On the way, he took stock; when he reached the kitchen he was frowning. "We'll be staying for a few days at least. We need to open up some rooms-brush down the cobwebs, get rid of the dust-enough to be comfortable."
Colly looked at him in dismay. "The drawing room?"
The drawing room was monstrous. "No. The small parlor will do."
"I'll get onto it after breakfast…" Colly glanced at the stove. "I'm not much of one for cooking."
Martin sighed. "What have you got?"
His years of traveling had given him skills not generally taught an earl's son; when Amanda joined them, he was stirring a pot of porridge on the stove. "Colly unearthed some honey, which should make it more palatable."
Amanda looked. "Hmm."
But she ate it; Martin suspected she was as famished as he. At his insistence, Colly and Onslow ate with them. Onslow was quiet; Colly had already washed and redressed his wound. Martin used the time to get an idea of the state of the larder.
"We've tatters in the cellar, and some cabbage. There's a bit of game pie left over from last week." Colly thought, then grimaced. "Not much else."
The nearest market town was Buxton; Martin didn't want to waste the entire day it would take to go there and back. Let alone so widely advertise his return. The truth was, he hadn't meant to return; stirring his porridge, he wasn't sure he'd yet digested the fact he was here.
Focusing on the necessities, he nodded. "I'll take a gun out and see what I can find, then I'll saddle one of the horses and visit the bakery."
"Aye." Colly rose and gathered their empty plates. "The game's been running wild hereabouts, and the bakery always has pasties and pies."
Amanda stood. "I'll dust and air rooms and make up some beds. I'll need to watch Reggie."
Martin glanced at her. "Colly will show you where everything is."
Two hours with a shotgun, tramping over rugged hillsides he knew like the palm of his hand, produced three hares. And a mindful of memories. He handed the hares to Colly to dress, cleaned the gun, then headed for the stables. It took half an hour to find and check sufficient tack to saddle one of the carriage horses; after that, there was no further reason to put off the inevitable.
The sun was high by the time he trotted into the village of Grindleford. Trotted past the church, presently empty, standing like a benevolent guardian keeping watch over its small congregation. The cottages of the flock were scattered about the nearby fields; only the bakery and the forge stood on the lane itself, one directly opposite the other. The forge was open but there was no one in sight, either there or in the fields.
Martin dismounted before the bakery and tied the horse's reins to a nearby tree. A bell attached to the door tinkled as he opened it; girding his loins, he ducked beneath the lintel and entered the bright little shop. Savory aromas from the bakery behind filled the enclosed space. A girl wrapped in a white apron bustled through from the back, her face alight with query.
She didn't recognize him; she was either too young or had arrived in the last ten years. Knowing how little the population hereabouts varied, he assumed it was the former.
"Can I help you, sir?"
Martin smiled and had her show him the latest offerings. He chose two loaves of bread, unable to resist the lure of the cob loaf he hadn't tasted since boyhood, and a variety of pies and pasties, a selection large enough to have the girl eyeing him curiously.
Inwardly congratulating himself on having accomplished his task without encountering anyone who knew him, he paid and received his change. He was turning away when an older woman, wiping her hands on her apron, appeared in the archway connecting the bakery with the shop. "Heather-
The woman stopped the instant she set eyes on him, as if she'd run into an invisible wall. She stared as if she couldn't believe her eyes.
Martin could understand. His smile faded; the only thought in his brain was that she hadn't previously been a baker. His expression impassive, he inclined his head. "Mrs. Crockett."
Belatedly, she bobbed. "Sir-I mean… my lord."
With a curt nod for both her and the now wide-eyed girl, Martin turned and left the shop.
If Mrs. Crockett had said "Good Lord!" he'd have agreed. Of all the people to meet! She'd been old Buxton's housekeeper and Sarah's nurse; she more than most had reason to remember why he'd left-why he'd been banished.
Despite the fact Grindleford was so tiny and the population so widely scattered, the news he was back would be all over the county within hours. That, he could count on. He was still grim when he reached the empty kitchen and laid his purchases on the table. Colly wasn't in evidence, but there were vegetables laid out, and the dressed hares were hanging over the sink. At least they would eat.
He headed for the front hall, wondering where the others were; a feminine huff made him look up. Amanda was teetering on the landing, struggling to balance a large ewer and basin. He took the steps two at a time, lifted the heavy weight from her hands.
"Thank you." Her beaming smile erased his scowl before it had even begun. "Reggie's awake! And he's lucid."
"Good." Side by side, they continued up the stairs.
"Colly's helping him get undressed. Onslow's asleep." As they reached the gallery, Amanda's smile faded. "Reggie's still very weak."
"That's to be expected. He'll take a few days to recover."
She seemed to accept that. Martin didn't add that infection of the wound was the next battle they might face; he was hoping they could avoid it.
She knocked, and Colly bade them enter. Reggie was lying propped up in bed, resplendent in a paisley silk robe that only threw his pallor into sharper contrast. Delighted, Amanda bustled forward.
"Now we need to change your bandage, and wash the wound."
Reggie looked startled. "You?" Then he looked at Martin. "I don't-"
There followed an argument of the sort that could only occur between two childhood friends. Martin listened, inwardly smiling, refusing to agree with either, unsurprised when Amanda had her way and, despite Reggie's dire grumblings, unwound the bandage and laid bare his wound.
Angry, red and raw, it was not a pretty sight. Martin glanced at Amanda's face but she chattered on, brightly, incessantly, while she gently sponged it and patted it dry. Not even when Reggie tensed and winced did her patter falter. Then he saw the glance she threw Reggie and realized her brightness was all for show, so Reggie wouldn't realize how worried and upset she was by the wound. As soon as she'd finished, he replaced her by Reggie's side and deftly rebandaged, tightening the pad against the wound, winding the long bandage round and round to secure it.
The ordeal had drained Reggie's strength; he was paler than ever as they eased him down to the pillows to rest.
Martin hesitated, seeing the fight Reggie waged to keep his eyes from closing, then asked, "Do you remember what happened?"
A frown formed on Reggie's face, quite comical because of the bandage. "We rolled around the corner and Onslow slowed-I'd told him to stop and wait. Then there was a shot. I heard Onslow yell, then a thump-I leaned forward to look out. Saw this fellow on a horse. Next thing I knew there was this searing pain across my skull-then I heard the crack." He frowned harder. "Can't remember more than that."
"There isn't much more. We heard and came running, but the horseman was gone. Did you get a decent look at him?"
Reggie looked up, studied his face, then shook his head. "That's the strangest thing about it. Don't know if my mind's playing tricks on me or what."
"Why?" Amanda asked.
"It was cloudy, remember, but just then, the moon came out and shone right on him-the fellow on the horse-and he wasn't that far away. I did see him clearly. I think. Only it might have been a trick of the moonlight."
"Why so unsure?"