Lewis winced. “Stop... shouting.”
Nathaniel’s heart leapt to hear a voice he’d feared silenced forever. “Lewis, you’ve been hurt. Who did this to you?”
But Lewis turned his face to the wall and responded no further to his entreaties.
Miss Macy stepped to his side and whispered, “Still, that is a good sign, is it not?”
“Yes.” His heart buoyed. “I’ve got to tell Helen.”
———
Margaret was about to offer to summon Helen for him, but Nathaniel had already bolted from the room, a boy eager to share a great surprise with his sister. From the hall, Margaret heard him call to someone, “He’s coming around. Is that not good news?”
A moment later, Connor stepped inside, toilet case in hand. He asked in disbelief, “Is he awake?”
She shook her head. “Only for a few moments.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Just muttered a little nonsense.”
He looked at her. “What nonsense?”
My name, she thought, but said only, “He told Mr. Upchurch to stop shouting.” Margaret grinned at the memory, but Connor only sighed.
“I wish I had been here.”
He set the case on the bedside table. “I would have attended him earlier, but you would hang about. And now I am late in giving him his wash and shave.”
“I’m sorry. I only meant to bring in some flowers, but then I—”
“Have you no other work? Perhaps I ought to mention it to Mrs. Budgeon.”
She was stunned by his cutting words. “She’s the one who asked me to tend this room. You might have come in while I was here.”
“I could not very well see to his personal needs in a woman’s presence, now could I?”
“You could have asked me to leave.”
“I’m asking now.”
His face flushed, a shade lighter than his hair. A pulse ticked in his jaw.
“Very well, Connor,” she said softly. “You needn’t be nasty about it.”
His expression crumbled, sheepish. Pained. “I’m sorry, Nora. Just pleasego.”
———
Margaret took herself belowstairs to see her cheerful friend Hester. But Hester did not smile when she entered the stillroom.
“Hello, Hester. Did you hear Mr. Lewis is coming around? Is that not good news?”
The stillroom maid scooped up the corner of her apron and snatched a copper pot from the hearth, setting it atop the worktable with a bang.
“Hester? What is it?”
She took up a utensil and began mashing whatever was in that pot with righteous indignation.
