“Oh, how wonderful,” Corrie said, sucking in that wonderful smell, turning to the wrinkled old woman, swathed in a huge apron that covered nearly all of her. “What a delightful house you have, madam. Thank you so much for letting us in. And it’s so very warm.”
“Please, ma’am,” James said. “We’ve been in the rain all night and I’m very worried about Corrie.”
“Aye, I can see that,” the old woman said. “I’m Mrs. Osbourne, me man is out there wi’ the cows. Our milk is the best in the district. I’ll give ye a cup o’ milk, all nice and warm, that’ll make ye jig again. Now, ye’re both wet, let me find ye something to wear.”
Mrs. Osbourne disappeared into another room, and James realized that behind the door past the kitchen was indeed the barn.
“Corrie, I want you to hang my coat over that chair and get yourself close to the fireplace. We’re nearly home.”
When Mrs. Osbourne came back after only a few minutes carrying a pail of milk, she said to Corrie, “Aye, little dearie, let me pour ye some nice fresh milk, then we’ll get ye into some nice dry clothes.”
Corrie drank the warm milk gratefully then handed the mug to James, who finished it off.
She followed Mrs. Osbourne into an old-fashioned bedchamber with a lovely big bed and a huge trunk at its base. Mrs. Osbourne left Corrie there to change into a long shapeless gown of indeterminate gray with a high neck and not a single ruffle or flounce. Corrie thought it was a lovely dress. She was humming as she stripped off her wet clothes and laid them all spread out on the floor, careful not to let them touch Mrs. Osbourne’s blue rag rug. She could hear Mrs. Osbourne speaking to James, but couldn’t make out her words.
She toweled off her hair and untangled it as best she could with her fingers. She was warm, her belly filled with the lovely milk, and she was more than ready to take on more kidnappers. Or smugglers. What an amazing night it had been. And James was all right. She’d seen to it.
She walked back into the sitting room. “Your turn now, James.”
When James took the men’s clothes into the bedchamber, Corrie said, “I thank you, ma’am. Lord Hammersmith was kidnapped. We both escaped and have been walking in the rain nearly all night.”
“A lordship is he? Well, I suppose he should have a title attached to that beautiful face of his. I don’t think Mr. Osbourne’s clothes will fit him well, but at least they’re dry. Would ye like to buy some milk?”
Before Corrie could laugh or reply, James came out of the bedchamber dressed in Mr. Osbourne’s clothes. Corrie knew that beauty would have to be in the eye of a very biased beholder. The breeches, old and baggy, came only to his ankles. The dark brown cotton shirt didn’t quite meet over his chest, which made him look very manly indeed, what with chest hair poking out. She didn’t think she’d seen James’s chest since he was sixteen. Should she tell him that he would look magnificent indeed if he’d take off those ridiculous clothes?
Probably wise not to say that. She didn’t want to hurt Mrs. Osbourne’s feelings.
“You look very natty, James.”
“I’m warm and dry, as you are, Corrie. Thank you, Mrs. Osbourne and Mr. Osbourne as well. Once Corrie and I are home again, I will have the clothes returned to you.”
“So ye’re Lord Hammersmith, the young lady tells me. Ye’ve the look of a ducky lad. I believe that Mr. Osbourne had the look of ye afore the years wore on him and knobbled his knees, and all those dratted cows kicked him in the head too many times.” And Mrs. Osbourne curtseyed to him. “I’ll feed ye. Mr. Osbourne can sell all the milk this morning. Goodness, I already hear the wagons coming down the road.”
After the most delicious porridge and eggs and toast either Corrie or James had ever eaten in their short lives, they both felt too tired and stupid to do anything except sit at that table and try to stay upright.
“Tired, are ye? Well, that’s no problem. How about a short nap afore Mr. Osbourne sees that ye get at least to Malthorpe, our village five miles down the road.”
James was so grateful that he nearly fell over his feet as he rose from his chair. He walked to Mrs. Osbourne, picked up her hoary hand, and kissed her knuckles. “We are very grateful for your kindness, ma’am. If you don’t mind, I would very much like for Corrie to rest a while. So much has happened.”
“I’ll have her in my own bedchamber, my lord, tucked in right and tight.”
“Thank you, ma’am. If I can perhaps assist Mr. Osbourne with the cows-” He stood there, the words barely out of his mouth, smiling his beautiful smile, when suddenly his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed, hitting the edge of the table on his way to the floor.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CORRIE HAD NEVER been so frightened in her life. Riding on the back of a carriage for three hours on the tiger’s perch, the wind whistling up her wide sleeves, was nothing; climbing up on a rickety roof with a blanket-well, the list was long. But this was James. And he was sick.
Mr. Osbourne left his milking to strip James of his own clothes and put him into bed. He was still unconscious, his breathing heavy, and he was so very pale. Corrie couldn’t bear it. She’d taken his coat and left him in his shirtsleeves. She said to Mrs. Osbourne, “Is there a physician nearby? I must have a physician for him. Please, Mrs. Osbourne. I can’t allow anything to happen to James. Please.”
“Well now,” Mrs. Osbourne said, lightly laying her gnarly old hand on James’s forehead, “there is old Dr. Flimmy, over in Braxton. Don’t know if he’s still alive, but he birthed my three boys, and all of them survived, their mama included. Elden!”
Mr. Osbourne stuck his head in the bedchamber.
“Send little Freddie over Braxton way to fetch Dr. Flimmy. Our beautiful boy here is nearly pale as a corpse.” She saw Corrie’s face blanch. “Sorry.”
“Fever,” Mrs. Osbourne said, shaking her head. “I know fevers, I do. Little Lemon, that’s what I always called him when he was a boy cause his skin was this pale yellow color; did that boy ever have the fevers, one right after the other.”
“Did you say Little Lemon was alive, Mrs. Osbourne?”
“Oh aye, his name is Benjie and he’s got three young-uns of his own now.”
“Then tell me what to do.”
“Funny this is, I always use lemons for fevers. It’s a jest, you see? Little Lemon and lemons for fevers.”
Corrie swallowed hard. “You will make a drink for him, ma’am? Made of lemons?”
“Aye, that’s it. While I’m doing that, you keep an eye on him. If he starts burning up from the inside out, you wash him down with cold cloths.”
“Yes, yes, I can do that.”
Mrs. Osbourne stood there a moment, staring down at James’s still face. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful face on any living soul. That face shouldn’t go to God just yet.”
Corrie could only nod.
The hours blurred, but they did march on, very slowly. James was still alive, so hot that soon both she and Mrs. Osbourne began wiping him down with wet cloths dipped in the coldest water Mr. Osbourne could find. Corrie’s hands cramped, but she didn’t slow. She saw that Mrs. Osbourne was slowing down, and no wonder. “I’ll keep doing it, ma’am. Please, you must rest now.”
But the old woman kept stroking down James’s chest, then when they managed to turn him onto his stomach, she stroked those cloths down his back.
He was so still, so deathly still Corrie couldn’t stand it. Finally, when he was on his back again, he opened his eyes and looked directly into her face.
“Corrie? What’s wrong? You’re not sick, are you?”
“No,” she said, her warm breath on his cheek. “I’m not, but you are.”
“No, that can’t be right-” And then he was gone, eyes closed, his head lolling to the side.
Corrie’s world stopped. She put her face right into his. “James, come back to me, please, come back. I can’t bear this.”
He began twisting and throwing away the covers, then suddenly, he was shivering, his teeth chattering. They piled blankets on top of him, but still it wasn’t enough. The three of them managed to carry him out into the sitting room, and lay him right in front of the fireplace. Within moments, the room was so hot sweat was beading on
