‘What in Hades does that stupid bitch think she’s doing? Running on to the field of play like that!’ Jameson was brick-red with fury as rain, guinea-sized drops of it, fell on his head and mine.
‘The lady you refer to is my dear wife, sir!’ I shoved my hands deep into my pockets. ‘I would thank you to speak of her with the respect she deserves. Furthmore, I believe she may have saved that baby’s life!’
The rain came more heavily; lightning only a mile or two away lit the sky. The village umpire looked enquiringly at Lord Pidgeon.
‘Leave the field?’ the old man squawked. ‘In no circumstances. The game can and must be finished.’
‘Sir – the lightning is too close,’ his opposite number said. ‘Look!’ Getting no response, he called us all off the field. Neither Pidgeon nor Jameson would move.
The latter turned to me. ‘If you can’t control her, I will! She’s ruined the game!’
My shirt already soaked, I stared at the face rendered ugly by his fury. It was true that the delay while everything was sorted out had let the rain arrive and thus had saved us from certain defeat, though I doubt that that was uppermost in Harriet’s mind at the time. Before I could unleash all the anger I felt, Robson, the captain of the village team, stepped forward. ‘That your missus, Mr Rowsley? I take my hat off to her, that I do.’
I shook the hand he had extended. ‘Thank you,’ I managed. ‘But how sad for the match to end like that.’
Jameson hadn’t finished yet. ‘This is a private conversation, man! I don’t recall asking you to join it.’
‘At least he is talking sense,’ I snarled.
‘I say … Look here.’ Cousin Barrington bustled up, almost comically unable to deal with the situation. Surely he had dealt with similar problems in his military career. ‘I mean, gentlemen …’
Winking at me, Robson simply shook his fellow-captain’s hand. ‘So rain stops play and it’s a tie, sir – who would have thought it?’ he asked. ‘Well played. But I think the umpires are right: it’s time to get everyone off the field, even the dawdlers, sir – look at that!’
Fork lightning split the sky, accompanied by a clap of thunder so loud it almost drowned out the screams of the women, some of whom were heading for the shelter of the trees.
‘No, that won’t do, sir! Never trees in a storm. Head them off, sir!’ Robson turned to me. ‘Can’t you get them to the house, Mr Rowsley?’
I nodded. ‘I’ll try. What about the villagers?’
‘Already going home, most of them.’ He pointed at their bedraggled figures. ‘They want to get back before that bloody bridge collapses.’
‘What?’ But, already urging people to find safer shelter, he didn’t hear me.
‘Damn it man, what’s the blithering idiot damned well doing now?’ Jameson demanded.
‘Being useful,’ I snapped. ‘Like everyone else.’ As I spoke I saw young Turton and Harrison literally carrying a villager on to the little veranda.
By now Jameson was puce. A black eye and bloodied nose would scarcely be noticed, would they? I clenched my hand in readiness. Just there.
Breathing out, I turned my back on him, to see where I could best help. The rain draped itself in wet curtains across everything I could see. I dashed it from my eyes. Harriet? Some people were simply helpless. Others were helping them, urging them on – like my peerless Harriet, who was now quietly and efficiently compelling the young mothers and nursemaids to make haste, even at the cost of a rug or a toy. She grabbed one recalcitrant toddler by the scruff of his sailor-suited neck and the seat of his trousers to lift him into a baby carriage which she started to drag herself until a footman took over. I ran towards her across already waterlogged ground.
‘Lady Pidgeon!’ she gasped, seizing my hand and leading us in the direction of a tiny figure staggering under the weight of her clothing. ‘Can we?’
‘Look – an empty baby carriage!’
Lady Pidgeon seemed grateful to us rather than offended as we grabbed it and pushed it towards her: no, she had no reluctance to shed her dignity. In fact she was soon laughing with an almost infectious gaiety. ‘As a child I always wanted to splash in puddles – and now look at me! My dears, what fun.’ She let us seat her sideways on the carriage, and then, Harriet pulling and me pushing, both of us laughing with her, we got her on to the terrace steps, where we could consign her to the care of a footman strong enough to gather her up like a baby and carry her into the house.
Harriet peered through the rain, falling, if possible, even more heavily. ‘Does anyone else need our help?’
‘They may need help, Harriet, but not necessarily ours.’
She stared at me. I tried to moderate my grimness. ‘Most of the villagers were more weather-wise than us and fled as soon as the storm broke. We have no responsibilities. We are, after all, mere guests here.’ Even I did not like my words or the way I spat them out.
Under her clear gaze I dropped my eyes. I must explain – but only when I could frame an answer that would not be unbearably offensive. And also when I might work out a reason for Jameson not wishing to win the match.
But she was shouting. A child had dropped a toy under the nearest oak and was pointing and screaming. A stout maid was running to fetch it. Hardly knowing what I was doing, I dashed after her and seized her hand, dragging her back to what I hoped was the safety of the house.
