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A Hero for Miss Hatherleigh

Page 26

by Carolyn Miller


  Pratt stood still, mouth, arms slack.

  “Get a doctor!” she screamed. Oh, dear God. Was that blood seeping through Emma’s gown?

  “That is my child?”

  “It won’t be if you don’t get a doctor. Hurry!”

  Dear God, dear God, dear God! The prayer seemed all that she could utter. Tears were seeping, her nose was leaking, her whole body was shaking. What should she do? “Oh, God, please help her!”

  She pushed to her feet, stared at her bloodied hands, stared back at Emma’s misshapen figure, and emitted an ear-piercing scream.

  And kept on screaming.

  Gideon heard the sound from afar. A high-pitched keening, as if the earth had been rent in two and the angels were despairing. He glanced at the men pushing the cart from behind. “You hear that?”

  “It don’t sound too good,” Belcher said.

  The darkness made it hard to move quickly, the donkeys pulling the cart laboring under the weight of the stone. Beneath their feet a fringe of water lapped at their boots. The tide had turned. It had taken far longer than he’d expected, the sun lowering to the sea by the time they finally were out to the cheers of a few remaining spectators. It was good that the townsfolk were excited; no doubt they hoped such an event would put little Sidmouth on the map the way Miss Anning’s find had done for Lyme Regis.

  He’d even felt prompted to ask men such as Baker and Belcher to assist. He didn’t mind the free traders knowing their indebtedness to him for his silence was being repaid this way, and he figured if any of the unscrupulous collectors of fossils were around, these men had enough beef to put a stop to any pretensions.

  The sound began again. Unease prickled his spine.

  “You think you can guide this to the cottage?” he asked, gesturing to the cart. “I do not like that cry. Someone is in trouble.” His heart lurched. Emma couldn’t be in trouble, could she? Not with the Ballards protecting her, and Browne, and Kenmore, too. He frowned. The wail didn’t sound like her voice, now he came to think of it …

  “Caroline!”

  With shouted instructions to the men, he left the cart and hurried back to the cottage, his feet slipping and sliding on the loose pebbles as he dashed up the path.

  Ahead, he could see the cottage lights, could see a group of people gathered by the door. The sound of the screaming, which was growing louder as he neared the cottage, abruptly stopped. “What is it?”

  “The door is locked! We can’t get in.”

  Panic clawed at his chest. Where was Browne? What was happening? “Caroline?”

  He shouldered the door. He only hurt his side, the door refusing to budge.

  “Sir,” came Captain Nicholls’s voice. “Allow me.”

  Seconds later, the door crashed in, and he almost toppled over an unconscious Kenmore. But he barely noticed that, so transfixed was he on the scene of horror before him.

  Pratt stood in front of Emma’s body, one arm wrapped around Miss Hatherleigh’s throat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “EMMA!” GIDEON RUSHED towards her, but was stopped by Caroline’s gasp as Pratt tightened his grip.

  “Don’t move.”

  “But Emma—”

  “Needs a doctor,” Caroline whispered, her eyes locked on his. “Get a doctor!”

  He shook his head. “You—”

  “Get a doctor, Gideon! She hasn’t much time.”

  He’d wondered what his name would sound like on her tongue; he hadn’t imagined hearing it in circumstances like this.

  “Go!” she pleaded.

  He started to back away, one step behind the next.

  “I ought to kill you for what you’ve done,” Pratt snarled.

  Gideon ignored him, eyes fixed on the woman he loved, who even now was begging him to leave her to find help for his sister.

  “Sir?” A voice behind him. “What has happened—Oh!”

  “Captain Nicholls, I would be much obliged to you if you could go and retrieve a doctor right now.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “Now, captain! My sister is—” Horror clogged his throat. She couldn’t be dying. Could she?

  The sound of steps speeding away fueled hope that the man would do as requested and bring the doctor quickly.

  “Pratt, please let Miss Hatherleigh go. She has nothing to do with this.”

  “I know that you care for her, and if that is so, then it will give me immense pleasure to hurt something you love.”

