Page 112 of Rivals at Ashmore Castle

Someone had a sore throat, eyes like hot marbles in their sockets, and an appalling headache. A feverish cold? It wasn’t fair, he thought weakly, that he should suffer for someone else’s beastly cold. Then he realised that the someone was him. He was not well…not well at all…

Fever dreams…Things too big and too loud and the wrong shape…The walls growing soft, flapping like pastry…The headache was no longer inside him – he was inside it…

Someone was wiping his face with something cool that smelt of lavender. The kindness of it made him want to weep. He was burning and shivery at the same time, and every bit of him hurt. Everything that touched his skin hurt him in a way he recognised. I have a fever, he said, but he made no sound…

He woke, with that feeling of renaissance when a fever has been and gone. Cautiously he explored his sensations. Tongue like a strip of carpet, headache still present but retreated to a background grumble. He raised a hand and felt his face – very bristly – and his head – ouch! Tender. And finally opened his eyes. He was in his own bed in his own room. In a chair near the bed Afton was sitting, looking at him with a faint smile. ‘You’re back with us,’ he said.

Richard tried to speak, and managed, ‘Water.’ Afton helped him to sit up, presented him with a cup, and he drank thirstily. ‘Thanks.’ His voice still creaked with unuse. He felt his chin again. ‘How long?’

‘You had an accident on Tuesday. This is Saturday.’

‘Four days?’

‘How are you feeling? The doctor will be coming back in an hour or two.’

‘Doctor? What’s wrong with me? And why does my head hurt?’

‘You don’t remember, sir?’

Richard stared at him as he tried to riffle through his thoughts, but his mind felt strangely stiff, like a cramped muscle. ‘Remember what?’ he heard himself say.

‘I’d better call your brother, sir,’ Afton said, and pulled the bell cord. He poured Richard some more water, and Richard drank.

‘What happened to me?’ he asked.

‘Everyone would like to know that. You went out on your horse on Tuesday and we know you went to Hundon’s. His lordship has spoken to Mr Woodrow. He said you were intending to ride over to Long Chill.’ He paused, with a questioning look.

Richard shook his head, then wished he hadn’t. ‘I don’t remember any of that.’

‘Mr Woodrow has been to Long Chill. Mr Ashby says you were there for a couple of hours, then you set off, saying you wanted to get home before it got too dark.’

The door opened and Giles came in. Later, Richard would remember how drawn his face had been. He came to the bed and took hold of Richard’s hand. ‘You’re awake! How are you, old chap? Fever gone? How’s the head?’

‘Beastly,’ Richard said.

‘The doctor will be here soon. You had us worried. How did you get that crack on the skull?’

Something flickered in Richard’s mind, something about a Grimms’ fairy tale. He caught at an image of a giant with a club, but it was gone before he could grasp it. ‘No idea. Can’t remember anything. Afton was just telling me.’

‘We were hoping you’d tell us,’ said Giles, taking the chair that Afton had vacated. ‘The first we knew was when Nesta came in alone.’

‘She’s not hurt?’

‘No, no, don’t worry. She hadn’t even broken her reins. She walked in cool as a cucumber and went straight to her stall demanding to be let in. So of course Giddins sounded the alarm. At that point we had no idea where to start looking for you, and it had got dark and the fog was getting thicker…You don’t remember any of this?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Some were for waiting a bit to see if you walked in, but it wasn’t like you to get thrown and not keep hold of the reins, and it was getting colder too, so I was worried. I sent out search parties in different directions. And then, while we were waiting for news, thank God you were brought in.’

‘Brought in?’

‘One of the Orde brothers – the one with the squint?’

‘That’s Samuel. The elder,’ Richard supplied.

Giles nodded. ‘He came in carrying you. Good job the man’s built like an oak tree because he’d carried you all the way from Long Wood. He was on his way home and found you huddled up on the path at the edge of the plantation. Probably saved your life. You were unconscious and we found a pretty nasty wound to your head. Later we found bruising across your shoulders. And you’d obviously been lying out on the cold ground for some time so you took a nasty chill. It’s been a hellish few days. Arbogast is no doom-sayer, but I could see he was worried. How did you hit your head, old fellow? I was wondering if you rode under a branch, but the plantation isn’t that sort of wood.’

‘I tell you, I don’t remember,’ Richard said, and was surprised to find himself sounding tearful. But it was rather frightening to have a gap in your consciousness like that. ‘I don’t remember going out on Nesta or seeing Woodrow. I remember…’ he screwed up his eyes with effort…‘beefsteak and kidney pie. I wanted a second helping but someone had the last.’