Mrs. Frisk looked back at her son, curled in on himself. Her expression grew grave. “He was looking for work at the docks and fell, cutting himself on some broken bottles. I think it may need stitching but...” She trailed off, looking at her own hands.
“Have you called for a surgeon?” Lucas asked. He knew several in the city.
The woman shook her head bitterly. “They care not for us, and we cannot—well, they would not come.”
Lucas understood what she didn’t say. They could not pay and therefore would not be treated. A wave of frustration overwhelmed him. He was about to offer to pay for the service, if they could convince the surgeon to come, but Miss Faraday stepped forward again.
“I have some skill in suturing—Mrs. Frisk, was it? If you’ve some good, strong thread, I can handle the job for you.”
Mrs. Frisk’s eyes widened even further. “I could not expect a lady to—”
“Pish, I’m hardly a lady. And you are expecting nothing. I am offering. Have you any thread? And a sharp needle? I promise I do not exaggerate my skill.” She’d already moved to George’s side and was coaxing his hands off the poorly wrapped bandage on his calf. Just as when that woman had hurt her wrist, of a sudden, Miss Faraday had transformed into a competent, levelheaded woman of medicine.
Lucas could only stand in the middle of the room, feeling too large for the space and very much in the way. He had been around many an injury, had experienced a few himself, and yet, watching Miss Faraday was both mesmerizing and disorienting.
Thankfully, someone had their wits about them: Mrs. Frisk immediately jumped into action and brought all Miss Faraday asked for plus water, rags, and clean bandages. Miss Faraday worked quickly, smoothing back the boy’s fevered forehead and whispering something that calmed him down and had him setting his jaw as if he were far older than the six or seven he must have been.
“Will you help me hold his shoulders still?” she asked over her shoulder to Lucas.
Yes, something he could help with. He did as asked, unable to find any words to share with the boy that might make the next few minutes easier. He’d worked with many surgeons on fellow pugilists, but never on a child so young. So he just nodded at the boy, hoping to relay some strength through his expression.
George pressed his eyes shut. “I’s ready.”
Miss Faraday was indeed competent. She had the large gash cleaned and sewn up in under ten minutes. George tried not to move, but Lucas had to exert a fair amount of pressure on him to help him along in that. Mrs. Frisk held George’s hand tightly throughout it all.
Every one of them seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when Miss Faraday tied off the last stitch. She leaned over, placing a soft hand on George’s cheek. “That was more than a little brave, Mr. George. Now, you must stay off that leg for at least a week. And keep it clean. Can you manage that?”
George, eyes swimming with moisture, nodded bravely. “Yes, miss.”
She smiled. “Good.” Her gaze shifted up to Lucas, and he was surprised to see the emotion—a mixture of sadness and relief. Her eyes held his for an extended moment, his breath catching strangely in his chest.
But then she brushed back her skirts and stood, murmuring instructions to the boy’s mother. Lucas turned back to George. He crouched beside him on the couch.
“That was very brave, George.”
The boy sniffled. “Really?”
Lucas nodded solemnly. “As brave as the bravest of men.”
A shaky smile crossed his face, and Lucas matched it.
The door to the room opened, and Lucas glanced over his shoulder before coming to his feet. “Peter,” he said, crossing the room to shake the man’s hand.
Peter, his forehead coated with sweat and his thinning brown hair mussed from where he’d just pulled his hat off, acknowledged Lucas with a nod, but looked immediately around him to his family. “I got yer note, Mary. What ’appened?”
His wife came to his side. “He is all right, Pete. He’s all right.” Her voice was watery, and Lucas backed up to give them space. He felt the moment Miss Faraday approached him, stopping at his elbow.
“Shall we go?” she asked quietly.
Mrs. Frisk was relating all that had happened to her husband, who had gravitated toward his son on the couch and sat beside him. George’s sisters had stacked themselves nearby, one on Peter’s knee and the other on the floor beside George’s head.
Lucas nodded. The family would be well now, and Lucas could check on them later.
Together, Miss Faraday and Lucas moved for the door, not wanting to interrupt the family even to bid farewell, but as they were a step from exiting, Peter looked up.
“Lord Berkeley? Might I have a word before ye leave?”
Lucas stopped. “Of course.”
