‘Come in,’ Liam barked, grateful for the interruption, but frustrated by the Sisyphean nature of his work. ‘Yes, Thomas, what is it?’ he asked in a less aggressive tone when he glimpsed his butler’s apologetic expression. ‘Come, man, if it is important enough for you to interrupt, I suspect you should not be wasting time.’
‘It’s Mrs Hardwicke, my lord,’ the butler said, cautiously approaching the desk.
‘Whatever has she done now? Rearranged my chambers? Instituted mandatory singing of carols whilst cleaning? Out with it.’ He grinned, realising that he wouldn’t mind any of those things at all.
‘I am concerned, my lord,’ he said, in such a genuine tone Liam felt his stomach somersault. ‘She hasn’t returned yet, and...’
Liam followed Thomas’s gaze and turned to the window. Outside, nothing was visible save for the swirling white waves of the snowstorm they had been promised for days.
‘Returned? Do you mean to say that Mrs Hardwicke has gone out into this tempest?’
‘Mrs Hardwicke expressed some concern for Mrs Ffoulkes... I did tell her she would be seen to, but Mrs Hardwicke was most insistent—’
‘That dratted woman, what on earth was she thinking?’ Liam exclaimed, jumping to his feet and making for the door, Thomas on his heels. ‘How long has she been gone?’
‘Three hours, my lord. She left this morning, before the storm arrived, and promised she would return before it descended...’
‘Yes, well, she was most evidently wrong.’ Liam strode out of the study, and threw open the coat cupboard in the hall. ‘Knowing our stubborn housekeeper, she won’t have stayed put at Mrs Ffoulkes’s, oh, no, she’ll have attempted to make it back.’
With a groan of frustration, Liam grabbed his greatcoat, fur coat, scarf and beaver hat, and made his way down the servants’ stairs.
‘Ensure there is a hot bath waiting by the kitchen hearth. Towels, blankets and the warmest of Mrs Hardwicke’s nightclothes you can find.’
Wrapping himself up as he made his way through the servants’ quarters, Liam ignored the worried looks of the staff, and focused instead on silently cursing Rebecca with every breath. Anger helped to keep his own concern in check, and his mind focused on the task at hand, rather than on the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
‘Here, my lord, some hot potatoes for your pockets,’ Mrs Murray said, handing them to Liam as she burst out of the kitchens and fell in step with him. ‘Do bring her back, my lord, and mind yourself.’
Liam slipped the potatoes into his pockets and slid into a pair of the pattens that lay by the door, before wrenching on his thick, fur-lined leather gloves. The Columbian winters had seen to it, at least, that he was attired to face what awaited.
‘Do not let anyone else leave the house, Thomas,’ he instructed. ‘No matter what.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
With a nod, Liam pulled his scarf over his face, threw up his hood, and without any further ado opened the door and stepped out into the blast of wind and snow that greeted him.
He watched as Thomas leaned against the door with all his weight to close it again, and braced himself before turning back to face the storm.
When I find you, my little Miss Merrickson, the storm shall be the least of your concerns...
The scarf wrapped around his face had frozen, clumped with ice and snow. His feet were soaked and numb, as was the rest of him. Still, he marched on through the growing drifts, clutching his coats tightly, his eyes scanning the white, blurry wasteland before him as best they could.
The wind howled and whistled around him, warning him to turn back while the heavens unleashed their fury on the world, but Liam marched on, the crunch of his steps a whisper compared to the bluster around him. He had to find her. He would freeze to death himself before he left her to the elements. She was lucky he knew this land well enough to make his way in this hell storm. Lucky that the moon still had some light to offer, and that the snow reflected what little it did.
Foolish, careless, reckless woman!
For the hundredth time since he’d set out, he wondered what precisely the woman had been thinking. Did she not know how quickly storms descended here? And now here he was, forced to trudge out after her since she seemed terminally incapable of staying put and doing as she was told. Incapable of doing the sensible thing. He should let her freeze to death out in his own park. That would serve her right. Perhaps then she might understand, might listen.
Even as he thought it, he cursed himself loudly, his warm breath spreading through the scarf and warming his nose for a brief moment.
