Page 13 of A Fearless Heart
Then he heard voices approaching. The lady! And a man’s voice as well. Dear God, she’d left the house. He had to figure out a way to get her attention.
He quickly resumed working on his hands and knees, scraping old brown leaves and twigs into the wheelbarrow, where the lady and her guest wouldn’t notice him.
“I believe I shall go to Bath this summer,” the man was saying. He had a loud, grating voice. “Have you been, my lady?”
“No, Mr Pollack.” Arcadia’s voice was much softer, though her words still carried.
“You ought to, you know. The waters and all that.”
“It sounds rather too crowded for me,” she said coolly, waving away some invisible insect as she spoke. She peered at the garden beds rather than her guest, and Gabe intuited that it was not merely a burning need to see how the flowers were sprouting.
She doesn’t like him, Gabe thought. Then he spied the bucket of manure sitting in the pathway and got an idea.
Mr Pollack was strolling as near to her as he politely could. He used a walking stick, though from the big swings and the jaunty way the bottom landed in the gravel each time, he didn’t need it for balance. It was an affectation.
She sent a narrowed, sidelong glance at Pollack when the stick hit the ground again. Though the irritation on her face was brief, Gabe could see it.She doesn’t like affectation.
They got closer and closer and then, just as they rounded the corner where Gabe was working, it happened.
Quite predictably, the man tripped over the bucket and the contents spilled over the path, splashing up onto his shoes and trousers, covering them with foul-smelling manure.
“What the bloody hell…youidiot!” the man yelled, glaring at Gabe. “Leaving that where a man is walking. Who are you? Why are you even here? Why is this disgusting stuff here?”
“I’m a gardener. I’m gardening,” Gabe said innocently. “The manure fertilizes the plants.”
“Come, Mr Pollack,” the lady said, trying to assuage him, though there was a flicker of amusement at the corner of her mouth. “There is no need for anger. It was an accident.”
But Pollack was enraged beyond all reason. Without warning, he whipped his walking stick toward Gabe. The fact that Gabe was kneeling before him made him an easy target.
Instinctively, Gabe flung up his arms to protect himself, as blows rained down on his head and shoulders. The walking stick’s top must have been weighted with lead. He was about to spring up and tackle the man when the attack suddenly stopped.
Arcadia had darted in front of him.
“What are youdoing, sir?” Arcadia cried out, alarm replacing the appeasement in her tone. “You cannot strike my people! Stop it!”
Pollack stepped back, panting. “Youpunish him, then. Bloody fool, ruining my outfit and my afternoon. He ought to be locked away.”
“I think you should leave, Mr Pollack.” Lady Arcadia Osbourne was a tiny person, and her voice wavered, but there was no mistaking the bravery she showed in blocking Gabe from another strike.
“I will! Apologies for my harsh language, my lady,” he said then, pulling at his waistcoat. Then he stalked off, still muttering angrily. A moment later he left the garden and had turned to the front of the house, where his carriage was no doubt waiting.
She spun about and crouched down in front of Gabe. “Are you all right? Who could have thought a man would be so cruel as to strike someone for no reason? Let me see your face.”
Her hands were already pulling at his forearms, examining him for injury. Whatever reserve normally ruled her behavior, the act of violence seemed to have shocked her out of it.
“I’m not hurt, my lady. Well, not much.” It would ache in the morning, but he could stand that.
“Youarehurt. The skin is broken here,” she said, touching his cheek, where the first blow had landed. Her fingers barely grazed him, but he felt the touch like fire. “It must be cleaned immediately, or it may fester. Come with me.”
In a bit of a daze, he followed her. She was moving with surprising speed and he had no idea where she was heading. Gabe had been hoping for some opportunity to speak with the woman, but he didn’t plan to do it through bodily harm. Still, through that odious neighbor’s display of violence, Gabe got the lady’s attention. Now, he had to make the most of the opportunity.
Chapter 8
Cady led the man thoughthe gardens to a small gate that would provide quicker access to her workroom than the usual paths. The ferocity of the beating—all the more for its suddenness—had snapped her out of her usual frozen state and propelled her feet forward.
She was so upset about the attack that she didn’t think twice about allowing this near stranger to see her most sacred space, the laboratory where she spent so much time and put forth so much effort in her experiments.
“What is this?” the gardener asked, looking around the laboratory with intense interest, despite the clonk to the head that was already sending a trickle of blood down his cheek.
