Page 17 of His Duchess in Disguise
The great slab blocked some of the wind, except for when it changed directions and swirled about them. “It is going to start raining soon,” Emma said aloud to her companions.
Rags cuddled closer to her, and Sir Faithless shifted restlessly beneath her. Emma looked about her and tried to think. It was the best shelter she was likely to find before nightfall. Perhaps she could pull up some of the thorn bushes and make a sort of rude hut.
Looking about, she saw a short stub of broken stone that would serve as a mounting block. She guided Sir Faithless up beside it and managed a credible dismount. Remembering the donkey’s habits, she quickly secured him to one of the larger thorn bushes, muttering some rather unladylike words beneath her breath when she scraped her wrist on one of the large spikes.
With her mount restrained, she set about trying to erect some sort of shelter. She had never been camping. On the few occasions when she had gone picnicking, servants had taken care of details such as shelter, fire, and food.
No one is going to come rescue me. Even if they did, it would just be to take me back to my father and a detestable marriage. I shall simply have to rescue myself.
Emma soon discovered that making a shelter of thorn trees, as she had read about African savages doing, was much easier said than done. Even the smallest bushes were hard to pull up, and she did not even have so much as a belt knife to cut them down. She had not thought to bring gloves, even though she had a perfectly good pair of riding gloves in her room at home.
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! If I ever run away again, I shall do it with much better organization.
She paused, looked about her, and realized that the thorn bushes would be a good place to hang her damp clothing. She hung her cloak and dress on the bushes. The shawls were dry from hanging off the saddle, so she tied the middle-sized one about her, and went back to work.
By dint of much tugging and pulling, she eventually had a pile of twigs and limbs that was as high as her waist. Her efforts were greatly aided by discovering a pile of deadwood. Thanks to trying to clean her hands of the clinging mud that suddenly seemed to be everywhere, she found that she could plaster the inside of her rickety structure with a mixture of mud and grass which served to coat the vicious thorns and help keep out the wind.
After several hours of work, she erected a three-sided structure that was high enough that she thought she could coax Sir Faithless to lie down in it. She also collected a pile of stones to use to make a fire ring.
The sun shot golden rays across the landscape as it dropped below the level of the scudding clouds. Emma collected her dress and cloak from the thorn bushes and put them back on over the trousers and chemise she had been wearing.
Emma untied Sir Faithless and used two of the withered apples she had collected from the spinney to coax him over to the flimsy structure. She had just about persuaded him to duck his head and work his way in when out of nowhere a small stone struck the beast on the rump. Sir Faithless kicked out narrowly missing Rags, who set up a furious barking.
Emma felt like crying as all of her hard work was knocked to flinders and her provisions were dumped in the mud and ground under one of the donkey’s hooves.
Fortunately, she still had hold of the donkey’s reins, so she was able to bring him around, avoiding a savage snap from his teeth, and soothe him before he had a chance to bolt. With her mount under control, she turned to see what Rags was making such a fuss about.
A skinny youth, wearing a non-descript garb of what might have been homespun at one time, grinned at her. The fabric was so worn, dirty, and frequently patched that it was hard to tell what color it might have once been, let alone the type of cloth. There was no mistaking the mockery
“You ruined my house!” Emma shouted at him.
“It wouldn’t have worked, you know,” he said insolently. “Soon as the rain comes down, it would have washed the mud all away and all over you. And it is goin’ ta rain, sure as God made little green apples.”
Emma leaned up against Sir Faithless’s shoulder, tears starting to run down her face. “So, what am I to do? I’m completely lost. My father beat me, so I can’t go home. All I have in the world is a borrowed donkey and my dog, Rags.”
“Well, for starters, why don’t you come to the manor house w’me. Mrs. Noddicott, the housekeeper was just sayin’ this morning how’s she needs a new scullery maid. ‘at would put a roof over yer head and food in your belly. It’s been a rough winter, but the late Duke din’t hold with keepin’ us on short commons. Not like some o’ tha big houses, so’s I’ve heard.”
“You don’t know?” Emma snuffled back tears and wiped her face with the back of her hand, smearing dirt all over her face.
“Well, I know we’s got food all right. Don’t quite know how it is in other places. I’ve only been here. Born, here, like, an’ worked here since I was a little lad.”
“Oh. I see, nothing to compare it to.”
“ ‘At’s right. You come on now. Hop up on that lazy donkey, and I’ll hand up your little dog. Rags is it?”
Emma nodded. The odd-looking youth made a stirrup of hands and easily tossed her up into the saddle.
“ ‘at’s an odd sort o’ saddle for a lady,” he observed.
Emma blushed. “That’s because it is really a boy’s saddle. I bought it at an auction at the same time I bought my horse.”
“I hates ta tell ya, Miss, but that there bain’t no horse. It’s a donkey.”
“I know. My horse went lame, and I traded with a farm wife for some lunch and the loan of a steed until I could get wherever I’m going.”
“Where might that be, Miss?”
“I don’t quite know. I thought I might go to the coast and catch a boat to Australia.”
