“Stop saying that. Are youhurt?”
He shook his head, still trying to catch up.
“You are mad,” she said.
“I’m not mad,” he said, but the dog’s barking and the insistent knocking drowned out the words.
She took up her skirts and gave them a shake. She wiped the back of her hand across her swollen lips and spun away, shouting for the dog. When she glanced back, he opened his mouth to apologize again, but she shook her head—Do not.
He blinked and said nothing, and she swept from the room.
“Coming!” she sang, meeting the dog in the doorway and scooping her up. “Who is it?” he heard her ask through the door.
Stoker heard a mumbled, high-pitched reply and then Sabine could be heard to say,“Ooooooh.”
He heard the locks snap open, door hinges, bustling, footsteps, possessions hitting the floor in a clatter.
“Miss Sabine!” said an excited female voice that precisely matched the enthusiasm of the knocks.
The dog barked once, and the new voice and Sabine shouted in unison, “Bridget, stop!”
“Perry?” exclaimed Sabine. “What on earth are you doing in London?”
If Stoker remembered correctly, Miss Pippa Perry was the lady’s maid who had originally accompanied the three brides from Surrey to London, and who was currently in the employ of Willow Caulder, the Countess of Cassin.
“I’ve traveled all the way from Yorkshire to you, miss,” said Perry.
“Yes, I see that, Perry,” said Sabine, “but why have you come? Is Willow unwell?”
“Oh no, Miss Sabine, the countess is quite well. But when she received your letter about Mr. Stoker being half-dead, she was in such a state. The earl is in Italy at the moment, acquiring new treasures for the castle...”
This she said as if Cassin were in heaven buying golden harps. Stoker rolled his eyes. Cassin and his new countess had saved his Yorkshire castle by transforming it into a luxury hotel with healing-water baths. It was a raging success, clearly a point of pride for the maid, but Stoker liked to tease Cassin about being the only earl in England who also worked as an innkeep.
The maid continued, “And his lordship isn’t due to return for a month. Lady Willow could not come because—well, she doesn’t even really know Mr. Stoker, does she? And also, who will manage the castle if both the earl and countess are away?”
“Who indeed?” Stoker heard Sabine say.
“But never fear,” boasted the maid, “Lady Willow asked me if I would come instead, and here I am. I shall look after Mr. Stoker, and without complaint, mind you, despite how disagreeable I find Londonorhow swollen or putrid or bilious he may be. This is the promise I have made.” Her voice had taken on the tenor of a vow.
“How fortunate we are,” said Sabine, clearing her throat. Stoker thought,Thank God. Save her from me, save her, save her...
“Now,” said the maid, “where shall I begin? Does Mr. Stoker require—”
“Sofortunate,” Sabine repeated, cutting her off. “I will write Willow straightaway and thank her for sparing you. Your ample talents will be put to good use, never fear. But Perry, you will be assistingme, not Mr. Stoker. His care is managed by me alone, I’m afraid.”
“Mr. Stoker’s care?” Perry confirmed.
“That’s right. I hope you don’t feel as if you’ve come all this way for nothing.”
Stoker took up the newspaper, now mangled against the sheet, and laid it over his face.
He heard the maid let out a sigh. “Oh no, I prefer it, honestly. Lady Willow said you would be overwhelmed, having to look after Mr. Stoker all by yourself, but I said I never knew Miss Sabine to be overwhelmed, not once.”
“Your faith in me is gratifying, truly,” he heard Sabine say. Next he heard footsteps, and Stoker swiped the paper away and stared at the door. Sabine closed it in one quick swing. The last thing he heard before it slammed was Perry exclaiming, “Well, if nothing else, I’m glad to have come because something really must be done about your hair—”
Click.
Stoker was locked in his room, restricted to this bed, and prisoner to his riotous body, a stew of lust and fear and regret.
