But it was very important to her that she make a good impression on the villagers, and so when Sally asked if they'd like to inspect the progress on her chimney, Ellie exerted firm pressure on her husband's hand, smiled, and said that they would be delighted.
"It turns out it was a bit more complicated than a regular cleaning." Sally said as they exited the front door. "There was something stuck ... I'm not really certain what."
"All that matters is that we get it fixed," Ellie replied as she walked outside. "It has been cold of late and it is only going to get colder." She spied a ladder leaning against the side of the cottage. "Here, why don't I go up and take a quick look."
She was only on the second rung when she felt Charles's hands at her waist. In less than a second, she'd been deposited firmly on the ground. "Why don't you stay here," he countered.
"But I want to see—"
"I'll look, if it's so imperative that one of us do so," he grumbled.
There was a small crowd of onlookers gathered around the cottage, all visibly impressed by the earl's hands-on approach to land management. Ellie waited in their midst while Charles scaled the ladder, nearly bursting with pride when she heard such comments as, "He's a right one, the earl," and "Not too hoity-toity to do a spot of work, he is."
Charles moved across the roof and peered into the chimney. "It looks good," he called down.
Ellie wondered if he actually had any prior experience with chimneys upon which to base that opinion, but then decided that that didn't really matter. Charles sounded as if he knew what he was talking about, which was all that really mattered to the tenants, and besides, the man who had done the actual work on the chimney was at her side, and he was assuring her that it was as good as new.
"And so Sally won't have any trouble keeping warm this winter?" she asked him.
John Bailstock, the mason and chimney sweep, replied, "None at all. In fact, she—"
His words were cut off by a sudden cry of, "God almighty! The earl!"
Ellie looked up in horror to see her husband tottering near the top of the ladder. She was momentarily frozen to the spot, feeling as if time were passing before her at half its usual speed. The ladder was making an awful splintering noise, and before she could react, Charles was falling through the air, through the ladder, actually, which was practically crumbling before her eyes.
She screamed and ran forward, but by the time she reached him he had already hit the ground, and he looked terribly still.
"Charles?" she choked out, falling to her knees beside him. "Are you all right? Please tell me that you're all right."
He opened his eyes, thank God. "Why is it," he said wearily, "that I always manage to injure myself when you're near?"
"But I didn't have anything to do with this!" she returned, utterly horrified by his implication. "I know you think I botched the stove, and the orangery, and—"
"I know," he interrupted. His voice was barely audible but he did manage a tiny smile. "I was teasing."
Ellie breathed a sigh of relief. If he could tease her, then he couldn't be that hurt, could he? She willed herself to calm down, sternly telling her heart to stop racing—never could she remember feeling such a paralyzing fright. She needed to be strong just then; she needed to be her usual self—efficient, calm, and capable.
And so she took a deep breath and said, "Where are you hurt?"
"Would you believe me if I said everywhere?"
She cleared her throat. "Actually, I would. That was quite a tumble."
"I don't think I've broken anything."
"All the same, I'd feel better if I checked myself." She started feeling his limbs and inspecting his body. "How does this feel?" she asked as she prodded a rib.
"It hurts," he said plainly. "Although that might be residual pain from our carriage accident before we married."
"Oh, goodness. I'd forgotten all about that. You must think I'm some sort of bad luck charm."
He only closed his eyes, which wasn't quite the, "Of course not!" Ellie had been hoping for. She moved on to his arm, but before she could ascertain whether he'd broken or sprained it, her fingers met with something hot and sticky.
"Good heavens!" she burst out, staring at her red-stained fingers in shock. "You're bleeding? You're bleeding!"
"Am I?" He turned his head and looked at his arm. "I am."
"What happened?" she asked frantically, inspecting his arm even more carefully than before. She'd heard of injuries in which broken bones protruded through the skin. Lord help them if that was the case with Charles; Ellie had no idea how to treat such an injury, and more to the point, she was fairly certain she'd faint before she had a chance to try.
A villager stepped forward and said, "My lady, I think he sliced his skin on a piece of the ladder as he fell."
"Oh yes, of course." Ellie looked over at the ladder, which was laying on the ground in several pieces. Several men were gathered around it, inspecting the remains. "There's a bit of blood on the wood," one of them told her.
She shook her head and turned back to her husband. "You're going to be full of splinters," she said.
"Lovely. I suppose you're going to want to remove them?"
"It's the sort of thing wives do," she said patiently. "And I am your wife, after all."
"As I was just beginning to appreciate fully," he muttered. "Very well, do your worst."