No. Please, God, let me find her. Let me save her, as I could not save the others...
If she died...he would not be able to bear it. Not another soul on his conscience. And most certainly not hers. She might be the most infuriating, contrary, wilfully disobedient wretch of a woman he had ever encountered, and yet... If she left him, if she was taken from him, Liam knew his life would never be the same.
He felt his heart twist in agony at the thought and shouted to the heavens. No. He would find her. He had to. All would be well.
‘Miss Merrickson!’ he screamed out into the whirling void, stopping his progress only to listen for something, anything, that might help him. ‘Rebecca!’
There... A faint...something.
Liam forged onwards, eastwards, in the direction of what he hoped with every fibre of his being was her voice.
‘Rebecca, thank God!’ he cried, finally spotting her kneeling silhouette against the blanket of swirling snowflakes. ‘What were you thinking?’ he vented, kneeling before her.
‘I...I...’
With that, Rebecca’s eyes fluttered closed, and she slumped forward against him.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ Liam growled, sliding one arm around her, whilst the other dug out her legs from the snow and lifted them. ‘No dying on me now. Not until I’ve given you a piece of my mind, woman.’
Liam heaved himself to his feet with a grunt, Rebecca in his arms, held tightly against him. She was frozen to the bone. No warmth emanated from her.
Incorrigible, insufferable, stubborn...
Liam quickened his pace again, his own body screaming out against the effort and the cold. His anger and frustration fuelled him onwards, and he treated the unconscious body in his arms to a colourful slew of expletives he would never have dared use whilst she was awake. It masked the desperation, and the overwhelming relief he’d felt when he’d finally spotted her in the snow.
For she was close, so very close to death. He could feel it. He had seen good men taken the same way in the mountains too many times before. She looked so pale, so ghost-like... And her breathing was slowing, the rise and fall of her chest against his telling him so.
‘No. You will not die!’ he cried, pulling her in closer. ‘Not like this. Not ever.’
And, as if the heavens had heard his pleas, Liam spotted the faint orange glow of a lantern in the distance before them.
‘There, see, almost home now.’
Warmth. A wave of thick, stifling heat. It pulled Rebecca back through the frozen fog of her mind, back to the present.
Thornhallow. Home. Alive.
She was alive. She still couldn’t move, her entire body unwilling to respond to the feeble demands of her mind, but it didn’t matter. In truth, she didn’t want to move.
‘Is the bath ready?’ she heard Liam shout.
He found me.
Yes, she remembered that—only just. A tall figure appearing in the storm like an ancient demon of legend. She’d heard his voice calling on the wind, and with the last of her strength, she had called back. And he’d found her. She was in his arms now, safe against his chest. She could smell wet wool, fur and leather, and was that his heartbeat in her ears or her own?
She was vaguely aware of others around them, but her eyes refused to open.
‘Yes, my lord,’ Thomas said, following closely behind as they made their way through to the kitchens. ‘Everything is prepared, as you asked.’
‘Oh, my lord!’ Mrs Murray screamed from down the corridor, spotting them. ‘The poor mite’s frozen to death!’
Not yet frozen... But nearly.
Now there was a thick haze of fog in her mind, a heavy dullness inviting her to sleep. To rest her cold, weary limbs, to rest her mind. She resisted, concentrating instead on how weightless she felt, how delightfully safe she was in her master’s arms.
For even in that moment, Rebecca knew the dangers of giving in.
‘Indeed, Mrs Murray, quite near to it, I fear,’ Liam shouted back, though he needed not, at the rate he was approaching the flapping cook. He spotted Lizzie and the others behind her, watching on in horror. ‘But do not fret. We will see Mrs Hardwicke to rights soon enough.’
Pushing past them and into the kitchens, Liam laid Rebecca down on a cleared table, and began peeling off his own layers of protection, most of it with his teeth as his fingers refused to cooperate.
‘Help, please,’ he said to Gregory as the boy rose from pouring the last bucket of boiling water into the copper tub set before the hearth. ‘Pattens. Boots.’
‘Aye, my lord,’ Gregory said, swiftly complying.
