An Angel for the Earl by Bárbara Metzger

the last conversation for a while.
    Late in the afternoon, when Kerry was thinking of seeking accommodations for the night, Lucinda told him to take a farm track off to the right.
    â€œWhat, is there an inn there? I prefer one on the main road that’s more used to dealing with fine horseflesh.”
    â€œJust turn here, do.”
    â€œOh, you need to use the necessary. Why didn’t you say so? I could have pulled over anytime these last miles. Strange, I wouldn’t have thought a ghost or whatever would have to—”
    â€œJust drive!” she ordered, blushing furiously.
    He turned, but kept teasing. “After all, you don’t eat or drink, do you?”
    She wasn’t listening. That is, she was listening, but not to him. Then he could hear the noise, too, screams coming from a short distance away.
    â€œWhat…?”
    Lucy told him to keep going; the shouting sounded closer. He pulled the horses to a walk, and felt for the pistol in his pocket. When they rounded a bend in the narrow road he could see a group of boys gathered around a smallish pond. The place looked to be the perfect swimming hole—if it were summer and if the boys knew how to swim. Apparently they didn’t, for they were shouting on the bank while one of their number bobbed up and down in the water.
    â€œHell and damnation!” Kerry swore while Lucy urged him to hurry. He jumped out of the curricle, leaving the bays to stand alone—thank goodness they were tired—and ran toward the scene. The boys on land fled into the surrounding woods, likely afraid of being caught playing too near the water, Kerry supposed. The figure in the pond was barely struggling. “Hang on,” the earl shouted, looking for a long branch or something to hold out to the boy.
    â€œYou’ll have to go in after him,” Lucy yelled.
    â€œDammit, you’re the supernatural one of us,” Kerry yelled back, throwing his greatcoat to the ground, “why can’t you part the waters or something?”
    He jumped in, boots and all, and swam the short distance to the center of the pond. He couldn’t see the child anywhere.
    â€œHe’s gone down, just ahead of you,” Lucy called from shore.
    The earl dove, came up for air, and dove again. This time his hands touched something, so he hung on and kicked upward. He got to the surface, raised the dead weight in his arms, and started to turn the air blue with his curses.
    â€œYou promised!” Lucy screamed, holding her hands over her ears.
    â€œIt’s a bloody dog!” Kerry roared back. “I ruined my only set of clothes and my Hessians for a dog!” And he prepared to throw the animal back into the depths.
    Lucy shrieked, “Don’t! It’s one of God’s creatures, you heartless libertine!”
    Kerry was already wet, and he already had the animal in his arms, so he swam closer to the bank and then waded ashore, dropping the small hound-mix at Lucy’s feet. “Here.” He even untied the rock from around the pup’s neck before returning to the curricle to check on his bays and dry himself off with the lap robe. He was pulling on one of the new ready-made shirts from his valise, when Lucy called to him.
    â€œKerry, he’s not breathing!” Her eyes were huge, imploring.
    â€œThat’s your department, angel. I did what I could.”
    â€œKerry, please.” A tear was starting to trickle down one cheek, leaving a path through the rouge.
    â€œWhat do you expect me to—Oh, no, not the kiss-of-life bit again. Demby was bad enough, Lucy, but a dog? Never!”
    The dog was whiskery and wet and smelled of swamp. Worse, when Kerry was done, the mutt crawled over and licked Lucy’s hand.
    â€œOf all the ungrateful—How come he can see you and no one else can?”
    â€œHe can see me only now, while he’s so close to death. He’ll forget in a minute and won’t notice me