Chapter 7 #2
He inclined his head. “I am indebted to you.”
“I am indebted to you for carrying the Admiral out from under his collapsing roof,” she replied.
The faintest warmth stirred in his chest—something that had little to do with gratitude and a great deal to do with the curve of her mouth as she said it. “We shall allow ourselves to be equal.”
The giggle of a girl at the doorway cut across his thoughts.
“That bandage makes you look quite brave, sir,” whispered a young girl with large blue eyes, peering round the door-case before being gently herded away by Miss Archer.
“Out of the sickroom, Miss Sims,” Jane said in mock severity. “Mr. Leigh cannot be expected to recover if you and the other girls stand about and make a hero of him.”
The child cast another wide-eyed glance at the stranger in their midst. “Is he going to die?”
“No, nothing so heroic as that,” she said as she shooed the girl away.
Edmund felt the faint, absurd urge to straighten his shoulders, as if he were in uniform.
“Pay them no mind,” Mrs. Larkin said, faint amusement threading her tone. “They seldom see gentlemen in the house, save for the Admiral. You will furnish them with conversation at breakfast for a week.”
“Then I had better make myself useful,” he replied. “Idle heroes are of no use to anyone.”
Her brows lifted a fraction. “You are not obliged to do anything further today. You have done more than enough.”
He looked towards the window, where a fallen branch lay across the south lawn and pieces of shattered gate still littered the gravel.
“On the contrary, ma’am,” he said, “the Admiral’s house will not repair itself.”
“That will take a crew of experienced men to fix—or have you experience of mending roofs?”
He ignored her sarcasm. “You have taken us in when we had nowhere else to go. At least allow me to reduce the damage within your view.”
Her gaze followed his. For a moment, he thought she might refuse out of principle. Then she inclined her head.
“Very well. If you are determined to help, I shall put you in Miss Archer’s hands. She has a list already forming in her head.”
“I am terrified,” he murmured.
“As you should be.” A spark of mischief lit her eyes. It was the first real crack in the wary exterior she had when in his company.
He rose, the bandage tugging slightly at his skin, and followed Miss Archer out into the corridor and then into the ruined garden.
The air was raw and damp, smelling of salt, bruised leaves, and splintered wood. The dawn had brightened to a pallid mid-morning; the sky hung low and heavy, as if still considering whether or not to resume its assault.
“Large branches first,” Jane announced, hands on her hips as she surveyed the wreckage. “The girls shall soon be out here to help. If anything is too heavy for us, it must wait for men with axes to come from the town.”
“The use of axes sound promising,” Edmund said. “I will gladly make use of one should you have such a thing.”
She laughed. “Of course. In the garden shed, by the wall.”
After finding the axe, he set his shoulder to a sizeable branch and began dragging it towards the boundary wall.
The work was honest and demanded a satisfying degree of physical effort.
Every lift, every haul, every chop against the resistance of roots and earth served to push back the fatigued fog that clung to his mind.
It also placed him in an excellent position from which to observe.
Girls peered out from windows, then were whisked away by unseen hands. Smoke began to curl from a freshly lit kitchen fire. There were evidently no lessons that day—all hands were on deck.
The south lawn resembled the aftermath of a battlefield—branches strewn like fallen pikes, shingles scattered like spent shot, and the ruined gate lying in ignominious pieces against the hedge. Edmund had removed his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and attacked the work with a soldier’s efficiency.
Miss Archer arrived at his side with an expression of brisk capability upon her face.
“I warn you, Mr. Leigh,” she said. “We run a precise household. Clutter of this magnitude offends my sensibilities.”
Edmund bowed gravely. “Then I shall do my best to prevent your swooning from distress, ma’am.”
“I never swoon, sir, but I do get cross.”
“Then I shall make it my duty to prevent such an occurrence. Where shall I begin? Shall I attack the tree crossing the path to the town?”
“That will take several men. They will be making the rounds to see how we fared and will find it. First, I think, we should remove the large branches that have fallen upon structures. It can be cut into firewood later. The girls can make piles of smaller objects and sweep up the debris.”
She pointed over the garden. “The gate and garden wall will need repair. Have you skill at masonry?”
“I do not yet know. I have more experience with trenching and bivouacking.”
“My heart brims with curiosity and confidence.”
He bit back a smile. “Then allow me to begin with the worst offender. This fellow here looks ready to mount a rebellion.”
He planted his boot against the branch and heaved. The roots tore free of the earth with a protesting rip, showering them both with clods of damp soil.
Jane brushed flecks from her sleeve. “You realize the girls will adore you for this show of strength. It is the sort of thing they shall turn into legend. Ah, here they are now!”
A chorus of laughter spilled across the lawn, releasing a wave of girls armed with brooms and baskets—eager assistants in the labour of restoring their little dominion. At their centre walked Mrs. Larkin.
Her cloak was fastened neatly, her hair pinned with beautiful order despite the restless wind, and her expression one of composed determination—a general reviewing her troops.
“Girls,” she directed, “we shall begin with small branches only. No heroics, please. And do have a mind for your dresses—Sanford will not thank you for tearing them.”
She approached him with a faint arch of her brows. “I see Miss Archer has enlisted you fully into our ranks, Mr. Leigh.”
“Indeed, though it is much more perilous than I imagined,” he replied. “I fear I shall require hazard pay.”
The corner of her mouth lifted—not quite a smile, but something warm and sly. “Your payment shall be in currant buns. Our treasury cannot stretch to more.”
“I accept the terms,” he said gravely, “provided I may negotiate for second helpings.”
“You are bold, sir.”
“They say fortune favours the bold,” he countered.
“Be careful, Mr. Leigh. If you spout Latin Proverbs as well, we might also enlist your help in the schoolroom,” she said lightly.
“I am amazed I remember any Latin at all. Declensions were the bane of my time at Eton.”
A gust of wind cracked loose a branch and jolted them from the pleasant conversation.
He bolted into action and climbed far enough up the tree to where the limb was splitting. He found purchase on a neighbouring branch, then pushed at the breaking limb until it gave way.
When he descended, she was watching him—her eyes not wary now, but thoughtful, as though she found him puzzling… and perhaps not entirely unwelcome.
He cleared his throat. “Perhaps the young ladies should not work beneath the trees until all have been examined for safety.”
“Thank you, sir.” The faintest warmth reached her expression. “It appears you have arrived here just in time.”
“I used to believe we are where we are meant to be.”
She angled her head with inquiry. “You do not believe that any longer?”
He shook his head in dismay. “Perhaps it remains true. The war made me question it, however.”
She gave a swift nod of understanding. “The war made me question my purpose, certainly. Well…” She broke off, perhaps because the conversation drew closer to uncertain waters—and just as they were finally making headway. “A storm will provide authenticity to your story about the area.”
“Indeed it will.” He bent his back to the work and felt the familiar hum of discipline settle into his muscles.
He had needed a pretext to draw near her world without intruding too openly. It seemed the weather had decided to oblige him—violently and comprehensively, but effectively. He had wanted opportunity. Now he had it.