I ran back to Rupert and fell to my knees. He was still alive as I gently stroked his head, but his breathing was shallow. He gave a faint thump of his tail as I held him and spoke to him, and promised him Mrs. Ryan's sponge cake if he would stay.
“Might this help, miss?” a rail attendant asked as he stood beside us. He handed me a towel. “For the wound.”
I nodded and took the towel. I pressed it against the wound on Rupert's side.
And then Brodie was there. He crouched down beside me.
“Are ye all right, lass?” he gently asked.
I looked up. Tears streamed down my face. And I never cried!
“Oh, Brodie…” I wept.
It was ridiculous, of course. How many times had Brodie cursed Rupert—as worthless, troublesome, a beggar and thief.
Most of it was true. But worthless?
Not when he made me laugh over his penchant for Mrs. Ryan’s sponge cake or biscuits from the Public House. Almost, but not quite, with the things he scavenged from the streets andbrought back with him like a trophy he’d found. Most certainly not when he attacked Blackwood.
Brodie took off his jacket and wrapped it around him.
I sat on the floor of coach and held him, wrapped in Brodie’s jacket. He made not a sound and barely stirred as we sped across London to Holborn.
When we arrived, Brodie carried him into the back of Mr. Brimley’s shop.
“I’ve not treated an animal before,” the chemist said with a look over at me in the back of his shop. He smiled gently.
“But there is always a first time. The ancient Egyptians were quite skilled in such things, you know. Animals were important to them.”
“He's in good hands, lass,” Brodie assured me. “If anyone can save him, Mr. Brimley would be the one.”
I knew he was right, yet leaving was difficult. I stroked Rupert's head.
“You have to get well. What am I to do with all the sponge cake?”
He licked my hand as he always did, as if to reassure me. Ridiculous as that seemed.
Brodie’s hand closed around mine as we left the shop, with Rupert in Mr. Brimley’s care. I would have trusted no one else.
Mr. Jarvis nodded from atop the coach where he had waited. I glanced down at my skirt, stained with blood.
“I should return to the townhouse for other clothes.” I caught the look on Brodie’s face.
“The office might be best,” he suggested, something in his voice.
“I have nothing there except my long coat. I need to go to the townhouse.”
It was undoubtedly something he didn’t understand, the need to remove those blood-stained clothes, a reminder of what had happened today.
Or was it something else, by the way that dark gaze softened?
“I’ll go with ye.”
It seemed that Blackwood had not failed entirely as we arrived in Mayfair and Mr. Jarvis turned down the coach path at Hanover Place as rain began to fall.
I caught sight of the chimney, then the blackened walls that were all that remained of the townhouse as Mr. Jarvis pulled the team to a stop and I stepped down.
“The fire brigade did what they could,” Brodie gently explained. “The gentleman across the way saw Blackwood set the fire before he left with ye.”
