Chapter 9 A Winter Walk #2
“I cannot wait for this to be over,” she said to Sophia, as the ladies retreated to the drawing room after dinner.
“Only another month, if I am lucky. I waddle about like a duck — so undignified. I should feel better if I could get out into the garden, but we have had snow almost every day this past week. Not much, but enough to keep me indoors.”
“We had snow in Surrey, too,” Sophia said. “Apart from the ball, I had no exercise at all. I should love to walk about the gardens a little. Shall we make a firm plan to do so tomorrow? I do not think we shall have any more snow, and there is not much lying on the ground to deter us.”
“Eleven, straight after breakfast,” Rowena said. “I always take my walk at eleven.”
Before Sophia could reply, her sisters began to lay out Mr Payne’s drawings of the ball on a table, and she was applied to for all the little details which had already been related by letter but must be gone over again and again.
She was not loath to oblige them, for although there had been so many successful balls in the past, this was the first at the home of a duke, and the names of the various lords must be repeated.
There was something very satisfying about telling one’s sisters that one had danced with the son of a marquess or a duke, rather casually as if one did so as a regular affair and therefore it was a perfectly commonplace event.
But there was no escaping the mention of Lord Daniel Torbuck, and her tentative hopes in that direction, for Mama was not at all reticent about it.
Yet somehow those days at Marshfields already seemed hazy, like a distant memory of a summer’s day, something long gone and become a shadowy, ephemeral thing.
Had Lord Daniel really paid her so much attention?
And even if he had, did it mean anything or was it mere politeness, or simply filling the hours until it was time to begin the journey home?
Back in the solid walls of Staineybank, Lord Daniel had no substance, a half remembered dream that had vanished in the light of day.
The next day, Sophia breakfasted early and then returned to her room to finish unpacking, or rather, since the maids had unpacked already, to rearrange everything to her own systematic order.
It was odd how unsettling it was should a hairbrush be misaligned, or a nightgown be folded incorrectly.
Having removed every gown from her press and replaced each in its proper position, she was just beginning on her chest of drawers when Rowena’s head appeared round the door.
“Ah, there you are! It is past eleven, dear. I have gathered the others for our walk, but I should not wish to exclude you, if you still wish to come.”
“Oh, yes! Give me a moment to put on my stoutest boots. Are we going far?”
“Richard will not permit me to go far, or to wander from the approved path,” she said, pulling a face.
“Out by the front door, through the parterre to the bridge, then along the lake as far as the summer house and back on the path to the garden door. Always the same way. I cannot wait until the summer, when I shall be able to walk anywhere I wish.”
Provided with suitable footwear and her warmest cloak, Sophia followed Rowena down the stairs to the hall where Charlotte, Augusta and Maria, and Rowena’s friend Georgie already waited.
Froggett signalled to a footman to open the heavy front door and then they were out in the crisp, wintry air.
The steps had been swept clean, but on the drive an inch or so of snow still lay, rutted with the marks of wheels and hooves.
Georgie gave Rowena her arm as she descended the steps, still damp and slippery, but once on the drive Rowena shook off her helper, and strode away.
“Is she always so independent?” Sophia asked, as Georgie shook her head at her friend’s retreating back.
“More so at the moment because she feels so helpless,” Georgie said.
“She is so used to being active that all this waiting is driving her a little insane. Richard does not help, of course. He is so nervous and protective of her just now that he would have her stay in bed until her confinement if he could. But the physician is very keen on fresh air and healthy exercise, so she has her walk every day.”
“But only on the prescribed route.”
Georgie rolled her eyes. “That is Richard’s doing, naturally, and of course the duke backs him up. The heir and all that. Still, only another month or so of this nonsense, thank goodness.”
From the drive, they followed the path round the side of the house and entered the parterre, which Sophia thought was the least interesting part of the garden.
It was part of the original formal pleasure grounds, but she preferred the more romantic landscape of the upper river, with its pretty Palladian bridge and miniature waterfalls, and then the sinuous curves of the lake.
At the bridge, Rowena stopped to allow the others, slower walkers, to catch up with her.
“I have never yet managed to reach the far side of the bridge,” she said gaily. “Once, just once, Richard permitted me to venture onto it, but it came on to rain, so we turned back. But one day I shall cross this river.”
Laughing, she turned and set off again, reaching the top of a short flight of steps before the others had even begun to move. She started down the steps, and then, with a terrifying shriek, she fell, tumbling away out of their sight.
Sophia gasped in horror. Georgie had already begun to run, so she ran too, finding Rowena sprawled at the bottom of the steps, looking confused.
“Goodness! How foolish of me to miss my step like that! Georgie, give me your hand, will you?”
“Are you hurt?” Georgie said breathlessly.
“No… I think not. Just… surprised. Help me up, will you?”
“Are you sure? Wait a moment, catch your breath,” Georgie said.
“I am fine,” Rowena said, trying, and failing, to haul herself into an upright position. “I just missed my footing, that is all. If I could just get up…”
“I think you should stay exactly where you are until we can fetch help,” Georgie said firmly. “Sophia, will you run back to the house to find someone?”
“Augusta is the fastest of us,” Sophia said, and her sister nodded and ran off.
Meanwhile, Charlotte began to shout, “Help! Help!” in a clear voice.
“What are you doing?” Sophia said sharply.
“There may be a gardener about,” Charlotte said. “Maria, why do you not go towards the kitchen garden and see if you can find help? I will run down towards the lake, in case anyone is about there.”
They left in opposite directions, the cries for help gradually fading.
“This is a great deal of fuss about nothing,” Rowena said, having got herself into a sitting position. “Sophia, you will give me a hand to rise, I am sure. Oh, this stupid baby! If only I were not so large!”
“Are you sure there is nothing broken?” Sophia said.
“Quite sure. I shall be a trifle bruised, I imagine, but nothing worse than that. If I could—”
A man’s voice sounded from across the river. “Are you in trouble, ladies?”
“Who is that?” Georgie called out.
“Ben Lovell, miss, the gamekeeper.”
“We should be glad of your help, Ben,” Georgie cried.
He stepped forward out of the shade of overhanging shrubs, so that he could be clearly seen. “I’ll come over the bridge and be with you in a moment.”
With a wave, he disappeared into the foliage again, but his footsteps could be heard scuffling through fallen leaves on the far side of the river, then heavy boots on the bridge, followed by lighter steps on the snow-covered path.
He was a big man of about fifty, sallow of complexion, hung about with game bags, and a gun slung over one shoulder.
Laying these objects aside, he knelt down beside Rowena.
“Are you injured, ma’am? Shall I carry you?”
“No, no! If you could help me to rise…”
Between Georgie and the gamekeeper, they got Rowena to her feet and began very cautiously to help her up the steps and back to the house by the shortest way.
Sophia had nothing to do but walk anxiously in their wake, staying a little behind so as not to crowd them and puzzling over what had caused Rowena to trip and fall, for the steps were smooth and even, and although there was snow on them, it was not so much as to cause a sure-footed person to slip.
However, when she reached the step where Rowena had fallen, the snow had been all scuffed about as she had tumbled down, and there, no doubt buried in the snow before but clearly visible now, was the long handle of a rake.
There was no need, then, to search further for the cause of Rowena’s accident.