A Falling Star, page 26
part #3 of Wintercombe Series
‘One of the Pearces d’have some skill,’ said the boy. ‘But I can’t leave ee here, Mistress, not all alone. Sir Alexander should come up with us soon, for certain.’
Louise did not like to say in front of Lukas that she doubted it. ‘I think you should go,’ she told Henry firmly, ‘I shall be all right, and Lukas can look after me. And I expect you’ll meet Sir Alexander on the road.’
‘I can’t leave ee,’ Henry repeated, with frightened obstinacy. He was only fourteen, after all. ‘What if footpads d’come by?’
‘Footpads? On this little lane? Henry, you’re lucky if you see more than a shepherd or two,’ Louise said. She twisted round unwisely, flinched, and moved back to her original position with extreme caution. ‘Help me to get up, and walk over to that tree there, and I can lean against it. Henry, please do as I say.’
It took far longer than she had thought, even to get to her feet and by the time she managed it, she was drenched in sweat. Her legs seemed to be undamaged, but had the strength of straw stalks, and she was forced to lean heavily on Henry’s slight body for support. It must have been an incongruous sight, she thought to herself, trying to wring some glimmer of humour from the situation, for the undersized stable lad barely came up to her shoulder. But very slowly, for she dared not risk falling, he helped her to walk the few yards to the verge of the lane, and the trunk of the young elm tree that sprouted sturdily out of the hedge.
‘That be what frit that mare of yoorn, I d’reckon,’ Henry said, and indicated the brambles just by the tree. Caught in them, and fluttering pale and brave in the breeze, was a long strip of pale cloth. ‘She wouldn’t have seed it till she came up en, Mistress, and if she had just a glimpse, well, it’d frit any horse.’
‘I expect you’re right,’ Louise said, although at this moment, with her legs threatening to give way altogether, she could not have cared less. ‘Help me sit in the grass, Henry, gently, for Christ’s sake, please — that’s it. Now I can rest.’
‘You look tarblish green, Mistress,’ said the boy, with deep concern. ‘Be ee all right? I don’t want to leave ee —’
‘And if you don’t, we could be here all day,’ Louise said, more curtly than was kind. She closed her eyes for a moment, struggling with nausea and faintness and the renewed pain in the distorted joint, and then opened them and tried to speak coolly and with authority. ‘Henry, listen carefully, and do exactly as I say. Ride back to Wintercombe, and tell them what has happened. You may need to bring a litter or a hurdle back — Pardice will know what to do. And then someone must find a bonesetter, as soon as possible.’ She tried to keep her voice calm, but a sudden awful memory had assailed her, of one of her stepfather’s friends who had put his shoulder out in just such an accident, but who had been mended too late, so that the bones and muscles were twisted and all but useless. ‘That’s very important, Henry — as soon as possible. The bone has to be put back in the socket very quickly. Do you understand? If you can bring him out here, so much the better. Now go, Henry, please — ride as fast as you can, but be careful.’
‘Yes, Mistress — I’ll be back as quick as thought,’ the boy promised. He still hesitated, but Louise waved her good arm at him urgently.
‘Go on, Henry — for the love of God, go!’
Stung at last into action, he ran for his nag, sprang into the saddle, and urged it back down the lane towards Wintercombe with frantic, flapping hands and heels. As he vanished round the corner, Lukas came over to kneel by her side, his pale face pinched with fear and anxiety. With a gesture that she found very touching, and also comforting, he slipped his hand into hers. ‘Does it hurt very much, Cousin Louise?’
‘It’s worse when I move,’ she told him. ‘If I sit quite still, it’s not too bad. But aren’t you hurt? You fell too, after all.’
‘I landed on the grass, and it was soft,’ Lukas explained. He ventured a small smile, looking up at her. ‘My nurse Griete used to say that I bounced. I fell out of a high window once, when I was little, and I wasn’t hurt at all.’
‘Adults don’t bounce so easily,’ Louise said drily. ‘I certainly don’t — this is the second time I’ve hurt myself falling off a horse. At least on this occasion I don’t seem to have broken anything. Last time, it was my arm.’
