Chapter Eight #3
“Lucky girl,” said an older man who Robert didn’t know or couldn’t place.
Perhaps a farmer, or certainly someone he should recognize.
Either way, the older man slapped Robert’s back in a friendly fashion.
“Eight years back, it was a group of four workers got trapped and killed by the last landslip. During the winter it was, a right terrible time.” He sucked against his teeth.
“A truly sad business. Thankfully the local squire paid for half the expenses and Mr. Suchet paid the rest—both good men in these parts.”
If any of these people expected a reply, Robert did not, nor could he find the strength to muster one. Abigail likewise seemed done with words. Her breathing was heavy as she stayed still and huddled against his chest.
“Did you see anyone else, or might have been unlucky caught?” The chatter decreased as Mr. Grose looked at Robert. “My cousin’s boy was out this way. Did you see the lad?”
Robert shook his head, as the surrounding men helped him to stand as he lifted her up in his arms.
“I’m going to carry you back.” His tone was as gentle as he could manage. Soft as a feather he hoped, but he doubted he could manage it since it felt as raw as meat given how long he’d been calling her name.
Abigail locked eyes with him, and nodded in agreement, consenting to let him carry her.
With his free arm, Robert maneuvered it further and securely beneath her legs, right under her kneecaps, so he could carry her up more easily.
Abigail put her arms around his neck. Her grip was tight. The warmth of her body flush against his.
A small warning at the sight they would present flashed through his mind, but Robert dismissed it entirely. What did he care? What did gossip matter when her life had been at stake? Surely, the town should simply be relieved and not train its sites on her reputation and such nonsense.
“This way, this way. It’s a smoother route,” Mr. Grose called.
Following the suggested steps ahead of him, Robert started to walk over the stones and back toward the pebbled beach.
When he reached the sandy pebbles, a nearby group of watchers let out cheers, their laughter and goodwill bouncing off the landslide, the rescuers and Abigail as well.
Happy talk broke out amongst the well-wishers as it was discovered that the young lad feared trapped in amongst the rockslide had in fact been caught dozing in a nearby field, and was therefore declared safe, as well as lucky.
Gaiety and jubilance bounded around as the group of rescuers made their way forward. There was talk of another party, although there seemed to be an acknowledgment within the people that neither Abigail nor Mr. Grose’s nephew would really enjoy such an event.
Unbidden, Robert found himself smiling as he walked back toward the pathway with Abigail still cradled in his arms. Her grip was tight enough to reassure him as he found his way on to the path.
Several more men slapped his back. Robert wondered if he were about to be welcomed into the town properly now.
Now the heady sunshine that poured in and around them seemed suitable. Right. There was an almost festive feeling in the ebb and flow around the group, although neither Abigail nor Robert spoke to the celebrating parties.
In the distance, Lyme Regis came more blurrily into view, the outcrop of buildings and houses, their colors bright and welcoming.
And if Robert was much mistaken, he could see the figure, running and waving, of the older Miss Fossey as she tore toward the group.
Mr. Costigan must have found her and told her what had happened.
That meant he would need to lower Abigail to the ground, to the approaching stretcher and let the doctor take over.
As Miss Fossey drew nearer, Robert felt reluctance swell in his body.
He did not truly wish to ‘give over’ Miss Abigail, even if it was to the tender care of her sister and the physician.
She had been rescued by him. Was there not some medieval claim he might be able to exert now so he could carry on holding her?
She felt like his.
The older Miss Fossey reached them, stretching her hand out and touching Abigail’s cheek.
Her expression grew wild and fearful as her eyes met Robert’s.
He tried to smile, to offer her some kind of reassurance, and Miss Fossey sucked in a breath as Abigail turned to look at her older sister.
Abigail loosened her hold on Robert’s neck and the two sisters interlocked fingers.
The oldest Miss Fossey turned back toward the doctor and the waiting stretcher, and said with uttermost authority, “Doctor Owlery, we can transfer my sister now from Mr. O’Sullivan. It will be far more comfortable for her, and I am sure that the gentleman is tired having carried her so far.”
Abigail turned sideways to look up at him, staring at Robert with an intensity he felt through his entire body, and when he started to step away from her, he heard Abigail whisper, “I heard you call for me. I heard you through the dark, calling for me.”