  Caroline’s wide eyes were fixed on him. Gideon swallowed. There was only one way to protect her. He did not want to have to say this; he hoped she’d understand …

  “I do not love her.”

  She gasped.

  “What? Are you not betrothed to her?”

  “I am,” Gideon said, “but only because such a thing became necessary when we were alone together after the cave-in.” Hurt cramped her eyes, pinched her face. “You do not care for her?”

  “You know me,” Gideon continued, hating how his every word seemed to flash pain across her face, “I care only for my rocks and fossils.”

  Pratt’s jaw, his grip, slackened. “I … I don’t understand.”

  “It’s true,” Caroline whispered, her eyes burning into Gideon’s own. “He only felt a sense of obligation. He’s never once told me that he cares. He never even spoke to me about betrothal, he only spoke to my grandmother out of a sense of duty.”

  Gideon’s heart wrenched. She didn’t think that, surely? Yet her words carried a ring of truth, a note of pain.

  Enough for Pratt to stare at him. “Is that true?”

  “I’m afraid so.” He swallowed, praying his next words would not be believed by the wrong person. “I’ve never cared for her save as one might care for an acquaintance.”

  Her eyes were shiny now, the candlelight picking up one tear, then another as they slid down her cheeks. Dear God, she did not truly believe him, did she? Or was she an actress worthy of Mrs. Siddons, putting on the greatest performance of her life?

  “And the poor girl obviously thought you did. How sad to know such disappointment.”

  A sound came, the scuffle of boots running on cobblestones, the murmur of men’s voices. Then Captain Nicholls’s voice. “The doctor is here.”

  “Do not come in—”

  “I’m sorry,” came Dr. Fellowes’s gruff voice, “but I have a duty of care to my patient. Now, what has happened here? Oh, Miss Hatherleigh! Miss Kirby!”

  “That’s Lady Pratt to you,” snapped Gideon’s brother-in-law.

  The doctor knelt beside Emma, listening closely to her chest.

  “Is she alive?” Gideon asked, hating how his voice trembled.

  “Yes, but only just.” He glanced up. “She needs immediate attention, and I shall need help.”

  “Captain!” Gideon called.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Doctor, tell him what you require.”

  The doctor gave a list of instructions, starting with the aid of another medical practitioner, ending with the call for soap and hot water.

  “Pratt, please, release Miss Hatherleigh and let us focus our attention on Emma,” Gideon continued. “You cannot want to see your heir die?”

  His arm dropped, then he twisted Caroline roughly to face him. “You spoke the truth?”

  Caroline jerked away, escaping to the other side of the room next to the doctor. “Of course I did, you stupid man!” Her voice broke on a sob, the sound heartrending, even as she dropped to her knees beside the too-pale, too-still figure of Emma. “How can you think otherwise of your wife?”

  “You cannot have seriously thought Emma was pregnant with another’s man’s child?” Gideon exclaimed. “How could she have done so?”

  Behind him, he heard faint sounds, then a soft curse in an Irish accent. “God bless me, I …” A gasp. “What the deuce—?”

  Gideon glanced at him, motioned him to be quiet. “We are having a disagreement, Kenmore, and you would be wi
se to refrain from making any comment.”

  “Emma!” he gasped.

  “Wise to refrain!” Gideon snapped.

  “You fiend! May the devil cut off your head and make a year’s work of your neck …” Aidan cursed, before a “Beg your pardon, Miss Hatherleigh.”

  She gave a hysteria-tinged laugh. “It scarcely matters. I think you only said what I have been thinking this past hour!” She shot Gideon a look of undiluted scorn.

  Aidan raised his brows at Gideon and stumbled to his feet. “How very improper of you, Miss Hatherleigh.”

  “Oh, there’s nothing very proper about me, anymore.” She gave another half sob that wrenched Gideon’s heart. “It seems I’m so scandal-plagued that my only remedy might be to board a vessel to the colonies.”

  “But Kirby here would not like—”

  Gideon gripped his arm, but Pratt had noticed, his eyes narrowing as he looked between Kenmore, Caroline, and Gideon. “So, you do care for her.”