‘Oh,’ said Lukas, looking very doubtful. Louise laughed, and squeezed his hand. ‘Don’t worry. Everyone falls off when they’re learning to ride, and usually they bounce. But I usually fall off when I’m doing something stupid, I’m afraid — and I’m old enough to know better.’ She grinned, rather wanly. ‘I think you’ll be a much more sensible rider than I am. And besides, there are so many things in life that hurt — like aching teeth, or stomach gripes, or the megrims — and they can’t be avoided, so you have to learn to bear a little pain now and again.’
She sounded rather priggish to her own ears, and hoped that Lukas would not think so. But he had turned, and was looking eagerly down the lane towards Wintercombe. ‘Oh, Cousin, there’s a horse coming — listen!’
Above the quiet birdsong and the breeze sifting through the leaves above her head, she could indeed hear distant, approaching hoofbeats. Lukas leaped up and ran towards the sound, his coat and dark hair flying, a miniature of Alex in his untidiness, shouting something. It was the first time she had seen him move faster than a walk, or raise his voice. She hoped that whoever was approaching knew something about dislocated bones: she did not think that she could bear much more of this, even though the pain was almost tolerable if she kept absolutely still.
It was Alex. The bay stallion, galloping at breakneck speed, thundered round the bend in the lane, and for one awful, heart-stopping moment she feared that Lukas, in the middle of the road with his arms flapping, would be run down. But the boy had some sense of self-preservation, and dived for the verge in plenty of time, while Alex brought his horse to a hard-fought, foam-flecked halt only a few yards from where she sat against the elm. He jumped down, hitched the reins to the broken branch of a sapling in the hedge, and came over. ‘I met Henry Renolds on the road. He’s gone up to the house for help. Which shoulder is it?’
‘The left,’ said Louise, staring up at him. The insolent manner, the arrogance and malice, had vanished utterly, replaced by an air of competent, unfussy concern that took her completely by surprise. She added, ‘It’s out of joint — I told Henry to find a bonesetter —’
‘No need. I’ve watched our surgeon in the Dutch regiment deal with this many a time — and put back a few myself, too, when he couldn’t be found. It has to be done quickly, or worse damage will come of it. But, I warn you, it’ll hurt more than a little.’
‘I know. It hurts already when I move.’ Louise shifted her position a little, and added, ‘It’s all right, Lukas, don’t look so worried. Your father seems to know what he’s about.’
‘If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here, I’d be riding for the bonesetter or the nearest surgeon,’ Alex said. He kneeled beside her, and began to undo the numerous gilt buttons of her coat. ‘This will have to come off, I’m afraid, and your waistcoat as well — I’ll need to feel your shoulder, see how it should go back in. Can you move your arm at all?’
She had imagined the moment when he first undressed her: it had not been anything remotely like this. The thought almost made her smile; then she had to clench her jaw as he gently pulled her away from the tree so that her coat could be drawn off, one arm at a time. Even the slightest movement agonised the stretched, distorted muscles around the misplaced joint, and she gave a smothered gasp of pain.
‘I’m sorry,’ Alex said, giving the garment to Lukas, who was crouching next to him, his eyes vast with fright and horror. ‘I’ll have to hurt you more than that in a moment. Are you ready for the waistcoat?’
‘Get it over with,’ said Louise, doggedly. ‘I’ve known worse.’
She had not, in fact: her broken arm had been a mere discomfort compared to the shrieking pain his actions were causing her, but she knew he despised feeble females like Amy, and was determined not to show any weakness. Her resolution faltered as the waistcoat slid from her shoulders, for it fitted more tightly than the coat, and was correspondingly more difficult to remove without affecting her injured arm. Alex was surprisingly deft and gentle, but she was very glad indeed when he had finished. Lukas clasped the dove-grey garments tightly to his chest, as if they were in some way both a help and a protection.
Alex was talking to her: she forced herself to listen carefully through the fog of pain and dizzy nausea that had suddenly descended on her. ‘I’m going to kneel beside you, on your left side. You’ll have to move away from the tree. Then I’ll take your arm, and pull it gently, so that I can twist and slide it back into the socket. I won’t lie to you — it’ll hurt like hell. Scream as much as you like — I know I would.’
