Page 40 of A Winter’s Romance

At ev’ry Word a Reputation dies.

—Pope, “The Rape of the Lock” (1712)

“ N o one could find his manservant,” announced Kirby upon her return from the inn, “so a message was left. And then the nurse Mr. Ponsonby wanted was unavailable, so here’s Mrs. Chop.” With her thumb she pointed over her shoulder at the woman descending from the cart, one nearly Kirby’s equal in size, though a deal older and rougher. Eliza’s keen nose caught a whiff of gin, and she looked toward Lady Arden in alarm. Poor Lady Arden was already shrinking with unease, taken aback by the nurse’s proportions and dishevelment. How things were going from bad to worse! First to be saddled with the blind, broken, insensible Mr. Thornton, and now to add this unkempt Amazon?

“Oh, Eliza,” she whispered helplessly, wringing her hands, “it is too much.”

“I will speak with her, madam,” Eliza replied under her breath. “Perhaps it will only be for a day or two, until the valet turns up and the nurse Mr. Ponsonby recommended is again at liberty.”

Mrs. Chop did not improve on acquaintance, unfortunately. When Eliza took her aside to review the surgeon’s instructions—how often Mr. Thornton should have water dripped into his mouth if he remained unconscious, what should be done when he did awaken, the care of his bandages, and so forth, Mrs. Chop listened with head cocked and jaw working as if she were chewing something. Perhaps she was.

Well, at least the woman would be strong enough to shift or to turn Mr. Thornton when necessary, Eliza thought. There was nothing more to be done at the moment in any event, so she showed Mrs. Chop her post beside the patient. They had chosen the most comfortable wing chair—Sir Miles’ favorite—to set beside the sofa, along with a washstand from one of the bedchambers. Nearby stood a round table holding a tray of biscuits and sandwiches covered by a cloth.

“And where am I to sleep or ease myself?” Mrs. Chop asked, hardly glancing at her patient.

Eliza blushed. “There is a room prepared for you. The footmen or Kirby will show you presently. Mr. Ponsonby did say it would be better to sleep in the same room if Mr. Thornton does not come to himself before nightfall, in which case we will fetch a chaise longue and blankets for you.”

The reply must have satisfied, for Mrs. Chop grunted and dropped into Sir Miles’ chair without another word, and Eliza left her there. Heavens! If his hunting accident didn’t kill Mr. Thornton, Eliza certainly hoped the man possessed a constitution iron enough to survive Mrs. Chop’s tender nursing .

When she slipped from the room, Lady Arden hissed to her from across the passage. “Eliza! Come in here.”

“What is it?” she asked when the door was shut behind her. “I know Mrs. Chop is not what we would wish, but I don’t see what alternative we have.”

“Never mind that woman. I am sure she will be good enough for the likes of him! Come and sit beside me, for I must tell you what more Kirby learned at the Crest and Comb.”

Eliza’s breath caught. She had not mentioned having seen Mr. Thornton outside the coaching inn, but perhaps Kirby had? Which would only draw attention to her own omission.

“Goodness, but you seem wound up,” she murmured.

“As well I should be! Oh, Eliza, suppose we are nourishing a viper in our bosom?”

“What?”

“Kirby says the inn was in a ferment with talk of Mr. Thornton because of his accident—”

“Lady Arden, surely you needn’t whisper. The doors are closed, and the poor man is unconscious, to boot.”

“‘Poor man,’ indeed,” sniffed her companion. “Eliza, you must be on your guard with that person in there. Indeed, you must avoid being in the drawing room by yourself for as long as he is here. For your dear departed mother’s sake I will keep you safe.”

Eliza could not help laughing. “Gracious me! What did Kirby hear? Is he a madman? A malefactor?”

“This is a serious matter, Eliza. That—person—lying in my drawing room is a man with no honor. He was engaged to a young lady of good family in Sussex, it seems, but then he refused to go through with the match! They even sued him for breach of promise—scandalous enough—but he had no shame, and rather than do the proper thing, he simply paid over the money. Can you imagine?”

“Dear me,” breathed Eliza, genuinely struck. She remembered again the man’s voice and disconcerting gaze. Yes, it might all be gossip, but even based on so fleeting an encounter with him, she could not deny it was plausible gossip. “What became of the young lady?”

