move you there, and I'll send for someone from
the village." Lord David nodded weakly, and Hannah hoped he didn't throw
up on her. "All right then. Mr. Percy, would you help him up?"
They got the injured man on his feet, only to have him go
suddenly white as a sheet and topple back to the ground in a dead faint. Hannah
sighed, directing Mr. Percy to lift him again, wedging herself under Lord
David's side. His long arm dangled over her shoulder, his head hung forward,
and Hannah staggered under his weight. There was no way they could lever him up
into the surviving carriage, so they would have to walk. Thankfully Percy was
as tall as his friend, and was able to take most of the load, but he was still
drunk, and their progress was slow.
Finally they reached the cottage and Hannah kicked open
the gate. They maneuvered Lord David's limp body through the garden, and Hannah
called out to Sarah as they reached the door.
"In here," she said to Mr. Percy, indicating the
parlor. She wasn't at all sure the sofa in there would be up to Lord David's
height, but she couldn't go another step. Her shoulder felt like it had been
sheared away. With a great thump, they deposited Lord David on the sofa, and
Hannah flopped into a chair in relief.
"Goodness." Sarah surveyed the scene from the
doorway, hands on her hips.
"Is there any tea left?" Hannah knew just what
Sarah was thinking: we got to see the spectacular accident! Sarah had a sharp
sense of humor. At Hannah's question, Sarah nodded, her eyes still fastened on
the man lying across the sofa. "Will you bring it, please?" asked
Hannah with exaggerated politeness. Sarah glanced at her, smirked, and went
back to the kitchen.
Hannah turned to her visitor. "Mr. Percy, do sit
down. Mrs. Braden, my sister-in-law, will bring some tea. I'll see if I can
help Lord David." She got up and pulled the curtains all the way open so
she could see better.
The light fell upon a strikingly handsome man. Lord David
Reece was tall and well built, that much Hannah already knew, but he was also
very attractive. Dark hair, almost black, worn long and tied back from his face
with a slender leather thong. Sooty eyelashes, a high brow, sculpted
cheekbones, wide, firm lips… Hannah couldn't help being impressed. He was one
of the handsomest men she had ever seen, even if he did smell like a
distillery.
She turned her attention to his arm. His coat was
exquisitely tailored and fit him perfectly, which made removing it while he was
unconscious a near impossibility. She settled for feeling his arm through the
cloth, and came across the distorted lump of his shoulder. It was probably out
of joint, a relatively mild injury, but not one Hannah knew how to fix herself.
She moved down to his leg. Something about the angle of
his foot on the ground had made her think it was broken, and the way he fainted
the instant any weight was put on it strengthened that suspicion. His boots,
like his coat, were a perfect fit, but had to come off. If the leg swelled
inside the boot, it would be difficult even to cut the boot off without further
injury. She turned to Mr. Percy.
"I suspect his leg is injured, or perhaps his ankle.
I think it would be best if we removed his boot."
"What? Oh. Right." Percy rubbed his hands
together, going to his friend's feet.
"No!" Hannah protested, realizing what he
intended. "His ankle may be broken. We should cut the boot——"
Mr. Percy looked horrified. "I should say not," he
said indignantly. "These boots are from Hoby. Reece'd never slice them
off. I'll get it off, never fear."
"No, please, Mr. Percy—" Hannah cringed as he
seized the boot and yanked.
"Arggggg!" Lord David came awake with a roar.
"God damn son of a bitch, Percy! What the bloody hell are you doing?"
"Keeping her from cutting off your boot, Reece."
Mr. Percy dropped the boot on the floor, wobbling on his feet again as he
staggered to a chair. Gripping his leg, Lord David turned to glare at her.
"Your leg may be broken," Hannah said weakly.
"I should bloody well think so! Jesus holy Christ,
that hurt!" Hannah pressed her lips together at his language. "Who
are you, anyway?" He scowled at her.
"I am Mrs. Preston. This is my cottage." Hannah
looked up to see Sarah watching, a tea tray in her hands, her eyebrows halfway
to her hairline. "Thank you, Sarah. Would you like some tea, Lord
David?" He grunted and slung his arm over his eyes. Hannah turned to his
friend. "Mr. Percy, perhaps you should see to the horses. Mr. MacKenzie at
the White Swan or Mr. Edwards at the King's Arms will be able to stable them
for you."
Percy jerked to his feet, relief washing over his face. He
had been looking at the tea tray with a mixture of repugnance and resignation,
and Hannah wondered if he had more liquor in his carriage.
"Right. Many thanks, ma'am. Reece…" He shuffled
his feet. "I'll make sure your blacks are settled."
"Get out, Percy," muttered Lord David from under
his arm. Hannah went over to Sarah.
