A Scandal By Any Other Name-Chapter 153 - Hundred And Fifty Three

The quiet of the wrecked carriage was entirely unbearable. Delaney knelt in the wet dirt, holding Rowan’s head in her lap. Her tears fell freely, dropping onto his pale, still face. She smoothed his blond hair, her hands shaking so violently she could barely feel her own fingers.

Then, through the thick, cold air, she heard a sound.

It was faint at first. It was the slow, rhythmic creak, creak, creak of wooden wheels and the heavy plodding of hooves on the dirt road high above them.

Delaney stopped crying. She held her breath and listened.

She looked up through the broken, splintered window frame of the carriage. Through the bare, dripping branches of the trees, she saw a shape moving slowly along the top of the steep ridge. It was a farmer’s wooden wagon, drawn by two sturdy workhorses. It was entirely empty, returning from a delivery in the village.

It was their only chance.

Delaney looked down at Rowan. His chest was barely moving. If she stayed here crying, he would die in the cold mud.

"I will be right back," Delaney whispered to him, her voice a raw, desperate vow. "I promise you, I will be right back."

Delaney crawled out of the ruined cabin. The mud immediately soaked through the knees of her dark gray dress. She stood up, the cold wind biting at her skin.

She looked up at the steep, muddy embankment. It was a terrifying sight. The rain had turned the slope into a smooth, slick wall of wet clay and loose stones. It looked impossible to climb.

A terrible, suffocating memory gripped her throat.

Twenty years ago, she had stood at the bottom of a very similar hill. It had been raining then, too. She had been a tiny, frightened girl, crying out for help. She had tried to climb the mud to reach the road, but she was too small, too weak, and too terrified. She had slipped and fallen, sliding back down into the dark wreckage where her parents lay dying. She had been completely helpless.

Delaney stared at the mud. Her heart pounded violently against her ribs.

"It’s almost the same," Delaney whispered to the quiet trees.

Her hazel eyes hardened with pure, fierce determination. She would not lose another person again. She could not save her father and mother, but she could save Rowan.

Delaney looked down at her feet. She was wearing smooth leather traveling boots. They had absolutely no grip. If she tried to climb in them, she would slide straight back down. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

Using her quick wit, she sat on a broken carriage wheel and quickly unlaced her boots. She pulled them off and tossed them aside. She stood up in her thin cotton stockings. She needed to feel the ground. She needed her toes to grip the dirt.

Next, she walked over to the shattered remains of the carriage door. She found a long, sharp piece of splintered wood, about the size of a man’s forearm. She gripped it tightly in her right hand like a dagger.

She walked to the base of the slope and began to climb.

She pushed the sharp piece of wood deep into the wet clay. She used it as an anchor, pulling her body weight up. She dug her stocking-covered toes into the soft mud, creating small steps for herself.

She climbed higher. The mud coated her hands and her dress. Suddenly, the soft dirt gave way beneath her left foot. Delaney slipped. She slid down three feet, her knees scraping harshly against a hidden, jagged rock. She let out a sharp cry of pain, but she did not let go of the wood.

She slammed the sharp stick back into the mud, stopping her fall. She was panting heavily, her chest burning. She could hear the wagon moving further down the road. It was going to pass them.

"No!" Delaney gasped.

She gritted her teeth and climbed faster. She ignored the bleeding scrape on her knee. She ignored the freezing cold. She used every ounce of strength she possessed, driving the wood into the earth and hauling herself upward.

With one final, desperate push, she reached the top of the ridge. She threw her upper body over the edge, her hands clawing at the thick grass that lined the road. She pulled her legs up and rolled onto the flat, solid dirt of the main path.

She did not stay on the ground to rest. She forced herself to stand.

A few yards away, the empty wooden wagon was slowly rolling past. Two men, wearing rough woolen coats and flat caps, were sitting on the driver’s bench.

Delaney ran straight into the middle of the road. She stood directly in the path of the heavy workhorses, throwing her arms wide open.

"STOP!" Delaney screamed. She waved her arms frantically. "PLEASE, STOP!"

The farmer holding the leather reins shouted in surprise. He pulled back hard.

"Whoa! Steady!" the farmer commanded.

The two horses snorted loudly, stomping their large hooves as the wagon came to an abrupt, sliding halt just a few feet away from where Delaney stood.

Delaney was breathing heavily. Her chest heaved up and down.

The two men sitting on the wagon stared at her in absolute shock. They were completely surprised by how she looked. She was a terrifying sight. Her fine traveling dress was torn and completely covered in thick brown mud. Her hands were bleeding. Her dark hair had completely escaped its pins, hanging in wild, wet tangles around her pale face from sweat and tears. She was standing in the freezing dirt wearing only her stockings, and there was a smear of bright red blood across her cheek.

The older farmer quickly wrapped the reins around the wooden brake lever. He climbed down from the wagon, his heavy boots hitting the dirt. His younger brother followed right behind him.

"Are you alright, Miss?" the older man asked. His voice was thick with local accent and deep concern. He took a hesitant step toward her, holding his hands up to show he meant no harm. "Were you attacked by highwaymen?"

Delaney shook her head rapidly. She did not have the breath to explain.

She turned and pointed down the steep, muddy slope she had just conquered.

"Please, I need your help," Delaney said, her voice rushing out in a desperate, ragged stream. "My carriage... there was an accident. The wheel broke."

The two men stepped up to the edge of the road and looked down through the trees. When they saw the massive, overturned carriage resting against the oak tree, they both gasped.

"Two men are down there," Delaney pleaded, grabbing the sleeve of the older farmer’s rough coat. Her hazel eyes were wide and begging. "They are seriously injured. One is bleeding from his head. He will not wake up. Please help me get them out."

In the strict world of London society, a lady standing alone on a road, covered in mud, begging strangers for help to save a man she was traveling with unchaperoned, would cause a massive, unforgivable scandal.

Society matrons would demand to know why she was alone with a gentleman.

But Delaney didn’t even care if she was asked why she was in a carriage with a man unchaperoned. The rules of polite society did not matter when a life was bleeding away in the dirt.

And the men didn’t even bother to ask. They were simple, honest farmers, and the situation was entirely dire. They only saw a woman terrified for the lives of her companions.

"Quickly, Wayne," the older farmer said, turning to his brother. "Get the thick rope from the back of the wagon. And the canvas tarp."

The younger brother, Wayne, sprinted to the back of the wagon and returned with a heavy coil of thick hemp rope and a large, folded piece of strong canvas.

"Show us the way, Miss," the older farmer said.