“Why—who knows? It hardly matters. The point is, here is this dreadful scoundrel sheltered under Sir Miles’ roof for heaven knows how long. Oh, Eliza! I would send you back to Winchester if I could, for your own protection.”

“Lady Arden, do calm yourself,” urged Eliza, amusement reviving. “I do not defend his conduct, but, if true, his roguery was of a specific nature, for jilting one particular young lady endangers no others.”

“How can you say that? The unfortunate creature might simply be the one known victim in a long career of misconduct.”

Eliza grinned. “A rather expensive career that would prove, I daresay.”

“He can afford it! Kirby learned the recreant has a tidy fortune to his name.”

“In any event, I will avoid being in the drawing room alone,” Eliza soothed. “Though I do wonder what danger even a hardened scoundrel could pose, if he were unconscious, blindfolded, and immobile as Mr. Thornton is?”

“Mr. Thornton will not always be those things,” Lady Arden insisted. “And if you have no sense of danger for yourself, I do, on your behalf. ”

Still shaking her head, Eliza took Lady Arden’s hand. “Thank you. But I persist in thinking that my age, as well as my lack of fortune and family, will shield me like a cloak from unwanted attentions.”

“From honorable gentlemen such things might,” answered the older lady grimly. “From rogues, however…I am sorry to say your state only makes you easier to prey upon.”

With the drawing room placed out of bounds and Lady Arden taking refuge in an afternoon nap, Eliza retreated to her bedchamber to inform Mrs. Turcotte of her safe arrival. But she had scratched no more than the salutation when a knock sounded and Kirby entered.

“I think you’d better come, miss,” said the strapping maid, “for there’s a groaning coming from the drawing room.”

“A…groaning? But what does Mrs. Chop say?”

“She isn’t there.”

Eliza stared. “Of course she must be there! Where else can she be? Unless—did you look in the room we assigned her?” The room intended for her to sleep in, only if her patient could be left alone! Eliza added indignantly in her head.

“Not there either. And Sir Miles is a gone out again, miss,” Kirby anticipated her next question. “He said there weren’t any use in him missing the hunt supper at Cosworthy Park.”

Of course he did.

Eliza sighed and laid down her pen. “Very well. Then I suppose we had better send for Mr. Ponsonby again.”

The maid trailed her to the bottom of the stairs like a faithful mastiff and hovered while Eliza gave instructions to the footman Hoskins. Then, when she glanced toward the drawing room doors, Kirby said, “Lady Arden says I am always to accompany you, if you are a-going in there. ‘Don’t you let her be alone with him, Kirby,’ she told me.”

“Well then, together it is. But perhaps we need not go in. I don’t hear anything now.”

As if to spite her, a protracted moan struck their ears, one ending in a sudden whuff .

Oh, dear. Suppose he had rolled from the sofa and could not right himself? Or that he had pulled off his bandages and was dragging himself across the room in search of light? Eliza found herself regretting her earlier bravado about broken bones. What precisely had she imagined she knew about injuries? Especially injuries the magnitude of Mr. Thornton’s!

Taking a deep breath and nodding at Kirby, she opened the doors quietly and crept around the side of the lacquered screen. To her great relief, the man still lay upon the sofa, his bandages intact, though one hand fumbled at them.

“No, no,” said Eliza, hurrying forward. “You mustn’t. Your eyes must not be exposed.”

Though she had not touched him, his hand froze in its exploration.

“Can you hear me, sir?” she asked. “Do you understand me?”

There was a long, long pause. Was he too muddled to speak?

But no.

His hand fell back. “Have I…died?” was his unexpected question, the thrilling voice she remembered thick but recognizable.

“Died!”

“Am I…in the infernal place? ”

That made Eliza grin. “You are at Ardenmere, sir, and very much alive by the grace of God, though considerably impaired after your accident.”

“Accident?”

“A hunting accident. Your horse caught a foot on a rail, I believe, and there was a drop into a field, and you were somehow entangled with—” Eliza broke off when she saw his nails dig into the upholstery. Better not to mention Mr. Marvin’s part in it, then. Quickly she tacked about. “—With another rider,” she resumed. “The surgeon Mr. Ponsonby has made inventory of the damage. He reset your collarbone, but you still have a sprained ankle, two cracked ribs, and a—blow—to your head. It is a very promising sign that you have regained consciousness, sir, and that you seem lucid. Mr. Ponsonby does fear—possible damage to your eyes, however, which he hopes to forestall or mend by keeping you quiet and in the dark for some weeks.”

