He tried again, and on the third time, he slid whatever was blocking it aside just enough so that he could get through.
What he stepped into was the stuff of nightmares.
Hardly any light, a fire that struggled to stay alive, slop buckets that stank worse than a village midden, and several large rats scurrying around a plate that had been on the floor.
Swallowing down a surge of disgust, Giles turned to see a low, filthy couch, and on it…a figure lay swathed in ancient blankets, ripped and mended.
Could this be the Dowager Countess? His mind refused to accept it, but he cautiously picked his way across to the bundled figure. Perhaps it was the housekeeper. Yes, that was it. The housekeeper.
Leaning over, he carefully moved a part of a blanket from the face.
One look, and he knew it wasn’t the housekeeper.
The skin was colourless, white as paper, but the features were delicate and refined. Her hair…well it might have been any number of shades, but at the moment it was just filthy. He was willing to bet on other less pleasant things sharing it as well.
Was she alive?
He heaved a sigh of relief as her hands clutched at the blanket, thin and clawing, aware of something moving the nest she’d made for herself.
Dear God. When had she last eaten? She had the look of a starving child.
He leaned even closer. “My Lady,” he said quietly. “My Lady Kilham. Wake up…”
Slowly her eyelids rose. Brown eyes stared at him blankly, and she blinked as if trying to find her way out of a fog.
“Wha…who…” A shudder took her, and she moaned.
He gently touched her forehead and was shocked at the heat. In spite of her pallor and the freezing cold room, she was on fire.
“You are sick, my Lady. I am come to take you away from all this.”
“Yes. It is time. I am ready to die…”
“You won’t die. Not if I have my way…”
But she didn’t hear him. As if his brief statement had given her a measure of relief, her body relaxed into unconsciousness.
Giles sighed as he gathered her up from her cocoon. Two unconscious passengers in as many days. This was getting to be a rather annoying habit.
ChapterSeven
Carrying her to the waiting coach was not going to be a problem for Giles, since his burden weighed less than one of Evan’s magnificent fruit cakes.
The smell of her, however, was decidedly unpleasant, and he could not imagine being enclosed with it for the time it took to get her back to Wolfbridge. He tucked her up and headed out of the foul room to the carriage, reaching in for his bag and taking the robe out of it. Thank God he’d had the forethought to add it to his luggage.
He also picked up a thick fur.
“I won’t be long,” he called to the driver. “My passenger is not well, so I’ll be carrying her out in a few minutes.”
“Aye, gov’,” the man touched his hat. “We’re out o’ the wind ‘ere. Ready when you are.”
Giles returned to the disaster that held the new Lady of Wolfbridge.
She hadn’t moved a muscle, and he hated to pull her from what little warmth she’d created, but lying there wasn’t doing her any good at all.
She moaned as he unwrapped her, tossing the filthy and rotting blankets aside for the rats, mice and whatever else had chosen this ruin for their home.
She was wearing some kind of flannel night gown that was not fresh at all, so Giles took a breath and managed to strip her down.
