Her skirts swirling and floating around her, Dara kicked hard, moving toward where she’d last seen the toddler. Waterweeds brushed her legs. She hated the feeling of them.
When she thought she was close to the child,she drew a deep breath and went under, keeping her eyes open in the murky water. Her fingers brushed material before she saw the body. She grabbed hold, raised the tot up, and began the task of moving the short distance toward shore.
It was not easy. Dara’s wet clothes and the child’s heaviness kept pulling her underwater, and yet the shore was right there. Close enough to throw a stone.
Above her, a male voice ordered, “Take my hand.”
She reached for it, thankful for the help. She was practically lifted out of the water, one arm protectively around the child, only to find herself looking into Mr. Brogan’s face. He’d even waded into the Serpentine to help.
She frowned, water running in rivulets down her face. This wasn’t how she’d anticipated their next meeting. Someone took the toddler from her arms, and then the mother started screaming again.
Dara forgot her annoyance over seeing her nemesis. Her attention went to the small body laid on the ground. The boy’s face was blue. He wasn’t breathing. And everyone else stood around not doing anything.
Wasn’t this the theme of Dara’s life? No one did anything so she must do it?
She pushed away from Mr. Brogan, splashed the two steps to shore, and dropped to her kneesby the boy. What had she read about how the Royal Humane Society revived drowning people? There had been an article in one of her precious papers. What had it said? Rescuers pushed on the chest?
It would be a sin for this little life to end before it started. Trying to remember the article’s details, Dara placed her hands on the chest. The body felt tight, as if full of water. She shut out all the voices around her, even the mother’s cries, and told herself to think. To reason this out. She pressed. The length of her hand spread across the whole chest, and she started trying to pump life into the boy. Of course, the child was male. A girl would have had the sense to stay on land—
“Here, Miss, I’m here now,” a male voice said. “You are doing great, but we have this.” Dara ignored him. She was too busy praying for her charge to breathe.Room to breathe.Apparently that was the motto of the day.
“MissLanscarr.”She was surprised that Mr. Brogan had knelt on the muddy bank beside her. His face was inches from hers. He appeared so crisp. He was even wearing his hat while she felt soggy and smelled of the lake. “This man will take over. He knows what to do—”
A choking sound grabbed everyone’s attention. The gentleman from the Humane Society quickly turned the child to his side. Foul water, mixed with whatever had been in his stomach,rushed out of his mouth, and then he began crying between horrible coughs.
A cheer went up, and it was only then that a dazed Dara realized exactly how many people were gathered around her. There were the dandies—those useless sots—who had refused to act, and Molly, but also so many others. All pushing and shoving as if wishing for a closer look to see what was happening.
She needn’t worry about the boy. The color had returned to his face, and he was now in danger of being smothered to death against his mother’s breasts.
The man from the Humane Society said, “That was well done. Had you read one of our pamphlets?”
Dara shook her head. “There was an article in one of the papers.” A shiver went through her.
“Ah, good. We are trying to share our message everywhere. You saved his life, Miss. There is a good chance I wouldn’t have been able to revive him without your help.”
Dara nodded. She was tired. So tired.
And all eyes seemed to be on her. They all jostled for position to stare—
A coat was put over her shoulders. She huddled into it, thankful for the warmth without knowing she needed it.
“Let me see you home, Miss Lanscarr,” Mr. Brogan said. His voice was close to her ear.
She nodded. She wanted to go home.
His strong hand under her arm helped her up. Her shoes were soaked through to the point the leather could not be repaired. Gwendolyn would grumble about the expense. Dara couldn’t blame her.
She straightened and then realized that Mr. Brogan had given her his own coat. “Thank you,” she murmured. She had to appear a mess. Her hair hung down to her shoulders in a tangle of loose and still pinned curls. Her dress was probably ruined as well. She looked down, and then caught her breath in shock.
Wet material clung to her figure in an indecent fashion. Half her skirts were hitched up on one side so that the stocking of her left leg was revealed for all to see. She reached down to shake them out and then realized that the white muslin made her gown practically transparent. She was wearing a petticoat, but it seemed small protection, especially against the smirking dandies. What disgusting creatures they were.
Mr. Brogan put his arm around her to guide her away, but before they could take a step, the child’s mother grabbed Dara’s hand. She began kissing it and saying, “Thank you so much, my lady. Thank you.”
“Yes, yes,” Dara murmured, wanting her hand back. She was suddenly ready to be done with this whole matter. Overwhelmed by it, actually.
Mr. Brogan stepped in, gently freeing Dara’s hand. “Here, see to your son while I help my friend.” With that, he shouldered his way through the crowd.
“Miss Dara?” At the sound of Molly’s voice, Dara stopped. “What shall I do?” Molly asked. She was holding Dara’s bonnet and reticule.
