"I understand," he said quietly. He walked away, poking through the grass, looking for some clue as to what the dogs could have eaten. He found it in a ditch a few paces away from where the animals had fallen. He poked at the sheep's carcass with his cane. It was not fresh and had a strange bluish tinge to it. They didn't seem to have made too much of a meal of it, however. Perhaps its rotting condition had put them off.
He called Ariel over to look at the carcass. After a moment of investigation, she straightened and said, "I think it's nux vomica. If they can void the filth, it may not be too late." Ariel turned back to the dogs, her face set.
The cart had arrived, pulled by an old dapple gray mare who had seen better days. She stood, head hanging wearily, as the dogs were lifted onto the bed of the cart. Ariel clambered up beside them, taking their heads in her lap again.
In the stableyard, Ariel directed the lads to lift the dogs down and lay them on thick beds of fresh straw in the barn.
She didn't wait to see her orders carried out but ran as if the devil were on her heels back to the house.
"Of all the filthy bastard tricks." Edgar was mumbling as he bent over the hounds, gently easing their heads into the straw. "They're bleedin' devils, those Ravenspeares. May they all burn in hellfire!"
"You're both so certain who was responsible." Simon leaned against an upturned rainwater butt, easing his bad leg. His eyes were as cold as glacier ice.
"Aye," Edgar returned flatly. "Mean and vicious to a one. The dirtier the trick, the better they like it."
"I'll need help, Edgar." Ariel arrived breathless, speaking even as she dropped to her knees beside the animals, setting down a funnel and two jugs brimming with a vile-smelling liquid.
"What can I do?" Simon eased himself to his knees with an indrawn breath of pain.
Ariel glanced quickly at him. "This is no work for you, my lord," she said dismissively. "I must purge them of the foul matter. Even if you don't mind getting your hands dirty, I doubt you'll be willing to ruin your clothes."
"I'm not the lightweight you think me," he retorted. "Edgar must lift the head while I open the jaws. You may then pour down whatever emetic you have in that jug."
"Salt, mustard, and senna," she said.
Simon grimaced, but positioned himself to hold open the jaws of the hound whose head Edgar now held in the crook of his arm.
Her lips tight in concentration, Ariel inserted the funnel and slowly poured the thick liquid into the dog's mouth. The animal struggled weakly.
Simon gentled him with a soft crooning sound, massaging his throat so that Romulus swallowed convulsively. Ariel waited patiently until Simon had coaxed the last of the mouthful down his throat. Then she refilled the funnel. The dog's eyes rolled wildly and Simon knew that if the animal weren't so sick and feeble, he would have attacked them.
Ariel could see it too, but she spoke softly as she poured with a steady hand. Simon massaged the throat, and eventually the contents of the first jug had been absorbed by the dog.
"It'll start to work in a minute," Ariel said. "But we must treat Remus now."
The process was repeated this time to the accompaniment of Romulus's violent convulsions as he voided the contents of stomach and bowel into the straw, helpless to move himself. The mess splattered everywhere, but Ariel was completely unaware, and even when the last drops had disappeared down Remus's throat, she remained sitting in the straw between the two beasts, stroking their sweat-lathered necks and flanks, whispering to them almost in a lullaby.
Finally it was over and the animals lay with closed eyes, barely breathing. Simon stood looking down at them, hoping Ariel's heroic efforts hadn't merely caused them more suffering.
Ariel remained with the dogs' heads on her lap. They were quiet now, the sweat drying on their matted fur. "They can't rest like this," she said. "We must clean them up and then move them to fresh straw."
"Ariel, my dear, they're dying." Simon couldn't bear it any longer. He bent down to rest his hands on her shoulders. "Don't you see that? Leave them in peace now."
Ariel pushed his hands from her shoulders with a rough jerk that nearly unbalanced him. "They are not dying. Do you think I don't know what I'm doing?" She glared at him through the honeyed curtain of tumbled hair. Her face was streaked with dirt, her eyes bright with the residue of tears, sweat beaded her brow. "Do you think you know better than I do?"
It was a startling question. Simon ran a hand over the back of his neck. "I have some knowledge of horses and dogs," he said. "Army life teaches one such things."
"Yes, it teaches you to shoot rather than attempt to cure, because it's easier and quicker," she said scornfully. "Edgar, bring water, will you, please? And tell Tim to prepare a bed in the tack room with fresh straw. They can he up there for the rest of the day."
She sounded so absolutely confident that the dogs would live that Simon almost began to believe it himself. It was clear to him that Edgar had no doubts. Simon watched for a minute as the groom and his mistress began to wash the dogs down with buckets of water, then, with a resigned shrug, he struggled back to the barn floor and took his part.
Ariel gave him a quick surprised look, but she said nothing. When the hounds were clean, she took thick pieces of toweling and rubbed them as dry as it was possible.
And then both pairs of great yellow eyes opened and the wildness was gone from them. Simon hid his astonishment as he watched the return of intelligence. They were still too weak to move a muscle, but there was no denying that they were definitely alive.
"Help me carry them to the tack room, Edgar." Ariel stood up, her sopping skirts hanging around her. "If you take the hindquarters, I'll manage the head and shoulders."
Simon wanted to protest that she wasn't strong enough, but more than anything, he wanted to help. Bitterly he stood aside as the elderly man and the young girl struggled to carry the deadweight of first one and then the other huge animal into the tack room at the far end of the barn.
"I'll make up some gruel with birch bark." Ariel hurried past Simon, who had followed them to the tack room. "I'll sit with them throughout the day… Fetch water, Edgar. They'll need to drink as soon as they come round a bit more."
Simon followed her, trying to keep up with her half-running stride. "It will be expected that you attend the hunting party," he said mildly. "And don't bite my head off."
Ariel paused at the kitchen door, one hand resting on the jamb. "Have I done?"
"Several times."
Ariel bit her hp. "Then I apologize. You've been very kind to help with the dogs."
"Forgive me for having such little faith." He nodded to the curious kitchen folk and rested on a high stool beside the range while Ariel attended to her gruel.
"Mercy me, Lady Ariel, you smell like a pigsticker!" Gertrude stepped away from her own pots as Ariel moved in to the fire. She surveyed the countess of Hawkesmoor with astonished dismay. " 'Ceptin' there's no blood. But looks like there's everythin' else on yer clothes. Quite ruined they are."
"It can't be helped," Ariel said with a careless shrug. "His lordship's not much better." She shot him one of her mischievous smiles that always took him by surprise. Now that her dogs were saved, she seemed to be completely carefree.
He glanced ruefully down at his own britches and coat. "I'll go and change before the hunt. I'll tell your brothers that you have been delayed and will join us within… say, half an hour?"
Ariel opened her mouth to refuse, but he forestalled her, saying quickly, "I daresay you will not wish to give certain people the satisfaction of believing you distressed."
He had a point. Ranulf would grin from ear to ear if he knew how close she'd been to despair. But he would spit fire if he thought that his nasty little trick had failed to distress her.