by Lucy Adams
Sarah’s eyes were huge as she looked back at him. “Can you help me?” she whispered, her hand reaching out towards him, only for her to pull it back as though she were afraid of what he might do to her. “I — I am afraid.”
“Afraid?” he repeated, glancing back towards the door of Lady Callander’s house. “Afraid of what?”
She shook her head, wordlessly, tears forming in her eyes. “Please,” she whispered, only for the sound of a gunshot to catch his attention, spinning his head around. When he turned back to look at Sarah, he saw, to his horror, that she was pressed back against the seat of the carriage, one hand pressed hard to her chest as a flush of red began to spread out across the top of her gown.
“Sarah!” he exclaimed, reaching out for her and tugging her into his arms. Bellowing for the tiger to open the door, Sebastian took a deep breath and practically ran towards Lady Callander’s door, climbing the steps two at a time. Without any consideration, he kicked the door open, the butler stumbling backwards as he looked in shock at Sebastian.
“Send for a doctor at once!” Sebastian bellowed, as Lady Callander herself appeared in the hallway, looking at them both with wide eyed astonishment. “Lady Callander, this girl —”
“Up the stairs,” she interrupted rushing towards him, her skirts held up in both hands. “Lift her up at once.” She reeled off a few more instructions to the rest of her staff before hurrying up after him, her hands tight in her skirts and her face set. Sebastian’s heart was quickening with fright, the lady in his arms now closing her eyes, her breathing ragged.
“Just hold on,” he whispered to her, his brow furrowing hard as he looked down into her pale face. “Please do not succumb, Miss Sarah.”
Sebastian followed Lady Callander into another room and gently placed the now unconscious girl down onto the bed, looking down at her with a sense of hopelessness. “What should we do now?”
Lady Callander leaned over the lady and pressed one hand to her forehead. “We will wait for the doctor,” she said, softly. “For that is all we can do.” She looked at him, her face grave. “For the moment, Lord Millerton, that is all we can do.”
Chapter Seven
Bridgette held her breath as the doctor leaned over the unconscious lady in front of her, her fingers tight together and her heart pounding furiously.
“It appears as though the bullet has gone straight through,” the doctor murmured. “No doubt, Lord Millerton will be able to find it within his carriage, should he look hard enough.”
“I will inform him at once,” she murmured, without making any attempt to leave the room. Lord Millerton had been covered in the young lady’s blood and so had decided to return home quickly in order to change his shirt before returning. Her staff were already waiting for her every demand and he had made the butler promise that he would not let anyone come into the house save for him.
Bridgette appreciated his consideration, his urgent desire to keep her safe, but her main concern was now solely fixed on the lady in her guest bedroom.
“She may recover,” the doctor said, slowly, looking back at Bridgette from over the top of small pince-nez. “Only time will tell.”
Bridgette shook her head, unwilling to accept that remark. “What can I do to help her? “she asked, as the doctor shrugged.
“You should keep her as comfortable as possible,” he said, with a sigh. “I have sewn up the hole where the bullet entered.” Then he let out another small sigh and shook his head. “Although I am glad to say that the bullet has not decided to linger in the lady’s skin, I cannot promise that she will recover, my lady.”
Bridgette nodded but said nothing, looking at the lady Sarah in her bed, wondering at the darkness that seemed to now creep into the room. She did not know where Lord Millerton had come across the lady, why she had been in Lord Millerton’s company nor where she had come from, but she fully trusted Lord Millerton and thus had not had any time nor inclination to demand answers from him.
“The dressing must be changed in only a few hours,” the doctor continued, packing up his things. “Give her some broth or some such things if she awakens.”
“If she awakens?” she repeated, with a frown. “You mean to say —"
“It is in the Lord’s hands,” the doctor interrupted, snapping his bag shut with a small click. “Good afternoon, Lady Callander.”
