“Close enough to walk?”
“Yes.”
He gave the boy a loathing look, eyes utterly black in the low light. But he stooped down and picked him up. The boy cried out in pain then went limp.
“Fainted,” said Lord Cotereigh. He turned and headed out of the alley with his burden.
“Maybe that’s best.” Madelaine hurried along at his side. Lord Cotereigh made no reply.
They walked up the street, attracting a great many stares. When they reached Lord Cotereigh’s horse, he stopped. A man in battered, greasy clothes was holding it, looking nervous andconfused. At their approach, he took a hasty step forward, seeming to forget he was holding the horse and making it jerk its head in equine annoyance, one ear going back. The man was clearly drunk.
“You,” Lord Cotereigh said. “Follow behind us.”
“Yes, me lordship, honoured, lordship.” The man saluted clumsily, goggling at the boy in Lord Cotereigh’s arms. “What’s that ye got there? Why’s…a boy, all battered up. Know him, do ye?”
Lord Cotereigh made no reply but continued on up the road, Madelaine at his side. She glanced over her shoulder to where the man was now asking similar questions to the horse and getting similar answers.
It was busy, despite the hour. This part of London was always busy. Fine carriages and hackneys and tradesmen’s carts rumbled by. Lamps lit doorways and windows. The pavements held hurrying servants, homeward bound merchants, ambling labourers, their workday finished. It also held a great number of smart gentlemen, their true day just beginning.
All of them stared. Many of them, wide-eyed, appeared to know Lord Cotereigh and did a double take, but he strode past, ignoring them. Madelaine, her white skirts dirtied from kneeling in the alleyway, hurried at his side, growing hotter with every stare, no matter that the evening was cool.
With his brisk stride and his gaze set grimly forwards, Lord Cotereigh appeared to take no notice of the attention they attracted. But once, pausing to cross a street, glancing darkly left and right, he muttered, “Be the talk of the town…”
“I’m very grateful…”
He only grunted, and they set off once more, the street quieter now, leading into a grand square, the vast shadows of tall trees revealed by the lanterns burning beside every door. Lord Cotereigh led the way up the steps of a very large house that tookup a full side of the square. At the door he paused, calling down to the man holding the horse.
“Wait one minute, and you’ll get your coin.”
The man saluted again, nearly knocking off his battered hat. “Yes, me lordship! Thankee, me lordship!”
The door opened before Madelaine could even reach for the pull cord. The porter boggled at the unconscious child in his master’s arms.
“Pay that man.” Lord Cotereigh jerked his head back to the street. “Get the horse seen to. I suppose Mrs Clare has gone to bed? Then I want Burton in the Willow room. And send someone for Doctor Phillips.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The porter hastened away, and Madelaine followed Lord Cotereigh into a tall and beautiful hall, decorated all in the neo-Classical style with a domed ceiling and an arch framing the broad staircase. It was softly lit by modern gas lamps and smelt cleanly of polish.
Lord Cotereigh walked halfway down the hall then through a smaller arch on the left and into a finely decorated corridor. Halfway down it, he led the way into a moderately-sized room. It was unlit but enough moonlight came through the tall windows for Lord Cotereigh to find his way to a sofa and set the boy down.
A servant bustled in behind them, wordlessly lighting the lamps. Lord Cotereigh brushed the front of his coat. He looked at her, and her stomach turned over. “Well?”Now what?his expression said.You’ve got me into this mess. You’d better have a plan.
Lamps lit, the servant left, the light showing the pale greens and creams of willow-patterned paper on the wall.
“Erm. Yes. The doctor.” She went to the boy and knelt down, taking a limp wrist in her fingers. He was so still and pale he looked dead, but his pulse beat faintly beneath her fingers.“We’ll wait for the doctor. But perhaps…perhaps some hot water? And towels? It might be useful to have them ready.”
Lord Cotereigh gave a nod then turned to a young, smartly dressed servant who’d just stepped through the door. His valet, perhaps. The man gave both her and the boy on the sofa a startled look but quickly schooled his features.
“Burton,” said Lord Cotereigh. “Towels and hot water. And tea for Mrs Ardingly. Unless”—he glanced her way—“you’d like anything stronger?”
“No…no thank you. Tea is…very kind.”
Turning back to his valet, he said, “If Martha is still up, or any of the scullery maids, ask them to bide a while. We may have need of them.”
Dismissed, the valet gave one last glance at the boy on the sofa then hurried away to his duties.
Madelaine knelt by the boy, finding it easier to look at him than Lord Cotereigh. She reached out a hand to smooth the boy’s hair back from his brow, but it was stiff and matted with both grease and blood. Something moved by his scalp. Lice. She drew her hand back, feeling Lord Cotereigh’s frowning gaze upon her bent shoulders.