"He needs the doctor," she whispered.
Sarah looked past her at the man sprawled on her sofa.
"I could go, but will you be all right?"
"Well, I could always kick his broken leg,"
Hannah replied. "That would probably do him in if he tries to ravish
me."
Sarah muffled a snort, reaching for her shawl. "I'll
hurry." Hannah rolled her eyes and went back into the parlor.
"Are you really the vicar's wife?" He sounded
suspicious. Hannah poured a cup of tea, and carried it to the sofa.
"I was. My husband died six months ago."
He cleared his throat. "Terribly sorry." His
eyes flickered toward the tea. "You wouldn't have any brandy to put in
that tea, I suppose? For medicinal purposes?"
"Liquor got you into this position, Lord David; it
would be very bad of me to offer you more."
"Call me Reece," he said, leaning back and
ignoring the tea she set on the table beside him. "What's the
village?"
"Middleborough. It's almost half a mile from
here."
"Right. The middle borough." He turned pleading
eyes on her. "Just a spot of brandy? My arm hurts like a… It's terribly
sore."
Hannah hesitated. It would be a while before the doctor
arrived. "I have some sherry."
"That's lovely," he said fervently. "Sherry
would be capital." Hannah deliberated, but the man was clearly suffering;
being drunk was the least of his troubles at the moment. She went to get the
sherry.
When she returned, his eyes were closed, and she just set
the bottle and glass down beside the tea. There wasn't much she could do for
him, and if he could rest until the doctor arrived, so much the better. She
went back to the kitchen, where Molly was just finishing her tea.
"Mama, why is that man here?"
Hannah brushed the bread crumbs from the table onto her
hand and tossed them out the window. "His carriage was wrecked, and he was
hurt. This was the closest house, so we brought him here."
"Will he stay long?"
"I doubt it, dear. Aunt Sarah's gone to fetch Dr.
March."
"Oh." Molly was quiet. Hannah washed the cups
and put them on the dishboard to dry. "He's drinking Papa's wine."
Hannah's hands froze over the teapot. For a moment she
could hear Stephen answering Molly's questions, see him balancing his daughter
on his knee, fair heads close together. And now someone else was drinking his
sherry. "Yes. The gentleman's leg hurts very much, and the wine makes it
feel a little better."
Molly thought about this. "It didn't help Papa."
Hannah's throat tightened and she couldn't reply at first.
How to explain to a child that her healthy, sturdy father could catch a cold in
the rain and die from it? Molly hadn't talked much about Stephen's death, and
once Hannah had explained that her papa had gone to live with the angels in
heaven, she had seemed content, her curiosity satisfied. Hannah didn't know
whether this reassured her or not.
"Is he going to die, too, Mama?"
Hannah shook herself. Molly was only four. "No,
Molly, I doubt he'll die. He's not terribly sick, and we'll take good care of
him until he can go home."
"Better care than we took of Papa?" Molly gazed
up at her with complete innocence, her arms on the table, her chin on her
hands, her small legs kicking. The ache knotted in Hannah's chest again, that
she had not been able to take care of her husband. It had been a cold, for
mercy's sake…
"Yes, Molly. We'll take the very best care of him,
and not let him get sick."
Molly nodded, looking relieved. "May I go plant some
flowers? Missy wants to dig." Hannah nodded, and Molly hopped down from
her seat and ran into the garden, her rag doll in hand. Hannah put away the
plates and wrapped up the last tea cakes.
She went back into the parlor to get the tray. Lord David
still had his arm over his face, but the bottle of sherry was empty. Hannah
added it to the tray and took everything back to the kitchen. She set the
bottle aside and sighed. The last traces of Stephen were vanishing every day.
She had given his clothes to the poor, as he had asked her to do, and his books
would stay with the house. She had no use for sermons and theological texts.
Soon there would be almost nothing left of him and her life with him. She put
on another pot of tea, for herself this time.
By the time Molly ran into the house, shouting that Aunt
Sarah had come with Dr. March and Uncle Jamie, Hannah felt better. Her moments
of helplessness were getting better over time. The most important reminder of
Stephen, her daughter, bounded into the kitchen, eyes glowing.
"Uncle Jamie is here! I told him he won his bet with
Uncle Tom, and he said I could have the shilling!"
Hannah bent a sour gaze on her elder brother. "That
was very noble, Jamie."
He grinned. "Make sure she gets something sweet from
Mrs. Kimble in town," he said, winking at his niece. Molly shrieked with
glee. Jamie rumpled her curls. "Run into the garden now, child. I need to
speak to your mother." Molly darted out the door. "What
happened?"
"Where's Dr. March?"
"In the parlor, with Sarah."
