Matilda!’ Eleanor raised her voice to be heard over the wailing of the two servants, who were still huddled together, eyes tight shut. ‘Do please stop that infernal noise. Is either of you hurt?’
‘My head...oh, milady—blood! I shall bleed to death.’
Eleanor twisted to look at Lizzie, who was clutching her head, a look of horror on her face. There was a minor cut on her scalp, which, like all scalp wounds, bled freely.
‘Nonsense, Lizzie. Do please calm down. Here, take my handkerchief and press it to your scalp—it’s only a tiny cut.’
Aunt Lucy had wriggled free from Eleanor’s grasp and was talking to Matilda.
‘Aunt? Are you all right?’
‘Shaken up, my pet, as are we all. But not hurt, thanks to you. You provided a soft landing, for which I am vastly grateful. And Matilda seems uninjured, just shocked.’ She grimaced at Eleanor as, at the sound of her name, Matilda burst into fresh sobs. ‘And you, Ellie? Are you hurt?’
‘I banged my side, but nothing broken, thankfully.’
‘What on earth do you imagine has happened? Oh, do hush, Matilda. Really, there is no lasting harm done. We are all still alive.’
‘I cannot imagine, although Lizzie is right—it did sound like a gunshot.’ Eleanor strove to speak calmly, to conceal her fear and the panic lurking below the surface. Were they being held up?
She looked up at the window above their heads. The carriage, despite being on its side, was still jerking and she could hear the men outside trying to calm the horses. She manoeuvred herself upright, her legs still shaky from the shock of the accident, and braced one foot on each side of the door frame that now formed the floor. There were some advantages in being tall, she thought wryly, as she shoved at the door above their heads. It crashed open, provoking another series of jerks from the horses, accompanied by a frenzied whinnying. She stuck her head through the opening, but was unable to see much. She shouted and the grizzled head of Joey, Eleanor’s coachman, appeared over the side of the upturned carriage.
‘Joey, thank goodness. What happened? Help me out, will you?’
Eleanor reached up and grasped Joey’s hands and, with much heaving and kicking, she was hauled out of the carriage and helped down to the ground. She took in the scene, gasping at the mayhem.
The lead pair plunged and scrabbled to regain their footing against the weight of the wheelers, both of which were off their feet. The offside of the wheelers was lying prone, blood pumping from its side, and the nearside of the pair, lying half beneath its teammate, eyes rolling wildly, was making intermittent half-hearted attempts to struggle free. Fretwell was trying desperately to free the lead horses, sawing at the leather harness with his knife, whilst the footman, Timothy, who had also accompanied them on their journey, was at the leaders’ heads, trying, not very successfully, to keep them calm, whilst dodging their flailing hooves.
Eleanor was about to go to his aid when Joey clutched her arm.
‘We just come round a sharp bend, milady. Get back there, lass, make sure nowt’s coming. Last thing we need—another pile up.’ Stress made the old coachman revert to speaking to her as the child he once knew.
Eleanor looked back, past the carriage, and only then did she appreciate the peril they were in. They had come around a sharp bend just before the carriage had overturned and the vehicle now blocked most of the road, which was enclosed by dense woodland. She shuddered at the thought of what that woodland might conceal, but there was no time to worry about that now. Surely any vehicle coming around that blind bend at even a modest speed would be upon them before they knew it. Picking up her skirts, Eleanor sprinted back along the road, suddenly aware of the approaching thunder of horses’ hooves.
Her heart leapt with fear. The horses sounded almost upon her, but were not yet in sight. Pain stabbed in her side. She could run no faster. The driver was unlikely to see her in time to react, he was travelling so fast. She did the only thing she could to avert disaster. She ran into the middle of the road, arms waving, just as a curricle drawn by two black horses raced into view.
Curses filled the air as the driver hauled desperately at the reins, slewing the curricle across the road as they came to a plunging stop, missing Eleanor by mere inches. Lungs burning, legs trembling, she could only watch, mute, as a groom jumped from his perch and raced to the horses’ heads. The driver speared her with one fulminating glare, then tied off the reins and leapt to the ground. Eleanor hauled in a shaky breath, flinching at his livid expression as he strode towards her.
Eleanor stumbled back as the irate driver, frowning brows beetled over penetrating ice-blue eyes, loomed over her.
‘What in God’s name were you trying to do?’ he bit out. ‘Get yourself kill—’ He stopped abruptly as his gaze slid past Eleanor to the scene beyond. He grasped her upper arms, steadying her as he searched her face.
‘Are you hurt?’
Eleanor shook her head.
‘Good. Now, I need you to stay calm and be strong. Go over to Henry—’ he indicated his groom ‘—and tell him to come and help me, whilst you hold my team. Can you do that?’ She nodded. ‘Good girl.’
He stepped around her and strode over to the stricken carriage. Eleanor, still in shock, stared after him for a few seconds, then, shaking out of her stupor, she did as instructed and went to hold his horses as the stranger took charge with an ease that spoke of a natural leader.
Good girl? Who does he think he is? He cannot be much older than I am.
The minute those uncharitable thoughts slipped into her mind, she batted them away. Never mind that he had relegated her to the role of helpless female, she must remember he was only trying to help. Like a knight in shining armour. She bit back a smile at such an absurd thought. In her experience, men rarely felt chivalrous towards tall, independent and managing females such as herself.
The stranger’s presence focused the servants and the leaders’ traces were soon cut, allowing the horses to stand and be calmed. Whilst they were occupied, Eleanor gathered her courage and forced herself to study the surrounding woodlands for anyone who might be lurking. She saw no one...no movement.
Timothy was dispatched to a nearby farm, just visible through the trees, to summon assistance, and the injured horse was examined. A heated discussion appeared to take place between the men before the stranger placed his hand on Joey’s shoulder, bending down to speak in his ear. He pushed him gently in Eleanor’s direction whilst nodding to Fretwell, who extracted a pistol from behind the box of the carriage.
Joey stumbled over to Eleanor, tears in his eyes. ‘They’re going to shoot her, lass. My Bonny. She’s been shot and her leg’s broke. There’s nowt we can do to save her.’
‘Oh, Joey, I’m so sorry. I know how you feel about the horses.’ Eleanor’s vision blurred. ‘Don’t look.’ She clasped his arm and turned him away from the grisly scene. A few seconds later a shot rang out and they both stiffened. Then Joey sighed.
‘That’s that, then, lass...beg pardon, I mean, milady.’ He straightened. ‘There’s still three horses there needing me. I must get back.’ He began to walk away, then stopped, looking back at Eleanor with troubled eyes. ‘Oh, milady, who d’ye think could do such a wicked, wicked thing? Shooting at an innocent animal is bad enough, but that shot could’ve killed any one of us.’
His words echoed as Eleanor watched him return to the other men, who were now heaving Bonny’s carcass from on top of her teammate, Joker. A chill ran down her spine as she saw Fretwell reload the pistol and pace slowly back along the road, gazing intently into the dense woodland along its edge. Eleanor pulled her travelling cloak closer around her, as if it could render her invisible.
Joker