“Good afternoon,” Bridgette murmured, finding it very difficult to say anything more. The thought of the lady succumbing to her injuries, of dying within Bridgette’s own house was almost more than she could bear. The doctor left without another word, and whilst the butler inquired as to whether or not Bridgette wanted anything, she sent him away without any particular response.
Walking towards the bed, she looked down at the young lady. ‘Sarah’, if that was her real name, was lying in bed with her eyes closed and dark purple circles underneath her eyes. Here and there, her rouge and her eyeshadow was smudged, speaking of a young lady who had run away from Madam Bereford’s house without much consideration. Perhaps she had seized the only moment she had, hurrying away without even thinking about what she might do or where she might go.
“Lady Callander?”
She looked up swiftly from where she stood at Sarah’s bedside. “You have returned, then,” she murmured, as Lord Millerton came closer to her, his eyes fixed to the lady in the bed. “The doctor has only just left.”
“Yes , indeed,” he answered, quietly. “He informed me of Sarah’s condition.”
Bridgette let out a long breath, her eyes downcast and her shoulders heavy as they slumped down over her shoulders.
“Let us hope she recovers,” he continued, coming nearer to Bridgette and pressing her hand with his warm one. “I do not know why she came to me, why she was waiting in my carriage, but she said to my tiger that it was a matter of great urgency.”
“And someone did not want her to speak of what she knew,” Bridgette murmured, as Lord Millerton nodded gravely. “They must have followed her. You — ” She bit her lip hard as her eyes fixed to his, widening with a sudden horror. “What if the perpetrator now wants to ensure that Sarah can never speak a single word again? What if he comes into this house?”
Lord Millerton frowned heavily, his brow furrowed. “You are quite correct,” he said, slowly. “There is now an increased danger in this house.”
“And to you,” she told him, quickly, her fingers lacing with his. “The person would surely know that you were in the carriage with her, that you were the one who spoke to her earlier today.” She watched Lord Millerton closely, seeing how his gaze drifted from hers for a moment or two, considering. Then, he let out a long breath, sighing and nodding in agreement.
“I suppose that would be a wise consideration,” he admitted, softly. “I shall have to be all the more on my guard.” His brow furrowed. “What shall you do, Lady Callander? You cannot stay here alone.”
She drew herself up. “I am well able to remain secure in this house,” she told him. “The staff are very protective and I shall ensure that — ”
“I will have gentlemen from the League come to stand guard,” he interrupted, before she could say anything more. “You cannot be permitted to stay here with only your staff, even though they might do all they can to look after you.” He sighed and closed his eyes, his jaw working hard. “I cannot understand who it is that has tried to end Sarah’s life, but I am sure that they will try again if they discover that she still lives.”
A shudder passed over Bridgette’s frame but she did not allow herself to look anywhere other than Lord Millerton’s face. When he smiled quietly at her, clearly trying to reassure and encourage her, she could not help but return it. A long heavy sigh caught her and she let out her breath slowly, dropping her head for a moment and taking in a deep breath so as to steady herself.
“The poor girl,” she said, softly. “I wonder how she knew you would be attending here.”
Lord Millerton looked a little embarrass
ed. “I might have made mention of it during our visit,” he said, as she looked up at him in surprise. “I did not imagine that anyone would use such a thing to their own advantage. When she sat in the carriage, she was so eager to speak to me but I did not have the opportunity to hear more until….”
Bridgette shook her head, her lips pressed together. “I shall pray,” she said, simply. “I shall pray that she recovers and that she is able to tell you whatever it was that she wanted.”
“She was afraid.” Lord Millerton’s eyes were hard, his expression one of anger as he looked down at the lady in the bed. “She did not have the chance to tell me what she was afraid of, however.”
“Perhaps she was afraid for herself, given that she had just run away from Madame Bereford,” Bridgette suggested, as Lord Millerton looked up at her. “That must have taken a good deal of courage.”
Lord Millerton sighed heavily and rubbed one hand over his eyes. “What makes it all the worse is that, when I saw her with Madame Bereford, I had the distinct impression that Sarah could do nothing nor say anything that would be contradicted by Madame Bereford,” he said, shaking his head. “She appeared to be quite afraid of her.”