From some depth, she managed a grin. ‘I’ll probably scream much louder. Lukas — don’t worry — it has to hurt, or it won’t be mended properly. Are you all right?’
The little boy nodded mutely. She felt Alex’s hands, gentle and efficient, guiding and supporting her away from the tree, manoeuvring her until she was in the right position. She waited, tense with predicted agony, as he took her misplaced arm in his right hand, supporting her shoulder with his left, assessing the position of bone and joint. ‘Ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be,’ Louise said, between clenched teeth. And then he lifted and wrenched her abused arm, and twisted it round so that she cried out at the tearing red-hot pain, and then suddenly bone grated on bone, she could feel and hear it, and as if cut off with a knife, the agony ceased, and she was left with a sharp, throbbing ache.
It was over. She swore, in French, and saw Lukas’s appalled face and tried to smile at him, although she was feeling most peculiar and everything seemed suddenly remote. Then Alex said, his voice concerned but very distant, ‘Louise! Are you all right?’
She must have fainted. It was something which she had never done before in her life, not even after her broken arm had been set when she was fifteen. One moment she was sitting under the tree, supported by her cousin: the next she was lying on her back on something rough and jolting and uncomfortable. Her head seemed to be pillowed on something, her stays had been loosened, and her injured shoulder firmly bandaged, the arm strapped tightly to her side so that movement was impossible. She lay there, her eyes closed, listening to the sounds of tramping feet, the Somerset voices — amongst which she could certainly distinguish those of Pardice and Henry Renolds — and, more distantly, the hooves of at least two horses. Brought home on a hurdle, Louise thought ruefully. What an ignominy!
She felt still more foolish when the hurdle was set down in the front courtyard, and Wintercombe seemed to explode into activity. People rushed out, bleating and fussing, asking her if she was all right. It was with some difficulty that she persuaded the housekeeper, Betty, that she did not need to be carried, there was nothing wrong with her legs, and she could walk perfectly well.
Inevitably, Alex took charge. He shooed away the gaggle of clucking servants, said something to Silence, and then came over to Louise, who was sitting up on the hurdle. She hoped that her shirt was not in any way transparent, and that her coat and waistcoat were not creased and crumpled beyond redemption. He stood in front of her, tall and capable, and gave her the friendly, encouraging smile of a comrade, not an adversary. ‘Can you walk?’
‘I think I can,’ Louise told him. ‘But I shall need help to get up — and to climb steps and stairs.’
‘Does it hurt much?’
‘It still aches,’ she said concisely. ‘But since you’ve swaddled me up so tight, I’ve no chance to test it by moving.’
‘Good — that was my intention. Hold out your hand and I’ll help you — then you can lean on me. And don’t worry, I won’t let you go.’
He was as good as his word. She found that her legs were still weak and shaky, and there was a pain in her ankle which she had not noticed before and which must have been caused by the fall. But with his steady, reassuring strength lending her support, she successfully negotiated both the steps up to the porch and, much more difficult, the twisting narrow stairs that led to the first floor and the sanctuary of her chamber.
Christian was there ready with a pile of linen strips, several pungent-smelling jars, and an anxious expression. She started forward as Alex guided Louise through the door, but he said quickly, ‘Don’t worry — I’ll help her to the bed. Mistress Hellier will bandage her properly and make sure no lasting damage has been done. I’m just the bonesetter.’
Despite her earlier protestations, Louise was very glad to sit down on the soft feather mattress of her bed. Alex settled her, and withdrew a little way. Exhausted and suddenly trembling, she remembered even so to look up and smile. ‘Thank you, Cousin — thank you for all you’ve done.’
‘I only hope I’ve done it right,’ Alex said. He grinned suddenly, a boyish and entirely amicable smile that was devastatingly attractive. ‘I didn’t like to tell you at the time, but yours was the first shoulder joint I’ve ever put back.’
‘But you said —’
‘Oh, I said I’d done it several times — because I didn’t want to worry you,’ Alex told her candidly, grinning wider. ‘I have watched the surgeon, though — that part was true enough. Still, I seem to have put it back in the right place. Here is your grandmother, who undoubtedly knows far more than I will ever do — I’ll abandon you to her tender mercies.’ And he sketched a bow, suddenly full of the old insolence, and left.