  “Of course he does,” Aidan said.

  In a snarl half animal and half human, Pratt lunged to grab Miss Hatherleigh, as her face melded into terror. Bang!

  Caroline’s body was the first to move, falling toward Emma. No—

  Then Pratt’s knees began to buckle, his mouth drooping in slackened surprise, as red bloomed across his chest.

  “Sorry ’bout that”—this from Belcher, pistol smoking as he entered the hall from the back passage—“but it seems the rogue wanted to hurt your young lady.”

  Caroline—from where she hovered protectively over Emma—glanced up at Gideon with a fleeting look of raw pain before she turned her face away.

  Gideon slumped against the bookcase, willing it to hold him up.

  Aidan’s voice begged Emma to live.

  Hurried footsteps signaled the other doctor’s entry, upon which he uttered an oath most un-Hippocratic and joined Dr. Fellowes in attending Emma on the floor.

  Captain Nicholls arrived, puffing. “I heard a shot.”

  Gideon instinctively looked over. Belcher had melted away. He glanced at the others.

  “Good God!” Nicholls exclaimed, bending over Pratt’s prone body. “Who did this?”

  “I’ve been attending my patient and saw nothing,” Dr. Fellowes muttered. “Quick, lift her up. We need to get her into a bed now.”

  “This way,” Caroline said to Aidan, as he lifted his precious burden. She seemed determined not to look at Gideon.

  “Well?” Nicholls said, red-faced and angry. “What the blazes happened here? Doctor?”

  The doctor muttered, “I arrived here after the shot was fired.”

  “Kirby?”

  Gideon could say. Wouldn’t.

  “Do you want to let a villain get away with it?”

  Gideon looked him steadily in the eye then said, pointing to the figure on the floor, “He won’t get away with it anymore.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SİX

  London

  Six weeks later

  AND SHE HAD thought the exhaustion induced from the cave-in was bad.

  Caroline walked to the top of the set, summoned a smile for her partner, and then glanced around the ballroom glittering with the proud and the titled. If only the social challenges of the past few weeks were not to be met in such a headlong way. But Mama had been insistent. Caroline would not be forced to hide away as if she had done something wrong. For she had not. Her only error had been in following poor Mr. Kirby into a cavern—and in believing dear Miss McNell would be able to hold her tongue.

  She curtsied, then followed the movements of the dance, her feet and actions automatic, her mind free to wander. Around her, the room buzzed with the news of the day. Mrs. Hale, Serena’s friend whom Caroline had met months ago, and her scandal-plagued husband seemed to have risen above the gossip of the past years for him to have received a commendation from Lord Liverpool, and an invitation from the Prince Regent to Carlton House. Mama had been shocked, but agreeably so, as if she anticipated a similar generosity of spirit might be shown toward her own scandal-plagued daughter.

  Indeed, Mama must think so, as she had given permission for Ned Amherst to engage Caroline in a dance. Caroline had noticed Ned speak with Major—no, Lieutenant Colonel—Hale, in such a subdued manner it made her wonder what had transpired between them. She had also seen Cecilia notice, and her downcast mien when Ned had moved towards Caroline, and begged for her hand in this dance.

  Why Cecy still wished for his attention she knew not, she thought, whirling around the room. Yes, he might be the younger son of an earl, but he treated her in such a shabby fashion, ignoring her, or if he noticed her at all, treating her like the younger sister he never had. Really, Caroline thought crossly, why couldn’t young men behave more circumspectly towards young ladies, and not give rise to hopes that only led to disappointment?

  Her chest grew tight. The back of her eyes burned. Why hadn’t Mr. Kirby so much as spoken to her since that dreadful day? She had thought, she had believed—or was it hoped?—that they had shared a connection, but his words that day had raised only doubts, doubts confirmed when she’d left Sidmouth with no renewed request from him to pay his addresses. It didn’t matter what Lord Kenmore said; surely if Mr. Kirby cared he would have said something. The fact that he had not said he did not. She drew in a savage breath. Oh, what a fool she had been.