Bridgette felt her heart surge with sympathy. So many considered these ladies to be victims of their own poor choices but there were some who had no choice in the matter. Was that the case for Miss Sarah? Bridgette let her eyes rove over the lady’s painted face. Frowning, Bridgette turned to pick up a damp cloth — one that had been used to wipe away the blood from the lady’s chest and shoulder and then thoroughly rinsed — and used it to wipe the lady’s face. There were some splatterings of blood on her cheeks, the rouge and the dark marks around her eyes slowly being pulled away by the water in the cloth.
She gasped.
Lord Millerton frowned. “What is it?”
“The poor creature has been beaten,” Bridgette whispered, pointing to the dark purple and blue bruise that had emerged from whatever had been painted over the top of it, hiding it away from prying eyes. “And it looks to be very recent indeed.”
His jaw working furiously, Lord Millerton narrowed his gaze, his hands gripping the side of the bed. “We cannot know who did such a thing,” he told her, as calmly as he could. “It might have been one of the gentlemen who attend such a place.”
“It might have been Madame Bereford,” Bridgette suggested, as Lord Millerton’s eyes darkened all the more. “Perhaps that was whom Sarah was running from. What she meant when she spoke of being afraid.”
Lord Millerton nodded, his color rising. “Either way, we can do nothing other than wait,” he said, softly. “Wait until she is pulled towards death or life.”
“Let us hope it is life,” Bridgette replied, just as a maid came in, a tea tray in her hands.
“My lady?”
Bridgette waved a hand. “In the drawing room, if you please,” she said, hastily. “And have someone sent up to sit with Sarah. I intend to hire someone to care for her, but a maid will do for the moment.”
The maid nodded and hurried from the room, leaving Bridgette and Lord Millerton alone again. They held each other’s gaze for a short time, an unspoken understanding between them. They each felt the frustration of being so close to something, so near to an answer, only to have it pulled from them. Their hearts both ached with sympathy and compassion for the lady before them, not judging her character based simply on her profession but rather seeing her as a scared young lady with very little opportunity waiting for her. She had been afraid, Lord Millerton had said, and that tugged at Bridgette’s heart.
“I should go,” Lord Millerton said, as he began to walk towards the door. “I should go to speak to Lord Monteforte and Lord Watt, before we meet tomorrow evening.”
“Of course.” Bridgette fell into step beside him, casting an anxious glance back towards Miss Sarah. “Do you think she will recover?”
Lord Millerton could only shrug. “I could not rightly say, Lady Callander,” he said, quietly. “But I will pray that she does, for all our sakes.”
“Oh, Lady Callander, I am so very glad to see you!”
Bridgette smiled despite the anxiety in her heart as Lady Madeline clutched at her hand, the soiree well underway.
“You are quite well, I hope?” Lady Madeline’s eyes were roving over Bridgette’s face, and Bridgette lifted one shoulder.
“There is someone ill within my household, that is all,” she said, as Lady Madeline’s eyes widened. “But I hope she will recover.” Putting a warm smile on her face, she reached out and pressed Lady Madeline’s hand. “Now, what is it that troubles you?”
“There are simply far too many gentlemen here this evening, who are all far too eager to make their acquaintance with me,” Lady Madeline said, sounding quite distraught. “I should be grateful, I know, but I find it quite wearisome having to engage in banal conversation and so I have avoided them as best as I can.”
Bridgette let out a small chuckle. “I quite understand,” she said, with a wry smile. “I confess I have avoided Lord Mayfair’s conversation this evening, even though he continues to wander in my direction.”
Lady Madeline pressed one hand to her heart. “If only they would understand that we are simply not interested in them,” she said, dramatically. “Although I have noticed that a particular gentleman is paying you some very close attentions, Lady Callander.”
“Oh?” Bridgette felt a small blush catch her cheeks but quickly tried to suppress any sort of embarrassment. “What can you mean?”
