Chapter One #3
“He’s not actually headless,” Beatrice hastened to explain, gesturing to her own head. “He has this cowl. Truth be told, it’s rather clever. But he seems fine! He says his name is John.”
“John?” Mrs. Danby shook her head, as if trying to clear the last vestiges of sleep. “John who?”
“He wouldn’t tell me,” Beatrice confessed.
The midwife peered toward the carriage. “But what if he’s—”
Beatrice seized Mrs. Danby by the shoulders and pushed her inside her cottage. “I know it’s a bit irregular. But we haven’t any time, and beggars can’t be choosers! Go on and gather up your things. It will be all right! He drove me here without incident, didn’t he?”
Mrs. Danby cast an incredulous look over her shoulder.
But, to her credit, she did emerge from the cottage five minutes later wearing a simple round gown and cloak and clutching a large canvas satchel.
John emerged from behind the cart and offered the midwife a hand. “Please, Mrs. Danby, do not be frightened. No harm will come to you by my hand. I swear it.”
Mrs. Danby responded with a tight nod.
John helped both women into the cart and soon, they were back on the road. There was little conversation. John was daring enough to risk a trot in spite of the darkness, and twenty minutes later, they arrived at the cottage where Agnes was living.
Beatrice was so desperate to see how her sister was faring that she did not wait for John’s help but instead attempted to slide down from the cart herself.
Her cloak snagged on something and she got stuck in an inelegant pose, dangling over the edge of the cart with her bottom sticking out.
“Well, well, well,” a deep voice rumbled. “What do we have here?”
Large hands seized her about the waist. Beatrice could feel the warmth of them even through her cloak.
“Hold on,” she grunted. “I need to unhook my cloak.”
His voice sounded amused. “Take all the time you need.”
Beatrice bit back her annoyance because she needed his help.
He lifted her slightly and she managed to extricate herself.
Then John proceeded to lower her to the ground.
As he did this, her bottom brushed against his stomach.
In spite of his suggestive words, she didn’t think he had done it on purpose.
He stepped back with a muttered, “Sorry.”
But she could not help but notice that his body was extremely hard in places that hers was soft. This observation caused a fluttery feeling to take up residence in her stomach.
He cleared his throat and mimed scooping her up. “Shall we?”
She swallowed her embarrassment. “Let’s.”
He lifted her into his arms once again and carried her inside. Mrs. Danby was bustling about, filling every pot Agnes owned with water and setting them to boil over the fire.
Beatrice pointed the way to Agnes’s bedroom.
“Bea!” her sister cried upon seeing her.
“Thank you so much for…” She trailed off as she noticed John, and the color drained from her face.
But then, she held up a hand. “Actually, I don’t want to know.
Bea has found disaster? It must be Tuesday!
” She shook her head. “I don’t care how you came to be keeping company with…
whoever this is. I have too many things to worry about right now. ”
“His name is John,” Beatrice noted as John set her down next to Agnes’s bedside. “He’s the headless driver.”
Agnes’s face screwed up with what Beatrice assumed must be a birthing pain. “Ah. Of course. Not so headless…after all, I see.”
“Indeed,” Beatrice said. “And in spite of his terrifying reputation, he was kind enough to give me a ride. Oh! Thank you,” she said as John brought over a ladderback chair from the corner.
Agnes closed her eyes and sagged against the pillows. “Splendid.”
John helped Beatrice into the chair, then straightened. “I’ll be back in an hour or two.”
Beatrice gave him a strange look. “As much as I appreciate your help, I don’t think Mrs. Danby requires your assistance.”
He chuckled. “I would be worse than useless. But I do believe there is one final task I can perform for you this evening.”
“Must you always talk in riddles?” Beatrice asked.
But she was distracted by Agnes, who seized her hand in a bone-wrenching grip.
Beatrice turned to face her sister. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her forehead was creased in agony.
“Agnes!” Beatrice cried, enveloping her hand in both of hers. “Is it a birthing pain?”
Agnes nodded tightly. “They’re getting worse.”
“That’s to be expected,” Mrs. Danby said, bustling into the room with an armful of clean towels. She bent over and peered beneath the sheet covering Agnes from the waist down. “Ay up—you’re progressing quickly for a first-time mother! I arrived not a moment too soon.”
“Don’t worry,” Beatrice said, patting her sister’s hand. “We’re here, and we’re going to take care of you.”
Mrs. Danby handed Beatrice a damp towel. “Seeing as you’re laid up, you can press that to her forehead and comfort her as best you can through the birthing pains. I’ll be in here, getting everything ready. Call me at once if anything changes.”
In her distraction, it was some time before Beatrice noticed that John had disappeared into the night.