  “Caro?” Ned said, his green-gold eyes fixed upon her.

  “I beg your pardon, I was not attending.”

  “I know.”

  He gave a half smile curled into one corner that suggested he was not offended, the sight of which eased a mite of her impatience. He did seem a little different these days, as if the injury he had sustained late last year had worn away some of the reckless confidence she knew in him before. She glanced over his shoulder to where Cecy sat, downcast. Perhaps there might be hope after all.

  “… some good deeds.”

  Her head snapped up. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You need not. I should perhaps instead beg for yours, seeing as my conversation is so dull that it cannot hold your interest.”

  She felt a moment’s shame, before eyeing him narrowly. “What is it you wish to say?”

  He smiled, but such a pale imitation of what she remembered she couldn’t help but feel a moment’s sorrow for him. Had his experience changed him so much? “I was hoping you might advise me on how I might go about performing good deeds.”

  “Good deeds? I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.”

  “Surely you know what good deeds are, Caro. Why, you’re performing one right now, deigning to dance with a man you despise.”

  “I don’t despise you.”

  “You don’t respect me, that is certain. Not that I blame you,” he said heavily.

  “All this self-deprecation does not become you at all. Please, Ned, if you wish to ask my advice, then do not carry on in such a gloomy manner.”

  He chuckled, not without mirth. “That’s more the Caroline I know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You. You accuse me of being morose when you barely smile yourself.”

  “You are being ridiculous.”

  “Am I? I’ve known you for years, and I know when something is troubling you.”

  “Whatever troubles I may or may not have are nothing to do with you.”

  “Really? Because I cannot help but feel that they have a great deal to do with me.”

  “You are extremely presumptuous!”

  “Am I?” His eyes glinted. “Or am I simply wallowing in more guilt, that you would not have fallen into such a predicament if you had not been sent off to South Devon because of my association with you last year?” His smile grew wry. “You cannot deny it. I have heard as much from your rather more forthright little sister.”

  “Verity told you this?”

  He inclined his head.

  “She would be better off minding her tongue than sharing all the family secrets.”

/>   “She didn’t quite share all,” he murmured.

  Caroline felt herself flush. “I have nothing further to say to you.”

  “Come now. I certainly did not believe dear Lady Heathcote when she came calling to tell of your adventures by the sea.”

  “That woman,” Caroline muttered.

  “Perhaps that might count as one of my good deeds.” The music spun to a stop and he bowed over her hand before releasing it.

  She caught a glimpse of the misery writ large on Cecy’s face. Heart softening, she said, “If you’re so desperate for good deeds, then perhaps you should ask Cecy to dance.”

  He glanced over her shoulder while offering his arm to escort her back to her mother. “That would be like asking my sister to dance.”

  “Am I not like your sister?”

  “You, dear Caro, have always been the most obliging of my obligations.”

  Heat raced across her chest, and she released his arm. But conscious she could not afford to make another scene, she plastered a smile on her face and moved in a stately manner to the ladies’ retiring room, holding her gown as if she had sustained a small tear which required repair. She attained the withdrawing room and sat down in a padded chair, waving away the maid who came forward to offer assistance. “Thank you, no.”

  She did not need her hem mended; she needed to have space to think, to consider.

  Why had Mr. Kirby not spoken to her?

  Her bottom lip trembled. How she hated to think herself as wearing her heart on her sleeve as Cecilia did, but she could not release these feelings. How could she share such a bond with someone, only to have him spurn her? How could he be that careless with her reputation?

  She released a silent sigh, thinking back on her time in Sidmouth before she was whisked away by her scandalized Mama. Grandmama’s proclamation of relief at Caroline’s rescue had been swiftly followed by her renewed assertion of Caroline’s doomed prospects. “For what gentleman would want a wife known to have been tainted by such an experience?”

  No gentleman, it seemed. Not even the one with whom she had shared such a tainting experience. Chagrin cinched her throat. How could she have ever thought him a gentleman?

 

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