Lady Madeline waggled a finger. “Lord Millerton was very attentive to you the last time we saw each other,” she said with a teasing smile. “And this evening, I have already seen you engaged in conversation with him on two separate occasions.”
Bridgette wanted to protest, to state that she had been talking to Lord Millerton of serious matters only but knew that she could not. Lady Madeline did not need to know anything of what she had been discussing with Lord Millerton and certainly could not know of Sarah, who was still lying, unconscious, in Bridgette’s guest bedchamber.
“He is interested in you, I think,” Lady Madeline said, a flicker of interest in her eyes. “You do not turn away from him as readily as you do others.”
Trying to find what would be a reasonable answer, Bridgette spread out her hands. “That is because I find him interesting,” she answered, not untruthfully. “And you?” she asked, desperate to change the subject. “Do you find any gentleman of your acquaintance to be of particular interest?” She expected Lady Madeline to laugh and wave a hand, throwing the question aside, and was, therefore, rather surprised when the lady considered the question carefully, tilting her head to one side and allowing her gaze to rove about the room.
“I confess to you, Lady Callander — Bridgette, I mean — that Lord Chesterfield has been very attentive of late.” Her lips twisted and her eyes darkened just a little. “That could, of course, mean very little given that he is something of a flirt and likes very much to engage in the company of ladies such as myself without having any specific intentions.”
“Lord Chesterfield,” Bridgette repeated, rolling the name across her tongue and trying to work out if she knew the fellow. Her expression brightened. “Ah, yes, I recall him now. You introduced me to him, I believe.”
Lady Madeline nodded. “I did.”
Bridgette recalled a bright, rather loud gentleman, whose eyes she had considered to be kind. Her smile lingered as Lady Madeline let out a huff of breath, her eyebrows lowering.
“You do not want to be intrigued by him, I surmise,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye. “And yet, you cannot help it.”
“As I believe I said before, Bridgette, I know of his character and find his inclination towards flirtation and his assured confidence in himself to be most infuriating,” Lady Madeline said, a little too sharply. “And yet…..” Her expression softened and she shook her head to herself. “I cannot quite understand it myself and it irritates me more
than I can express.”
Still smiling, Bridgette allowed herself a small shrug. “Then might I suggest, Lady Madeline, that you permit his attentions and see what might become of it all,” she said, quietly, as Lady Madeline let out a huff of breath. “You cannot tell where such a thing might lead.”
“And yet I am still entirely disinclined towards matrimony,” Lady Madeline said, firmly. “I am quite determined.”
Bridgette, who silently thought that an attraction towards a gentleman, which might soon turn to regard would remove all barriers to such a thing, remained silent and simply smiled.
“Oh, Bridgette, you must help me,” Lady Madeline cried, going from determined to anxious in only a breath. “Will you speak with Lord Chesterfield? Will you tell me your opinion of him, just as we have previously agreed?”
Having not expected to be thrust into such a situation so quickly after their agreement, Bridgette was startled for a moment at the fervor that poured from Bridgette’s lips, only to nod her agreement, smiling warmly as she did so. “But of course,” she said, thinking to herself that it might be an adequate distraction from her own thoughts as regarded Lord Hazelton’s death and the now very ill young lady lying in her sickbed. “Is he present this evening?”
Lady Madeline nodded, biting her lip and showing such a state of vulnerability that Bridgette was quite surprised to see her so. Lady Madeline always exuded confidence and assurance and so to see her now, looking quite anxious and a little unsure was something of a startling transformation. Bridgette guessed that there was more to Lady Madeline’s considerations for Lord Chesterfield than she wanted to admit, perhaps even to herself, which made her all the more eager to help her friend.
“Then I shall allow you to speak to him first and, thereafter, I shall go in search of him and converse with him also,” Bridgette declared, as Lady Madeline let out a small exclamation. “And I promise to give you the most honest of opinions later this evening.”