Now the patient’s hand clenched in a fist and struck the back of the sofa, but if the action relieved his feelings any, it exacted its own cost. A string of muffled oaths followed, which Eliza could not interpret, though her eyes widened at both its length and variety of emphasis. Kirby’s more worldly ears caught enough that she clicked her tongue and advanced a step, as if she would—what? Press a pillow to the man’s face to silence him? A shake of the head from Eliza stopped her. He was in a great deal of pain and confusion, she imagined, and therefore allowance must be made.

“Is it that bad, sir? Because Mr. Ponsonby left laudanum drops, and he said he would come again to see how you were doing.” Even as she spoke misgiving filled her, because what did she know about administering laudanum? And where had that thrice-blasted Mrs. Chop gone?

The muscle along his jaw stood out, and Mr. Thornton’s finely-cut mouth twisted in a grimace. He might have read her thoughts, for he bit out, “Are you the nurse? Or Lady Arden? Who are you?”

“I’m neither. I’m—nobody,” she uttered, caught off guard. Given Lady Arden’s warnings, Eliza hardly wanted to confess to being the unmarried female houseguest.

The vagueness of her reply only served to anger him. “Then you may take yourself off, Miss Nobody! I want no one with me. I suppose I must suffer Ponsonby’s fussings and fiddlings, but I need not suffer yours.”

“Fussings and fiddlings” indeed! When she had not laid so much as a finger on him!

Had Eliza been ten years younger she might have made tart reply, but as it was she managed to swallow it. He is in pain , she reminded herself, and likely confused . Without another word she withdrew, crooking a finger for Kirby to follow and then holding that same finger to her lips to enjoin silence.

Nevertheless, when they were safely shut in the morning room, the maid burst out with, “Miss Blinker, the face of that fellow, speaking to you like that! Why, he’s every particle the rogue they said he was at the inn!”

“Now, now,” Eliza pacified her, “if he were healthy and whole, I daresay he could be as courteous as the next person, but as it is I fear a certain amount of crossness is to be expected. We will do as he says and leave him in peace. The question is, where has that tiresome Mrs. Chop gone? ”

“I’ll sort her out when I find her,” vowed the maid with lowered brow. “In the meantime, miss, remember Lady Arden doesn’t want you going in there by yourself.”

Eliza laughed. “Did I not just say I would stay away? Why does everyone think my heart’s desire is to seek the company of a bad-tempered man of evil reputation? You’re the one who summoned me, Kirby—not that it wasn’t right to do so, Mr. Thornton being in the condition he is. No, no, rest easy. Lady Arden made me promise, and I will not venture into the lion’s den without you or her by my side, lest the blind cripple spring up from the sofa and seduce me before I have time to run away.”

The maid’s frown deepened, and Eliza laid a hand on her arm. “Pardon me. I am being flippant, when you all have my best interests at heart. But let us see if we can find Mrs. Chop. If Sir Miles is paying her wages, the least she can do is stay at her post.”

It was Mr. Ponsonby who discovered the whereabouts of Mrs. Chop, however, by virtue of stopping at the lodge and calling for the gate to be opened, only to glimpse the nurse slumped on a bench within when Simmons emerged.

“Dead drunk, I’m sorry to say,” the surgeon reported when he was admitted to the morning room, now lit by candles for evening use.

Lady Arden gasped. “Drunk? But—has she returned with you?”

“I dismissed her. She would have been no use in her condition. She was not the nurse I hoped to send in any case, but Mrs. Plummer is already attending at least three people in the village through a positive outbreak of lumbago, and lumbago is the last thing Thornton needs, with his two cracked ribs. ”

This evoked a shudder from Lady Arden. “No, indeed. But—what shall we do with Mr. Thornton, then? Could Mrs. Chop return when she is…sober?”

“I would not recommend it,” he answered crisply. “See here—there is good news and bad news. The good news is how quickly Thornton regained his senses and, as far as I can tell, his brains seem in decent order. Moreover he must have the strength of an ox, for I had hard work to convince him he must lie still for some time.”