Hannah sighed. "A carriage race. One of them hit a
hole and was thrown. I think his leg is broken, and his shoulder may be out of
joint." A loud howl echoed from the parlor. "His friend came looking
for help. They're both deep in their cups." Jamie nodded, and she followed
him down the hall to parlor.
Dr. March was bent over the injured man's arm. He looked
up at their entrance. "Ah, Mr. Braden, I'll need your help. This arm is
out of joint." Hannah hurried to Lord David's side. His eyes were closed,
and a thin sheen of sweat covered his brow.
"How are you?" she whispered, feeling for a
fever as Jamie took off his coat and Sarah fetched bandages.
"Bloody fine," he said through his teeth,
squinting at her with bloodshot eyes. "But I do thank you for the
sherry." Hannah smiled, and stepped back so the doctor could reset his
shoulder. Lord David's face twitched once, but he didn't make a sound, even
when Jamie accidentally bumped his injured leg.
"There you are, sir," said the doctor.
"Keep it bandaged and rested for a week, and it will be fine. Now let me
see this leg." Hannah sat down beside her patient and took his hand. He
looked at her, startled.
"Are you from London, sir?" she asked, trying to
distract him from the doctor's probing. He nodded once.
"Leaving it. Family orders."
"Your family lives near, then?" Hannah watched
as a frown creased Dr. March's face. Lord David snorted.
"A sister and stepmother. And a brother in
London."
"Mmm-hmm," said Hannah absently, trying to see
what the doctor was doing. He had straightened Lord David's uninjured leg, and
seemed to be measuring the two against each other.
"Is it very bad, do you think?"
She tore her eyes away. "I beg pardon?"
"My leg," he said, his color fading another
shade as the doctor tugged on it. Hannah hesitated.
"I'm sure it will be fine. Dr. March is a fine
physician."
"Well, sir, you've a seriously broken leg," said
the doctor then. "It will take time to heal. You're to put no weight at all
on it for four weeks. I'll splint it and bandage it, and nature will do the
rest." Lord David nodded, and his hand relaxed in Hannah's. She hadn't
even realized his grip had tightened. The doctor gave her a significant look,
and when he left, she followed him to the door.
"He shouldn't be moved, Mrs. Preston," said the
doctor in a low voice. "Would it be a terrible imposition to leave him
here?"
Hannah hesitated. "Of course not."
"See here, Dr. March," exclaimed Jamie, "he
can't stay here. She's alone with a child. She can't care for a wounded
man."
The doctor sighed. "Well, I suppose I could give him
enough laudanum for a trip into town, but there wouldn't be anyone at the inn
who could look after him. He won't be able to do anything for some time."
"Jamie,"
said Hannah, putting one hand on his arm. "I was about to ask if you might
persuade Pa to send Willy for a while. He could help Lord David."
"I haven't agreed," said Jamie testily.
"I'm not leaving you alone with a strange man, even if Willy's here. He
could be anyone! He's hardly given a good account of himself so far—"
"Jamie, he's got a broken leg," interrupted
Sarah gently. "And it's Hannah's house." He glowered at his wife.
"I can't throw him out," said Hannah. "He's
in enough pain as it is."
"I agree, Mr. Braden," put in the doctor.
"It may do the man further harm to move even into town."
Her brother said a few things under his breath about
drunken idiots who threw themselves out of carriages, but stopped protesting.
The doctor went to splint Lord David's leg, and Hannah and Sarah were left in
the hall when Jamie stomped out to tend his horses.
"Well, that's a rare bit of excitement in
Middleborough," Sarah observed. "A drunken lord crashing on your
doorstep."
Hannah sighed. "I could do without that kind of
excitement. A trunk of gold sovereigns crashing on my doorstep would be more
helpful." She glanced into the parlor. "But I can manage, so long as
Pa lets Willy come."
Sarah pursed her lips. "We'll tell him the gentleman
looks rich. That ought to do it."
Hannah choked back a laugh. Her father would agree to just
about anything that might benefit him financially, including sending his
youngest son to help a stranger. "Thank you."
Sarah grinned as Jamie called to her. "Good
luck."
Hannah followed to the door and waved as they drove off.
"I could use some luck," she said to herself. Her time was running
out. When the new vicar arrived in a month, she would have to move back into
her father's house unless she found another way. Into her father's house, with
her father, his new wife, and her two younger brothers. A month sounded like a
very short time. And now she would be tending an invalid during that month.
With a sigh and a silent prayer for help, Hannah went back
into the parlor to help the doctor.
The first book in the Reece Family trilogy, followed by 
I don't usually have a real person in mind as inspiration for my characters, but Lady Harriet Maria Conyngham (painted by Sir Thomas Lawrence) is very nearly how I pictured Hannah. Isn't she lovely?