A terrifying flash and crack, almost drowned by the thunder itself. The oak was no more than a smoking ruin.
In the shocked silence, still the child pointed and cried.
Stripped and swathed in towels and sheets but safe in each other’s arms, we stood by the window to watch the storm, which seemed to be moving slowly away. Despite the pandemonium outside, within we could hear the chaos in the corridors. Some of our team had, probably wisely, followed the villagers’ lead, risking driving through the rain to get to the safety of their own homes. But not all. Soaking wet guests were loudly demanding the services of men and women equally drenched. Of course there was no hot water. Of course there were not enough lady’s maids. What did a tardy lady’s maid matter when lives could have been lost?
I had yet to speak of Jameson, but first I must speak of her catch.
‘Instinct. Pure and simple.’ She smiled up at me. ‘I suppose we could blame that for the risks we took earlier. Thank God you stopped the maid. I was so afraid you’d offer … My love, when lightning struck—’
We clung closer.
At last she raised her head again. ‘What happened during the match, Matthew? I know something has made you … very angry, shall we say? Was it Cousin Barrington’s strange captaincy?’
‘Partly.’
‘It looked as if he or the Major wanted the village side to win. But neither strikes me as an altruistic man, wanting the poor to defeat the rich,’ she observed, her eyebrows in an ironic arch.
I managed a smile. ‘I didn’t have any expectations of the match, not after our practice. But their decisions were bizarre, weren’t they? No one seemed to question them. No one remonstrated.’
‘And you had to act on your own initiative. Twice.’
‘You noticed?’
‘Would you doubt it?’
‘Not for a second.’ Dear God, how I loved this woman.
‘As for Major Jameson’s tantrum, I couldn’t hear what he said, but it was clear he did not approve of my catch.’ She held my gaze. ‘I couldn’t hear what you said either – and by then I knew I should forget trying to eavesdrop and start being useful. He is a very strange man, isn’t he? He really upset poor Mr Turton. And Mr Harrison. And plenty of others, I should imagine, on both teams. And yet he seems very popular with most of our fellow guests, the women especially.’ With an impish smile I knew was covering her anxiety she added, ‘Though not me. And I fancy I am not likely to be his latest flirt.’
Before I could respond, there was another terrifying roll of thunder and an unmistakable crack. The storm had circled back.
Harriet choked back a scream. ‘Heavens! Another tree gone! And such rain!’ She tried to speak normally. ‘Look. Even the paths are rivers.’
‘This must be what Robson was worried about. You remember that little bridge with its cobbled repair? He hoped all the villagers could cross it before it was washed away.’
She nodded. ‘And what about the other bridges, not to mention the roads and the railway cuttings through which we had travelled? We may be trapped here!’ A rare note of panic cracked her voice. Of course. However much I might shudder at the prospect of mass incarceration, Harriet had far more reason.
‘I fear we may. Back at Thorncroft we’ve had guests trapped by snow, but you and Bea were in charge there. I hope your opposite numbers here are even half as good.’ I broke off. ‘What’s that?’
It was a note, thrust under our door. Any thoughts that dinner this evening would be a quiet, informal affair were quickly quashed. We might be gathering half an hour later than usual, but there was no hint of any lowering of sartorial standards. With a joint sigh, we changed, each helping the other when necessary. Accordingly, when Clara the timid maid appeared we could tell her we had no need of her services.
‘Thank you, ma’am. Please ma’am, if you’re sure I must go to the next lady.’
‘Of course. Did you get very wet this afternoon, Clara?’
‘Oh, no, ma’am. I was helping in the kitchen. Franny’s sweet on the gardener, ma’am, so I said I’d do her stint so she could go and watch him. The head gardener,’ she added, with reflected pride.
‘That’s Mr Harrison?’ Harriet asked.
‘Yes, ma’am. He’s my second cousin,’ she added with more pride.
‘He played very well this afternoon,’ Harriet said.
The child looked as if she might burst. ‘Ma’am, is it true about you?’
The hairs on my neck crept.
‘A lot of things are true. Which do you have in mind?’
‘That you saved Master Alexander’s life and that Major Jameson swore at you for doing it?’
I froze.
Harriet didn’t. ‘I just caught a ball, Clara, which might have landed anywhere. And I never heard anyone swearing. Off you go, now, like a good girl.’ As the door closed, she turned to me. ‘He did swear and you managed to keep your temper. I am so proud of you, Matthew. So very proud.’ She kissed the unbruised knuckles.
I stuck to her side as far fewer of us than before assembled in the saloon. There was a strange reaction as we entered: all the men approached us, applauding as if we were still on the field of play, but the women were silent. Mr Turton kissed her hand, and shook mine vigorously, without the need for agonizing words. Cousin Barrington stepped forward, leading, with his champagne glass, a rousing chorus of ‘She’s a jolly good fellow’. If he’d known this was planned, it was hardly surprising that Jameson was absent. Though he might have framed the next question himself: ‘Would your wife care to make a speech, Rowsley?’