‘We should take care of her, my lord,’ Lizzie said tentatively from the doorway.
Liam stopped, and was about to tell them all where they could go with their suggestions, that he would see this done, propriety or not, when Thomas stepped forth.
‘My lord, Mrs Murray and Lizzie will see to her,’ he said, in a tone that not even the King himself would have dared disobey. ‘We shall get you warmed as well, in my rooms.’
‘Fine,’ Liam growled. ‘But time is of the essence. Gregory—vinegar, water and cloths in her bedroom, and make sure that there are plenty of blankets and a bed-warmer as well.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ Gregory said, scurrying out.
‘You fetch me as soon as she is ready to be put to bed,’ Liam told the women, glancing over at Rebecca one last time.
‘Yes, my lord,’ they reassured him in unison, steering him out through the door.
‘Mrs Hardwicke,’ Lizzie called, a few moments after she’d heard Liam leave.
A groan was the only response Rebecca could manage. She tried to open her eyes, but felt a rush of tears when she did. Where was she now?
No longer in his arms, it’s cold and hard here.
‘Can you hear me? Mrs Hardwicke!’
‘Lizzie,’ she croaked, managing to open her eyes finally.
The kitchens, she saw through the blur. Why are we in the kitchens?
‘I...’
‘We need to chafe you, Mrs Hardwicke,’ Mrs Murray said gently. ‘I need you to sit for me—can you do that? We’ll help you.’
Rebecca nodded feebly, and the next moment she felt everything scream out in pain as the women pulled her up to a sitting position on the edge of the table. All the blood rushed to her head, and there was pounding unlike anything she had ever experienced before. She whimpered, swaying, and Lizzie’s hands came to rest on her shoulders for a moment. Drawing a deep breath, eyes closed again, Rebecca managed to hold steady.
Fingers began swiftly and meticulously trailing along her body, taking away every last frozen, soaked thing. Pattens, boots, stockings, coat, hat, gloves, skirts, chemise. Somewhere in the back of her mind a protest formed, but the release from the garments felt so extraordinary, nothing escaped her lips. Even as she realised what they would see, she could not stop them.
The warm, moist air felt like a blanket against her glacial, numb skin, and Rebecca found it easier to breathe. She managed to open her eyes again, just as Mrs Murray’s hands dropped to her waist and, with impressive strength, slid her forward.
She felt the hard tiles beneath her feet as the world once again blurred and dizziness swept over her. But the women steadied her again, before returning to their task. The last of the sodden garments fell to the floor, and then their hands were against her skin again.
It was a trial to stand as they began chafing her, so vigorously it seemed her skin was now on fire.
‘What were you thinking?’ Mrs Murray admonished. ‘We told you the master would see to Mrs Ffoulkes, and now see what you’ve done. Scared us all right to death.’
Mrs Murray’s voice broke, and Rebecca felt a lump of emotion in her own throat. Someone cared about her. More than someone, everyone here. It had been a long time since people had truly cared for her, cared what happened to her.
No matter what she did, she could not help the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Neither of the women said anything, nor acknowledged that they had witnessed her weakness. They simply rubbed every frozen inch of flesh, from her shoulders down to her toes. She managed to prise open her eyes slightly, and she saw them, like warm sprites of summer, glowing in the light of the hearth. She was relieved to note that their own eyes were thankfully full of serious purpose as they swept across her body with the interest and dedication of doctors.
They do not judge me...
Before that thought could develop, or any others could take its place, they stopped their work, set their arms under her own, holding tight about her waist, and guided her to the bath, helping her in.
‘Now, just stay in there for a while,’ Mrs Murray instructed, before disappearing.
Rebecca did as she was told, letting the warmth of the water and the fire lull her into near senselessness.
She let it soothe away her sorrow, let it soothe away her hurt, until Mrs Murray and Lizzie returned to dry and clothe her. Even then, she was barely present, her mind somewhere far away, in a land where she’d found home and could finally rest. The darkness and the heavy slumber called her again then, and she found she could resist it no longer.
The last thing she felt was a pair of strong arms lifting her up as a whisper in her ear told her it was time for bed.
