Chapter One #2
In the two months since he’d left his home, Laurence did odd jobs and manual labor or small tasks for area farmers, tenants, and even owners of larger estates around Bedfordshire and the counties surrounding it.
Since he’d spent half his life in military service, he was handy with tools and the knowledge of how to build and fix things, even keep animals. It allowed him to earn a small amount of coin, which paid for room and board where available, and it also paid for the feed and care of his horse.
Except he’d had to put Hunter down last week, for the equine had taken a tumble and broke a leg, from which he couldn’t recover. That had been another bump in the road as well as a difficult one; the horse had been the last piece of property he owned.
Truly, he was a man adrift with nothing to his name except payment from his last job.
Over the past two months, he’d had cause to do some thinking, and though he wished to find his sister, perhaps at least offer to be her friend, the lack of income made that an impossibility right now.
Without funds to travel or pay for lodging, the task was out of reach, but it wouldn’t always be this way.
Hopefully.
Adding to the problem was the fact that the letters he’d sent out to his mother’s relatives—or at least the ones he knew about—hadn’t revealed anything of import. None of them claimed to have taken the child in nor did they know of anyone who had the girl.
No doubt his father had lied about that too. Wherever Lucy was, he hoped she was happy and well cared for. Finding her would soon be the driving force in his life, but in order to do that, he needed stability and respectability.
He tugged at the knot of his cravat, for it felt as if his body were on fire.
There had been some talk at a tavern in a charming village that there was a sickness with fever going around the countryside.
Perhaps he’d contracted that, and the lack of proper food and nutrition as well as constantly being on the move had weakened his body. That had been two hours ago.
Damn it all to hell. I don’t need this.
Eventually, he arrived on foot at Landry Hall, for that same local gossip had said the lady of the manor needed to have some work done on the estate.
Of course, there was the caveat that the viscount wasn’t in residence, but his hoyden of a daughter was, and it was rumored she’d been banished there due to a significant scandal that left her ruined.
That didn’t matter to him, for rumors and gossip were a waste of time.
However, he was intrigued, merely to meet the lady, to see for himself if she was as scandalous and outrageous as folks in the village assumed.
People made decisions. Some of them were good ones, some of them were bad ones.
Neither of them defined the person’s heart.
The end.
By the time he staggered into the stable yard, seemingly every muscle in his body ached.
Sweat plastered his lawn shirt to his back while it dampened his brow and chest. Not even the cold rain in the rapidly gathering night made a difference in the temperature of his skin.
The effort of putting one foot in front of the other was proving a herculean task.
It was his own bad luck that visiting hours had long ago expired, and a tradesman looking for work couldn’t exactly walk boldly up to the front door and knock.
He would do so first thing in the morning, and perhaps after a night’s rest, he would feel better.
The weakness in his limbs coupled with a growing megrim hindered clear thinking.
Tilting his head back, he stared into the sky regardless of the rain.
“Why the devil are you making life so difficult for me? Haven’t I suffered enough?
Haven’t I given enough?” Of course there was no answer from any deity who might be listening.
“Would it be too much to ask that you might grant me latitude and send something good into my life?”
Nothing but the sound of rain met his inquiry. Of course it did. Since the war ended, there had been nothing except emptiness in his heart. Where had his purpose gone? Now that he’d lost the manor house and the estate, what was he supposed to do with his life?
Feeling more wretched with each moment that passed, Laurence made his way into the long building that was the stable.
Immediately, the comforting scents of straw and warm horseflesh met his nose.
At least it was dry, and that was most welcome.
For a few moments, he stood still as his eyes adjusted to the gloom.
A furtive glance about didn’t show any life of a human variety, and for that he was grateful.
At least there would be no awkward questions or the possibility of being evicted before he’d even settled.
Many people were distrustful of former soldiers who merely needed work.
Not that he could blame them. Some were desperate and had turned to a life of crime.
As he passed various stalls, the horses within eyed him with curiosity.
Soft wickers and whinnies greeted him. It was almost like being back in a military encampment except without the mud and the distant sound of artillery fire.
A couple of them nodded their heads at him, and he murmured what he thought was a greeting to them.
Thank God there was an empty stall toward the back of the building.
It took all of his remaining strength to hunt down a supply of dry straw, move some of it into the stall, then fashion a bed of sorts for himself.
Throwing his rucksack onto the straw, he dropped to his knees as his head spun.
Barely had he removed his greatcoat to alleviate some of the heat swamping his body before he collapsed onto his makeshift bed and used the rucksack as a pillow.
After serving King and Country for twelve years, this was where he was at in life? Drawing on a pension that wasn’t enough to live off? Having no home or no family? Feeling like a hopeless failure every day?
It was shameful and embarrassing. But it was his life. He supposed he should be grateful for that, but most days, he wasn’t. Had he survived two commissions in the military just to perish in a strange stable with no one around him? Would no one mourn his passing?
Where had everything gone wrong?
With a sigh mixed with a moan of pain, Laurence collapsed onto his side and let the anguish in his head rage.
It wasn’t long before he couldn’t discern reality from nightmares, and when darkness pressed in on the edges of his vision, he didn’t try to fight it.
What was death but merely the start of another journey?
Perhaps in this one, he would fair better and have good fortune instead of the ill he’d labored under for the past three years.
If anyone is listening, send me a sign, or perhaps send an angel to guide me.