form lakes instead of small puddles.
He rested in a gentle haze of napping—he’d lost sleep, after all, thinking of Pippa—until the rain beat so fiercely on the coach roof that he opened his eyes to look out the window. In the distance, trudging along the edge of a field, he saw a solitary figure, a boy or a young man with a large sack held over his shoulder, his top hat squashed flat by his hand as he held it on to his head, and shockingly without a greatcoat to protect him. He was bent, gusts of wind and rain pummeling him, and a more miserable creature Gregory had never seen.
He lowered the window and was promptly hit with slashing needles of rain.
“Oscar!” he bellowed. “Pick up that fellow, will you?”
“Right, my lord!” Oscar called back to him. “I’ll sit ’im up here with me. I got a spare blanket under the seat!”
“Very well,” Gregory yelled back. “But if he’s too far gone, he can come in with me.” He shut the window, glad to return to his cozy shelter.
The coach came to a halt, and Gregory knew that Oscar was standing up and waving his arms at the traveler.
The fellow lifted his head, pulled out a pair of spectacles, and shoved them on his nose. They appeared too large on his face and were surely useless, as he couldn’t possibly see through them in the torrent.
“Get over here,” Oscar cried. “Ride up here with me! We’ll take you to the nearest town!”
The figure hesitated, then slowly began to plod in their direction. His shoulders drooped. He was exhausted, Gregory could see. His spectacles fell off, and he bent to pick them up. This time, he didn’t bother to put them back on but held them in his fist.
“Hurry up—we don’t have all day!” Oscar yelled to him. “I’ve got good, strong drink to warm you!”
The traveler tried his best to speed up, the bag on his back bouncing against his shoulders. Nothing like the promise of a drink to warm you, thought Gregory. He’s glad for the ride—and perhaps the company .
How long had he been walking? And where was he headed?
Oscar jumped down from his seat onto the road and waited for the man to crawl over a stone wall. He limped the rest of the way to the coach, his face pale, his lips a bit blue. The lad couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen, and he had delicate features: an upturned nose, large eyes, and an expressive mouth. Gregory had no doubt he’d been teased about his looks by other boys. But his expression, especially about his eyes, was fierce enough.
“I’ll help you,” Oscar shouted to him through the deluge, and took his elbow.
The stranger stumbled.
Gregory slid over on the seat so he’d have a better view of the side of the coach. Oscar gave the fellow a boost to the box—or tried to. The stranger fell right back down, obviously too weak to pull himself up.
That was enough to convince Gregory to open the window. “Come in here!” he cried. “In the coach with me!”
The fellow pushed his hat lower and shook his head no.
Oscar gave him a little shove. “Do what the earl tells you!” he yelled.
The man stupidly put his spectacles back on in the pouring rain.
“For the love of God, don’t stand on ceremony!” Gregory threw open the door and waved with his hand. “Get in!”
With a strong push and a “Harrumph!” from Oscar, the young man half fell into the coach, streams of water running down his tailcoat, boots, hat, and even off his ears and onto the floor. Gregory was more than somewhat wet now himself, but it was still better to be inside than out in the elements. Oscar shoved his flask at him and Gregory pushed it back. “Save that for yourself, thanks. He can drink from mine.” And then he pulled the door shut.
The traveler slumped into his seat, and his eyes rolled up in his head.
“Wait!” Gregory blindly reached under his seat for his flask.
But the stranger fell into a dead faint, his body slumping sideways on the tufted leather seat cushion. His
He rested in a gentle haze of napping—he’d lost sleep, after all, thinking of Pippa—until the rain beat so fiercely on the coach roof that he opened his eyes to look out the window. In the distance, trudging along the edge of a field, he saw a solitary figure, a boy or a young man with a large sack held over his shoulder, his top hat squashed flat by his hand as he held it on to his head, and shockingly without a greatcoat to protect him. He was bent, gusts of wind and rain pummeling him, and a more miserable creature Gregory had never seen.
He lowered the window and was promptly hit with slashing needles of rain.
“Oscar!” he bellowed. “Pick up that fellow, will you?”
“Right, my lord!” Oscar called back to him. “I’ll sit ’im up here with me. I got a spare blanket under the seat!”
“Very well,” Gregory yelled back. “But if he’s too far gone, he can come in with me.” He shut the window, glad to return to his cozy shelter.
The coach came to a halt, and Gregory knew that Oscar was standing up and waving his arms at the traveler.
The fellow lifted his head, pulled out a pair of spectacles, and shoved them on his nose. They appeared too large on his face and were surely useless, as he couldn’t possibly see through them in the torrent.
“Get over here,” Oscar cried. “Ride up here with me! We’ll take you to the nearest town!”
The figure hesitated, then slowly began to plod in their direction. His shoulders drooped. He was exhausted, Gregory could see. His spectacles fell off, and he bent to pick them up. This time, he didn’t bother to put them back on but held them in his fist.
“Hurry up—we don’t have all day!” Oscar yelled to him. “I’ve got good, strong drink to warm you!”
The traveler tried his best to speed up, the bag on his back bouncing against his shoulders. Nothing like the promise of a drink to warm you, thought Gregory. He’s glad for the ride—and perhaps the company .
How long had he been walking? And where was he headed?
Oscar jumped down from his seat onto the road and waited for the man to crawl over a stone wall. He limped the rest of the way to the coach, his face pale, his lips a bit blue. The lad couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen, and he had delicate features: an upturned nose, large eyes, and an expressive mouth. Gregory had no doubt he’d been teased about his looks by other boys. But his expression, especially about his eyes, was fierce enough.
“I’ll help you,” Oscar shouted to him through the deluge, and took his elbow.
The stranger stumbled.
Gregory slid over on the seat so he’d have a better view of the side of the coach. Oscar gave the fellow a boost to the box—or tried to. The stranger fell right back down, obviously too weak to pull himself up.
That was enough to convince Gregory to open the window. “Come in here!” he cried. “In the coach with me!”
The fellow pushed his hat lower and shook his head no.
Oscar gave him a little shove. “Do what the earl tells you!” he yelled.
The man stupidly put his spectacles back on in the pouring rain.
“For the love of God, don’t stand on ceremony!” Gregory threw open the door and waved with his hand. “Get in!”
With a strong push and a “Harrumph!” from Oscar, the young man half fell into the coach, streams of water running down his tailcoat, boots, hat, and even off his ears and onto the floor. Gregory was more than somewhat wet now himself, but it was still better to be inside than out in the elements. Oscar shoved his flask at him and Gregory pushed it back. “Save that for yourself, thanks. He can drink from mine.” And then he pulled the door shut.
The traveler slumped into his seat, and his eyes rolled up in his head.
“Wait!” Gregory blindly reached under his seat for his flask.
But the stranger fell into a dead faint, his body slumping sideways on the tufted leather seat cushion. His
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