“What on earth?” Theo said glancing at George. Already, the collie was running towards them again. It stopped to raise its head and let loose another wild flurry of barks before careering off in the same direction.
“He wants us to follow,” George said, hurrying after the dog. Theo’s heart began to race. He knew with a deep down certainty that something was wrong.
He found out what it was as soon as they turned the corner.
Martin was lying on the ground, a few feet away from a ladder leaning against the rear wall. Fen stood over him, whimpering.
Theo hurried to join George at the fallen man’s side. Martin’s eyes were closed, and he was very still. How long had he been lying here?
“Do you think fell from that ladder?” George asked. “Oh hell, is he alive?”
Theo’s hands were shaking as tried to ascertain the answer to that question. “Yes, he’s breathing,” he said at last, almost winded by his own relief. “I hope he hasn't broken anything.” Leaning closer, he said gently, “Mr. Martin? Can you hear me?”
Martin made a thready sound in his throat but didn’t open his eyes.
“Are you hurt?” Theo asked, carefully running his hands over the man's limbs.
Nothing.
Theo looked at George, meeting his worried gaze.
“We need a doctor. Is there one around here?” George asked.
“I believe there’s a man in the next village,” Theo said. “Morgan’ll know.”
“I’ll run over there,” George said, getting to his feet. “I'll be as quick as I can.” And with that, he disappeared around the corner of the farmyard, leaving Theo with Martin.
Theo observed the man uncertainly. He had the sense that Martin was conscious, at least to some extent, though he was neither moving nor speaking. There was something about him, though, that seemed tense and aware.
Theo shivered. It was not a warm day, and the ground underfoot was hard-packed dirt. Martin wore no coat, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. Theo touched his hand—it was ice cold. How long had he been lying here? Theo was reluctant to attempt to move him when he had no idea how he might be injured, but perhaps he could make him more comfortable.
“I’m going to leave you for a minute,” he told Martin. “I’ll see what I can find in the house to warm you up.”
He squeezed Martin’s hand, and thought that Martin maybe squeezed him weakly back, though he couldn't be sure.
Getting to his feet, he hurried to the back door of the house. Thankfully, it was open. Passing through a sparse kitchen, he entered an even sparser front parlour, nothing in it but a single wooden chair in front of the fire. So bare compared to the house the man had once lived in with Stephen Lockhart.
Finding nothing useful there, Theo moved into the next and last room—Martin’s bedchamber—which, while also depressingly bare, at least had blankets on the bed. Theo yanked them off and returned to Martin.
Bundling one of the blankets up, he knelt beside Martin and carefully slid it under his head. His fingers grazed over a lump at the back of Martin’s head, presumably sustained as a result of his fall. At least there was no blood.
Theo carefully covered Martin up with the other two blankets, then stood and looked him over, noticing for the first time that one side of his face looked faintly wrong, the outer edge of his eye and his mouth slanted downwards.
Apoplexy, his mind supplied, and he felt a chill of fear.
Martin made a garbled sort of sound in his throat then—an attempt to speak?
“It’s all right,” Theo soothed, dropping back down to his haunches and setting a comforting hand on the man’s chest. “You don’t have to talk. Mr. Asquith’s gone to get the doctor.”
Martin gave a helpless whimper and made a weak grab for Theo's arm with his right hand. Not knowing what else to do, Theo wrapped Martin's hand in his own, stroking his thumb over the back in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. “The doctor will be here soon,” he said, though the truth was, he had no real idea how long it would take for the doctor to arrive. Or how Martin would fare until then.
Christ, he hoped the man did not die while they waited.
To his relief, George returned fairly quickly, reporting that Morgan had been at home and had agreed to ride out to fetch the doctor. By then, Martin appeared to be rallying a little. He still mostly lay with his eyes closed, but from time to time, he would open them, or attempt a few garbled words.
“Should we move him into the house, do you think?” George asked after a while. “He doesn’t seem to have broken anything, and he's moving a little now.”
“Yes, let’s do that,” Theo agreed.
