Now what was he to do? He was thankful the members of the Logical Men’s Society hadn’t accompanied him to know that there would be delay. And he was not going to be in a hurry to share the news.
He rode his horse back to the road. He was tempted to hunt Mars down, and not just because of The Garland but because he was concerned. That was becoming the bane of Ned’s existence. He worried about people. When he was all alone, back in his London days, he’d never given a thought to anyone but himself.
Then again, who knew how long it would take to find Mars? Furthermore, if Ned left and, heaven help him, Kate Balfour went into labor,well, he could not leave her to the local midwife. He couldn’t do that. He’d promised her he’d see her baby safe.
Just as Ned reached the road and turned Hippocrates toward a visit to the Widow Smethers, Royce came riding up in a tear. “Sir! I’m glad I found you. Simon Crisp had an accident. His son says his father has cut off his finger.”
Crisp was a yeoman on the Belvoir estate and fortunately didn’t live far from here—and then Ned had an idea.
He looked to Royce, who was some twenty years older than himself. His assistant had once been in the military. He might be able to do what Ned couldn’t. “Royce, I have a particular task that needs to be done and I know it is asking a great deal.”
“What is it, sir?”
“I want you to ride to London and find the earl.”
“Is he not home?”
“His home right now is an opium den.”
Royce was momentarily taken aback.
“I know it is much to ask,” Ned continued. “I can tell you where I found him the last time I hunted for him. I know I am asking a big favor. However, we need him here and I can’t go this time.”
“Of course I will go, sir. Do I just bully him into returning?”
“If he was like he was the time before he’ll be docile enough to return with you.”
“I shall ride right away.”
“Good, thank you. Ride along with me and I’ll give you a list of places that I have searched for him before.” They both set off for Crisp’s cottage while Ned gave Royce the particulars.
They parted company on Simon Crisp’s step. “I’ll find him, sir,” Royce vowed.
“I pray you do.”
Ned meant those words. In fact, he meant them even more the next day when he called on the Widow Smethers, who met him at the door practically dancing on her injured ankle.
He’d been able to save Crisp’s finger with a few stitches, or so he hoped. One had to be careful of infection. However, he had not been able to call on the widow. He’d sent one of Crisp’s sons to her with the message that he would see her on the morrow.
And here she was, looking better than she had for a week. She glowed with good health.
“Mrs. Smethers, I’m impressed,” Ned said. “Rest has greatly improved your ankle.” And her spirits.
“Yes, Doctor, rest and—” She lowered her voice as if sharing a secret. “A miraculous cure.”
Ned’s gut gave a sharp twist. “Cure?”
“Yes,” she answered, her eyes alive with pleasure. “I met Gemma. She came with Mrs. Nelson when the squire’s lady brought a plate of dinner for me. Lovely woman she is. She said she had a soak that would make me better, and so it has. Just look at me.” She spun slowly to show thetruth of her words. “She wasn’t even going to take payment. Just as kind as you are. But then she told me she had a mouse problem at The Garland and I gave her one of my barn cats. That gray mouser will have those mice gone in a blink.” And Ned knew that it had begun.
He could tell the widow thatresthad healed her. That the ankle hadn’t been broken, just merely sprained. Her recovery under the circumstances was as expected.
But what did common sense have overmiracles?
By the end of the day, the parish would be buzzing like a beehive overmiracle curesand his troubles were just beginning.
Chapter Nine
Ned’s most dire predictions came true—and quickly.