Liam laid his troublesome housekeeper gently down in her bed, and tucked her in with as much care and tenderness as his mother had when he was a child. She was still pale, though a faint wash of colour had returned to her cheeks.
Had he managed to find her in time? He’d done his best, but she was not out of danger yet. If she developed a fever, if...
Sighing, Liam dropped into the chair by her side.
Waiting. That was all there was to do now. Wait. And so he would wait. She, at least, would not die on his watch.
No, Rebecca. You, I vow I shall not lose.
During the middle of the night, Rebecca took a turn for the worse. The fever Liam feared came upon her, the chill having set into her lungs despite his best efforts.
He was awoken by the sound of chattering teeth and whimpers as she tossed and turned, winding the blankets around herself. Immediately Liam set about trying to break the fever, alternating between soothing her with cloths soaked in cool water and vinegar, and chafing her legs—at which point he discovered some very peculiar inking on her skin, which he determined he would ask about when she was herself again.
For she shall be. I swear it.
Not until mid-morning did the fever break. Rebecca finally fell back into a restful, or at least not fitful, slumber, and Liam did the same, half lying on the bed, half in his chair, the cloths still clutched in his hand.
Thomas woke him some hours later, insisting that if he would not sleep in his own chambers, he might at least refresh himself and have a proper meal.
Lizzie took over watching Rebecca whilst Liam relented and did just that.
And so it was for the next four days.
Outside, the storm raged on. Inside, Liam kept to Rebecca’s bedside, leaving only to refresh himself. The staff took turns watching over her when he did, and Mrs Murray brought him trays of food along with broth and tea for Rebecca. No one said a single word about his presence by her side, nor his devotion to her care. They all understood that the master would not be swayed from his task—and, indeed, they all felt keenly for the new housekeeper they had once seemed so intent to despise.
Christmas came and went, uncelebrated and nearly forgotten but for private prayers, which all seemed to feature one Mrs Hardwicke.
Rebecca had only very few moments of consciousness, and none of lucidity. Though the first fever had broken, the infection in her chest worsened, and other bouts of fever came and went. Her body shut down, fighting the sickness, and perhaps it was best, for if not, she might have fought Liam’s devoted nursing.
Not that fighting him would have helped. Liam cared for her with everything he had. Something deep inside drove him on, and he was relentless in his tending. He had sworn he would not lose her, therefore he would not. And so he soothed her, fed her, gave her water, even brushed and braided her hair after the women bathed her.
By the time the doctor could be sent for, and arrived on the fifth day, there was nothing left for him to do.
‘What do you mean, there is nothing to be done?’ Liam exclaimed, half-delirious with the lack of sleep and worry. ‘By God, man—’
‘My lord,’ the doctor said in his most soothing tone. ‘There is nothing more for me to do as Mrs Hardwicke is well on her way to recovering. She is awake now, and there is good colour in her cheeks. I think a few more days in bed, and she shall be as right as rain.’
‘Oh,’ Liam said dazedly, swaying slightly as exhaustion, physical and mental, crashed upon him suddenly. A thousand emotions and thoughts were running through him, making him dizzy. But he could neither voice, nor understand any of them.
Thank God.
‘Thank you, Dr Sims.’
‘Of course, my lord. Now, I suggest you get some rest yourself.’
‘Yes, I think you’re right.’ Liam nodded. ‘Thomas shall see to your fee.’
They shook hands, and the doctor disappeared upstairs.
Liam sighed, and leaned back against the wall.
Rebecca will be fine. She is safe now.
She was awake. He wanted to go to her, to see for himself, perhaps even see her smile, herself again.
You really are tired...
A woman in his life had been in danger. And he’d wanted with his entire being to save her, where he had failed to save others. But admitting there was anything else to that need would only bring trouble. He had to resume his position as master, before it was too late. It seemed callous. And it hurt him—physically pained him—to leave the servants’ quarters then, and return to his own. Filled him with regret to pass on Rebecca’s care to Thomas and Lizzie, to leave her in the hands of others.
Nonetheless, he did just that.
For he knew that if he did not, he would soon be the one in danger.