One of the trout below must have been hungry, for it was not long before he felt a sharp tug on his line. “How about that,” he marveled, grabbing the line with his hand to start pulling the fish in. In shifting his weight, the boat rocked, and he heard a flat cracking sound.
Within seconds, the boards at his feet split apart. Cold water rushed in, filling his boots and wetting his trousers. Freddie let go of the line and his rod, leaving them to be pulled from the boat as his trout swam away with the worm and hook. “Oh, no,” he muttered, watching in fear as the lake quickly filled the small craft.
Losing its buoyancy, the boat began to sink. Panicked, Freddie tried to stand up. That only tipped the vessel to the side, plunging him into the depths. Floundering and splashing, he grabbed the gunwale to hold his head out of the water, knowing that without it, he would drown. “Help,” he yelled, not knowing if he could be heard at that distance. “Help me.”
The boat continued to sink, filling with water, settling slowly down toward the lake’s bottom. As the craft’s gunwale was between him and the shore, he had no idea if he had been heard. But the footmen were on the shore, waiting for him to return. Surely they would see him thrashing in the lake, the boat sinking.
But what if none of them could swim? By the time they found someone who could, I will have drowned.
Panic filled him. He kicked, screaming for help, as the boat sank lower into the lake. Within minutes, it would be gone, and he would have nothing to hang onto. He heard nothing over the sounds of his own splashing, his desperate cries. “Help me,” he yelled again, blinded by the water he kicked up and his own fears.Why is no one helping me? Surely they will not let me drown.
“Easy, My Lord,” said a deep voice from the far side of the sinking boat. “Easy now, do not panic.”
Freddie did not recognize the voice, but he certainly knew those brilliant green eyes, that red-gold hair. “Thank God,” he cried, nearly weeping. “Help me.”
Carter swam up behind him. “Let me do the work, My Lord,” he said, his hair plastered to his skull. “I have you now.”
Freddie felt the footman’s strong arm slide around his chest, forcing his back against Carter’s shoulder. Yet, still in the throes of his terror, he refused to let go of the boat’s rim. “I cannot,” he gasped, “I will die, I will drown.”
“No, I will not let you,” Carter said, tugging on him. “Just let go, I have you.”
Struggling, Freddie tried desperately to hang on, but Carter’s voice in his ear urged him to let go. “Relax, do not fight. Let go, My Lord. Trust me.”
Despairing, Freddie released his hold on the gunwale. Immediately, Carter swam toward the shore, taking Freddie with him. Freddie tried to relax, to not fight, but his survival instincts had him in their grip and he continued to thrash. He heard the footman grunt, but the man was strong, and his grip on Freddie never slackened. Cold leeched into Freddie’s bones, numbing him, subduing his will. His thrashing ceased as Carter swam on, towing his lord with him.
At last, Freddie heard shouts of encouragement from the shore. Splashing followed as grooms and footmen waded out into the lake, seizing Freddie in their hands, lifting him to his feet, helping him out of the water’s deadly grip. He heard Carter’s voice say, “I am going back for the boat. We need to know what happened.”
Not turning to watch, Freddie stumbled onto the gravel and he heard a huge splash as Carter dove back into the lake. The supporting footmen murmured words in his ears, things he scarcely registered. Though the sun shone down bright and warm, he shivered from reaction as well as being wet under the light wind off the hills. He looked up at the sound of Thea’s voice, seeing her hike her skirts and dash toward him.
“Freddie,” she cried, reaching him. “What happened? Did you fall in the lake?”
Unable to speak through his chattering teeth, he merely nodded in places as his supporting footman explained how his boat sank when he had gone out onto it fishing. “My God,” Thea said, her light brown eyes huge.
“None of us could swim, Miss Miller,” the footman said. “Only Mr. Carter. He swam out and rescued Lord Willowdale, pulled him from the water.”
“Where is Mr. Carter now?”
As Thea gestured for them to start helping Freddie toward the house, another footman from behind replied, “He went back for the boat, Miss Miller. It seemed important, somehow.”
Thea took Freddie’s hand, walking backward, gazing anxiously into his face. “Are you all right, Freddie?” she asked. “Did you get hurt?”
He shook his head, still shaking like a leaf in a wind storm. “I – do not think – so.”
“Someone grab blankets,” she ordered. “Take him to the kitchen. It is warmer in there. Freddie, you are going to be fine. One of you, run ahead, tell the cook he needs hot tea with sherry or brandy in it. Have the blankets waiting for him in the house. Go.”
Freddie saw several footmen rush toward the house as he made his slow way in that direction. Amazed at his own weakness, at the powerful reaction his body and instincts had upon trying to survive, he wondered at his inability to shake off this reaction. “Now – I know – how you – felt.”
Thea nodded. “It is hard to shake off near dying.”
Footmen awaited them just outside the door with thick blankets. Thea helped wrap one around his shoulders, draping him to his heels, just as he had done for her only a few days before. His shakes gradually subsided as he sat in the kitchen, his trembling hands around the hot cup of tea. After a sip, he found it had been laced with sherry.
“Drink it down, Freddie,” Thea advised, her hand resting on his forearm as she sat beside him. “When you can, tell me what happened, all right?”
Freddie glanced up as she spoke to the servants. “Give us some privacy, please? I will call you in a few moments.”
The footmen bowed low and retreated to the door while the kitchen staff found work to do well away from them. Drinking the hot liquid down, he found he could speak at last.
“I went out to fish,” he told her, his mind trying to shy away from the frightening memory. “I felt a tug on the pole, then the boat fell apart.”
