LITMIR.BIZ

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      She knelt down beside the boy, aware that a portly man dressed in a coat of blue superfine and nankeen pantaloons was climbing from the overturned carriage. He had lost his hat and his hair was awry and he was very angry. ‘Imbecile!’ he shouted, addressing Roland. ‘Letting your brat wander about the public road like that.’

      ‘I think he is but slightly injured, sir,’ Roland said coolly. ‘But I do thank you for your kind concern.’

      ‘Yes, well, he should not have been in the road,’ the man said, recognising the put-down for what it was. ‘Did he not hear us coming?’

      ‘No, he could not,’ Charlotte put in. She had recognised the six-year-old Tommy Biggs, who had come round from his fright and was looking from one to the other, trying to understand what was being said. ‘He is deaf. But your coachman has no business to be going at such a speed he was unable to stop in time. Tommy could have been killed.’

      ‘Are you his mother?’ The man reached in his pocket and withdrew a purse.

      ‘No, I am not, but that is not to say his mother would not appreciate some recompense. She is poor and doctor’s fees will come hard.’

      The moans coming from the coach grew into a wail. ‘George, am I to stay here all day while you bandy words? Help me out.’

      The man gave Charlotte a handful of coins and turned back to the coach. A head had appeared in the door of the vehicle, which now lay on its side, one wheel still gently spinning. The woman’s round face was bright red, her hair such a vivid orange Charlotte could not believe it could be its natural colour. And it soon became apparent, as her husband struggled to haul her out, that she was exceedingly fat.

      ‘Can you look after the boy?’ Roland asked Charlotte. ‘See that he does not move until I can examine him properly. I had better see to the passengers.’

      ‘Of course.’

      He left her to lend the fat gentleman a hand and together they pulled the lady free with a great display of petticoats and set her upon her feet on the road.

      ‘You are unhurt, ma’am?’ Roland asked.

      ‘I am bruised black and blue,’ she retorted. ‘And will undoubtedly suffer considerably, but I do not expect you to concern yourself with that. Be so good as to send for another conveyance to carry us forwards. We are in haste…’

      ‘That much I had deduced,’ Roland said wryly. ‘But you know what they say, “more haste less speed”. The delay will undoubtedly outweigh the advantage of the speed you were driving. I am sure your coachman will agree with that. When he regains his senses, that is.’

      ‘And a little less of your impertinence, if you please. If you had kept your child under control—’

      ‘The child does not belong to his lordship,’ Charlotte said and watched with a broadening smile as the woman’s mouth dropped open in astonishment.

      ‘His lordship?’ she managed at last.

      ‘You have been directing your abuse at the Earl of Amerleigh,’ Charlotte went on, throwing a glance at Roland, who had turned away to hide his laughter.

      The woman swivelled round to look Roland up and down as if unable to believe this rough-looking man in the faded overalls could possibly be a member of the aristocracy.

      ‘The lady ain’t bamming,’ Travers put in. He had been busy catching the horses, which, apart from a tendency to take fright, were unharmed. ‘So you’d be wise to address his lordship with more respect, especially if you want him to help you.’

      ‘Oh, I do. My lord, I cannot think what came over me. The shock, I suppose. Please forgive me. I took you for—’ She stopped, not daring to put into words what she had taken him for.

      ‘It is no matter, ma’am,’ Roland said, doing his best to be serious at the woman’s complete volte-face. Then, to Travers, ‘Do you think we can right this coach?’

      ‘Don’t see why not.’

      The two men, both exceptionally big and strong, strode over to the coach and, with a great deal of heaving and pushing and rocking of it, managed to turn it back on to its wheels. Roland went all round it, examining it carefully. ‘I think it could be driven,’ he said. ‘If you take it slowly, it will carry you to the next posting inn.’

      ‘Thank you, my lord,’ the woman’s husband said. ‘But Greaves is in no case to drive. Perhaps your man…’

      ‘What about it, Travers?’ Roland asked. ‘Fancy tooling a coach, do you?’

      The corporal, busy harnessing the horses again, looked up and grinned. ‘Very well, sir, but what about the wall?’

      ‘We will finish it tomorrow. Miss Cartwright and I will carry the boy home and deliver him safely to his mother. I am sure Mr…’

      ‘Halliwell,’ the man said. ‘James Halliwell, at your service, my lord. I will furnish your man with the wherewithal to return home.’

      ‘Then I suggest you help Mr Greaves into the coach, and off you go.’

      ‘Inside?’ Mrs Halliwell squeaked, looking at her coachman, who was now sitting up, but still looking decidedly dazed. She obviously thought it was beneath her dignity to ride inside with a servant.

      In the event Greaves disdained the comfort of an inside seat and insisted he would be perfectly at ease sitting beside Travers on the box and proved it by getting shakily to his feet and climbing up there. Mr and Mrs Halliwell clambered in and Roland secured the broken door with a strap and they set off, walking the horses very slowly and carefully.

      Charlotte, still kneeling beside young Tommy, watched them go, then turned back to the boy, who was moaning softly.

      ‘Do you think he is hurt anywhere beside his head?’ she asked, stroking the boy’s muddy cheek with a gentle finger. ‘I do not think he can speak because of his deafness.’

      Watching her, he suddenly realised he was seeing a very different woman from the one he had hitherto encountered and could not help gazing at her. Gone were the strong features, the firm jawline, the glittering eyes, the coldness of the hoyden, and in their place was a mouth that was tenderly soft and eyes full of warmth, as she comforted the boy. It was most disconcerting. He pulled himself together to answer her. ‘A doctor will be able to tell,’ he said. ‘We must send for one at once.’

      ‘I will fetch Dr Sumner. It will only take a few minutes on Bonny Boy.’

      ‘Very well. I will carry the boy to his home if you tell me where that is.’

      ‘The thatched cottage beside the church. His name is Tommy Biggs.’

      ‘Biggs?’ he queried, as he helped her to mount. ‘That is the name of the family you mentioned, is it not?’

      ‘Yes, it is,’ she said, surprised that he had remembered it. She had not thought he had even been listening.

      Unfortunately, Dr Sumner was out on a call, but his housekeeper promised to give him a message as soon as he returned and Charlotte had to be content with that. She emphasised the urgency and rode back to the Biggs’s cottage where she found Roland sitting on a stool beside a dilapidated sofa on which the boy was lying. Mrs Biggs, her face white and drawn, admitted her and then went to stand beside his lordship to look down on her son. Two toddlers hung on to her skirts.

      ‘How is he?’ Charlotte asked.

      ‘He seems confused. His lordship has said it often happens after a blow on the head, but it should not last. I do not know what would have happened if his lordship had not been there, ma’am. He could have been killed. He should not have been so far from home, I don’t know what got into the little devil.’

      ‘He is like all small boys, Mrs Biggs,’ Roland said. ‘Into mischief, and the fact that he is deaf does not alter that.’ He smiled at the

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