Read Fenella Miller for Free Online Page A

straight seams she could have a fresh garment completed in a couple of days.
    The cart was waiting outside the back door, there was no sign of Fred or Jethro. She was quite capable of driving the vehicle herself, the pony looked amenable enough. It was of an indeterminate brown colour, with large intelligent eyes. On impulse she walked round and stroked its long nose. "There, you are a fine young man. I'm sure we shall deal well together. Fred must be helping Mr Bucknall, so let us depart immediately. I do not wish to leave my children any longer than necessary."
    The animal snorted and blew into her hand. She scratched between his pricked ears, untethered him, and climbed nimbly on to the slatted seat. It was some time since she'd driven, but she had been quite competent in her youth at both riding and driving. Expertly releasing the brake handle, unwinding the reins from around the post, she clicked to the pony and they were away.
    * * * *
    "Up you come, sir, we're all ready for you now." Foster's wrinkled face loomed into view.
    Rupert's vision was somewhat clouded, he was light headed; the loss of blood was taking its toll. He didn't have the energy to reply, remained slack on the carpet allowing his minions to manhandle him on to a trestle. Although he'd lost a quarter of his bodyweight since the fire, he was still a substantial burden for his men to carry.
    He ought to make an effort, somehow get on his feet so they could support him, not carry him. Too late, he was hoisted up and, with the butler supporting his head, was carried with surprising ease back to a chamber. He no longer slept upstairs, only returned to his rooms in order to change his apparel occasionally. If truth were told, he no longer slept anywhere. As soon as he closed his eyes he suffered nightmares, so preferred to sit up in a chair in his study.
    The men lowered him slowly, from a distance he heard someone give instructions, and then he was rolled unceremoniously into bed. He couldn't be in the study, where the devil was he? His head spun and his world went grey. He didn't fully rouse until Dr Andrews, with the help of Jethro, and the groom, hoisted him upright.
    "Right, Mr Bucknall, let's see what we have here. Good grief, whoever applied this bandage most certainly saved your life." The doctor spoke sharply to his assistant and then turned back to him. "I shall have to shave the back of your head, you're going to need a prodigious amount of stitches. They need to go in immediately. It's going to hurt."
    It did, like the very devil. The pain brought him back to his senses as nothing else could. Why hadn't the doctor given him a decanter of brandy to dull the pain? He gritted his teeth, the nails on his good hand dug into his palm; they were all relieved when the work was done.Cold sweat bathed his forehead, he felt appalling but the quack seemed happy enough.
    "There, sir, finished. I shall dress the wound, and then leave you to rest. You must drink as much as you can to replace the blood you've lost. Good red meat and claret will do the trick."
    With a few deft twists the doctor had finished, promising to return the next day to see he had not succumbed to a putrid fever, the man departed leaving him in blessed peace. This didn't last as Foster appeared at his side.
    "I have watered wine, it's what the doctor suggested. He was most insistent that you drink several pints before this evening."
    Rupert took the proffered glass and downed it in one swallow, he held it out and it was refilled. He managed three before his stomach rebelled. "Enough. Now, man, tell me where I am." He could tell nothing from his surroundings, one bedchamber looked very like another. He was in a large bed, the sheets fresh if somewhat crumpled, but the windows overlooked a part of his grounds that he did not recognize.
    Foster fussed over the pillows, he waved him away impatiently. "You are in my chamber, sir, it was a small matter to remove myself to another room for the