Page 73 of Feathers in the Wind
That seemed to be an invitation to those present to offer fervent prayers of thanksgiving for their deliverance from the foul fiend, Rupert.
‘Where do they get this belief that he is the devil?’ Perdita muttered half to herself.
Kate looked up. ‘Rupert?’
‘He’s an extraordinary young man but quite human.’
‘You know him?’
‘I met him once,’ Perdita admitted.
Kate looked at her and probably would have enquired further but the arrival of another wave of wounded demanded her attention.
Shortly after dawn, Perdita stepped out into the yard, breathing the cold, damp morning air, thankful that the rain had stopped. She leaned against the old, stone walls of the house, letting exhaustion wash over her, trying to turn her mind from the hideous sights within the barn.
A man leading a horse and cart came down the lane from the direction of Long Marston and Perdita straightened. It could only mean more wounded to be housed and cared for.
As he turned through the gates, she went to meet a well-dressed man of late middle age, his grey hair bared, his face white with exhaustion. He wore a gorget around his neck, the mark of an officer.
Perdita heard a gasp and turned to see Kate standing in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron.
‘‘Tis Richard’s father, David Ashley,’ she said.
Instinctively, Perdita caught the woman’s arm but Kate shook her off, running toward the man with cart. He did not increase his pace but walked toward her, as if every step carried the weight of the world.
As she reached him, he dropped the reins of the horse and caught her.
‘Kate, lass…’
Her eyes were wild as she struggled to break free. ‘Richard! Dear God, Richard.’
‘He can’t hear you, lass.’
Kate broke his grip and ran around the cart. She stood staring wide eyed at the man who lay on the blood-soaked straw.
Her hand flew to her mouth and her father-in-law caught her as she staggered. She stood rigid in his grasp, staring transfixed at her husband as Perdita and Ellen ran to her side.
The man lying in the back of the cart was barely recognisable as Richard Ashley. His face was a bloodied mask, a rough blanket, soaked with blood, covered his torso and legs—and worse. Even from where she stood, Perdita could smell the unmistakable stench of a wound to the guts.
‘He’s not dead.’ David Ashley said and his face twisted in anguish. ‘I would to God he was, but he’s not. When I found him this morning, I vowed I would bring him home. Perhaps that was foolishness.’
Perdita shook her head. ‘No, you did the right thing. We’ll care for him.’
Ashley blinked as if only seeing her for the first time. ‘Who are you?’
‘Perdita Gr… Coulter. I am Major Adam Coulter’s wife. Can you have him carried inside?’
Ashley nodded and hailed two able-bodied soldiers sitting beside the barn. ‘You two, carry my son indoors.’
The soldiers, recognising the poignancy of their task, lifted the wounded man gently and between them they carried him into the house and upstairs to a bed chamber.
Kate, restrained by her father-in-law, wept in his arms.
Perdita, following the men upstairs, caught sight of Tom in his nightshirt hiding in the shadows, clutching a wooden horse to his chest. She caught him in her arms and bundled him into the nursery with a white-faced maid.
‘It’s no place for a child,’ she said. ‘Keep him safe.’
A servant was despatched to fetch Kate’s sister who lived nearby, and she came hurrying within the hour, a sensible woman, some ten years older than her sister. She and the maid, Ellen, excluded Kate from the bedchamber while the surgeon did what little he could.