Apart from the occasional headache or cold, various minor childhood fevers and the broken arm, Louise had not suffered a day’s illness or pain in her life. She did not know whether to laugh or to protest at the solicitous concern of her grandmother and her maid as they gently removed her remaining garments and the rough and ready bandaging which Alex had applied over her shirt, and which proved to be made from his neckcloth.
Given the force of her fall, the damage was surprisingly slight. Her shoulder, of course, the abused muscles and tendons already hot, swollen and very, very sore. The left ankle must have been wrenched out of the stirrup, and was also puffy and painful. Otherwise, save for the spectacular bruising, and the wan, drawn look on her face, Silence considered that Louise had been very lucky. She asked how the accident had happened, and her granddaughter told her, adding, ‘I couldn’t have prevented it, or expected it — it was so sudden. But it could have been so much worse — at least Lukas isn’t hurt, nor is Saffron, and I’ll mend in good time.’
‘It’ll be a week or two before you can climb on a horse again,’ Silence commented, opening a large jar containing a thick murky red paste. ‘This is an excellent remedy for bones out of joint — it should take away most of the pain and bring down the swelling. Morello cherries, egg yolks and sheep’s milk — nothing unpleasant.’
‘At least it smells nice,’ said Louise, as Silence gently rubbed the stiff sticky ointment on to her shoulder. ‘Some of your medicines stink like the devil, Gran’mère.’
‘I’d be the first to admit it,’ Silence said, her fingers steadily massaging. ‘Am I hurting you?’
‘No,’ Louise told her, untruthfully. There was worse to come, however: once the ointment had been applied, her shoulder and arm were strapped up so firmly that movement was impossible. ‘For it’s well known,’ Silence said, tying the last knot with expert efficiency, ‘that a shoulder once dislocated will spring out more readily in future, doing yet more damage, and so it goes on. If it is tightly bound now, and the arm kept from use for at least a week, perhaps longer, then you will mend very much more quickly. So — no riding, no violent exercise, nothing more than a leisurely stroll in the gardens. Can you survive such a restricted regime?’
‘I shall have to,’ Louise said. ‘But no riding — that will interfere with your plans for a quick return to Chard, will it not?’
‘I can stay a little longer,’ Silence told her. ‘But we’ll discuss that later. For now, I suggest that you keep to your chamber today — wear that pretty silk nightrobe if you wish to receive visitors — and rest. In fact, I think you could begin now — you look exhausted.’
Louise opened her mouth to deny it, and found herself yawning. Without protest, she was tucked up in bed with a pile of feather-soft pillows to support her abused and aching shoulder, given a bitter-tasting drink which was apparently certain to send her to sleep, and was deep in slumber before Christian had had time to draw the bedcurtains.
She slept until the afternoon, and woke refreshed, still sore and very stiff, but ravenously hungry. A light repast — a fricassee of chicken, an egg tart and a handful of early strawberries with a frothy syllabub of new cream — arrived on a tray, and as soon as she had eaten her fill, a stream of visitors appeared. First Amy, noticeably subdued, and full of silly questions, which Louise, feeling surprisingly magnanimous, endeavoured to answer with as much patience as she could muster. Then Lukas, still rather pale around the mouth, bearing an armful of books which, he explained, his Aunt Phoebe had recommended to alleviate the boredom of being kept in bed. Phoebe herself sent her good wishes and apologies, but did not feel able to climb stairs today. Christian arranged the volumes on the table, smiling as Louise assured the little boy that she was perfectly well, unlikely to die just yet, and was merely resting because her shoulder would mend quicker if she did.
‘You never taught me the rest of “Alouette”,’ Lukas said, his face at once serious and imploring. ‘Please, Cousin, could you teach me now, if it won’t make you tired?’
‘It won’t, I promise,’ Louise said reassuringly, wishing that she could hug a smile into that too solemn face. ‘Sit on the bed and we’ll try — if Christian can tolerate our singing, that is.’