“What is the bad news, then?” prompted Eliza. “His eyesight?”

Ponsonby looked at her measuringly. “As I said earlier, we will not know about his eyesight for several weeks, and I repeat that he must not test it with any exposure to light. This I have also impressed on him, followed by a dose a laudanum, with what success remains to be seen.” His thin lips quirked ruefully. “No, Miss Blinker, Lady Arden. It turns out the bad news is the same as the good: he has regained his senses, and he has the strength of an ox. Meaning, he will likely prove an impatient patient. That is, as a patient he will require nursing, but he will resent requiring it. He will resent lying there unoccupied. He will resent having to wait to learn the damage to his eyes.”

“But—what do you recommend we do, Mr. Ponsonby?” fretted Lady Arden once more. “If Mrs. Plummer cannot come and Mrs. Chop will not do, who will nurse Mr. Thornton? Our maid requested that his man come to Ardenmere, whenever he should be found, but there has been no sign of him. Have you anyone else to suggest?”

“I have not,” he admitted. “I hoped one of your servants might have experience. He would likely need a manservant to assist him from time to time in sitting or standing up to—er—attend to daily needs, but a woman might handle the rest, the administration of food and drink and the changing of the bandages.”

Both Eliza and Kirby regarded Lady Arden, whose crisp curls trembled. Ardenmere’s strapping footmen would surely be affronted to be asked to take on such duties.

“Oh, oh,” moaned Lady Arden. “If it is only for a little while, I suppose Hoskins and Bigelow might manage it, but they will not like it. How burdensome it will be, and it is all Mr. Marvin’s fault!”

“Excellent,” said Mr. Ponsonby, interested in neither the difficulties of managing servants’ self-consequence nor in assigning shares of blame. “And who might handle the other duties?”

“Kirby, dear,” Lady Arden ventured timidly. “Might you?”

But to their surprise, Kirby had gone a little green and she backed away a step, swallowing convulsively. “Lady Arden, I could see helping with the food and such, but—but—I couldn’t do bandages! If I so much as see blood or crust or pus or scabs—” There was no need to describe the consequences, for she was even now gagging with her hand to her mouth.

“Good gracious! A great big girl like you, shrinking from such things?” her mistress scolded. “I don’t suppose you would have to change his bandages more than once a day, and if he will have to shut his eyes when you do so in any case, there will be nothing to turn your stomach. What will be the harm?”

But Kirby looked so miserable that Eliza spoke up. “Lady Arden, let Kirby and me work together, then. I think I might manage the bandages, and we could take the duties in turn.”

“You, Eliza? Absolutely not! An unmarried gentlewoman? Never, never, never. We already discussed what was said about Mr. Thornton.”

With difficulty Eliza managed not to roll her eyes. “Yes, madam. Mr. Thornton’s spotty reputation has been nothing short of drummed into me, but with Kirby beside me there will be no danger. And if Mr. Ponsonby thinks Mr. Thornton so quick to recover from his other injuries, perhaps there will not be so very much bandaging necessary…?”

The surgeon shrugged. “Nothing is certain, but if Thornton can be convinced to endure quietly, he might dispense with bandages within a week or two and merely wear patches over his eyes.”

Knowing she was losing ground, Lady Arden’s chin began to tremble. “But—but—it cannot only be you and Kirby, even if I permitted it. It is Christmastime! We have social engagements, Eliza.”

“Let Kirby and me form one team, then,” Eliza suggested, “and perhaps the chambermaid Shillbeer and—I don’t know—the gatekeeper’s wife Mrs. Simmons might be the other? They might do half the dinners and the late suppers, so that I may join you and Sir Miles.”

Poor Lady Arden sputtered another moment, wishing the baronet were on hand to make her decision for her. But then Mr. Ponsonby delivered the death blow to her scruples. “I’m afraid, short of abandoning Ardenmere yourself, Lady Arden, there will be no avoiding caring for your unexpected guest. And the better he is cared for, the sooner he will be off your hands. Therefore I suggest you heed Miss Blinker’s idea of taking the duties in turn. It will lighten the burden of care, especially if, as I suspect, he proves difficult.