“Well done, Sir Robert,” Clara said with a cocky grin. It had taken the girl a week or so to get over her awe of him, but she now treated him with the same teasing manner Emma did. She found it amusing to have him working the taproom.
“Can you handle the afternoon?” he asked, drying his hands. Rockford’s message still lingered in his coat pocket, and he needed to get to it.
“I think so, sir. I’ll call you if we get a rush,” she answered.
He got as far as the stairs, one arm in his coat sleeve, when the door slammed open. The sight of Clarion, disheveled, with filth along both sleeves of the coat that had been impeccable hours before, stunned him. Mud streaked the earl’s face, his hair stood up in disarray.
“Where is Sir Robert?” Clarion gasped for breath.
“Here!” Rob called from the stairs stuffing his other arm into his coat. “What has happened?”
“There’s been an accident. At Willowbrook.”
“Lucy?” Rob sucked in a breath.
“No, no. Your father. I sent your ostler for Doctor Farley.”
“Da? He left here fine over two hours ago.” Rob clambered down the steps. “What happened?”
“I’m not entirely certain. The Thatcher boy—Andy—said they were crossing the little bridge over the creek, and it gave underneath them. The trap slid backward into the stream.”
Rob’s mind sped up. That bridge had been fine when he checked it.
“Andy made it up to the manor to alert us, but I fear your father landed under the trap down in the creek. He’s hit his head, damaged his shoulder, and God knows what else. We managed to get him up to the manor, but he needs the doctor.”
“Alice, Emma is up at the assembly rooms cleaning. Tell her Mr. Benson has been hurt, but Dr. Farley has been sent for, and I’m on my way to Willowbrook.” The girl started to run. “Calmly, please,” he called after her. “Don’t spread alarm.”God knows I have enough for all of us.
He didn’t wait for Clarion to follow when he ran to the stable, berating himself for letting the old man go in his place, for working Khalija so hard hours before, for side-stepping every opportunity to make peace with the man who now lay injured at Willowbrook. The thought that there may not be another chance ate at him.
They reached the damaged bridge quickly. The trap lay upside down, smashed among the rocks below, and a blanket covered the head of Lucy’s Buttercup.
“Broke two legs. I had to put him down,” Clarion murmured.
“We can take a closer look later,” Rob said, backing up so Khalija could take a running leap over the stream. A sudden thought unleashed a stream of curses. “How is Dr. Farley going to get across? He drives a tilbury.”
“There’s an easy ford on Caulfield land. Corbin will lend him a horse. I’ll go back and bring him up the hill that way,” Clarion said, riding off without pausing.
Rob guided Khalija through the brush toward a narrowing in the bank, and his mount took the stream with ease, leaving Rob grateful for the great beast’s stamina. He slid off in front of Willowbrook, where three of the men he’d sent to work on the stable lingered. Aaron Miller wasn’t among them. Martin Abbott reached for Khalija’s reins.
“We brought Mr. Benson up to the guest rooms, Sir Robert,” Abbott said.
“Thank you.” His eyes went to an upper story window. It was on his tongue to ask if he still lived, but he’d see for himself.
“We’ll go down and see to the wreck.”
“No!” Rob spun around to face them. “Leave it exactly as you found it. I’ll have a look later. In fact, I’d be grateful if one of you would see to my horse, and one go watch the damage. Don’t let anyone near it.”
Abbott pulled his forelock, a gesture that still unnerved Rob, and bolted off down the drive.
Rob bounded into the house. “Lucy? Miss Whitaker?” he called. He didn’t wait for a response. He took the stairs two at a time and ran toward Andy, ashen-faced, in a chair in the hall, his arm cradled in a sling. The earl’s son stood next to Andy, holding a mug of willow-bark tea, a worried frown marring his young face.
“I’m so sorry, Sir Robert,” Andy moaned. “One minute we were tooling along, the next the whole thing went out from under us, and we turned over into the stream.”
“Where’s my father?” Rob demanded.
The woman named Agnes came to the door of the room behind him. “In here.”
Rob froze just inside the room. Da lay on the bed pale as death. On the chair beside him, Lucy Whitaker gently washed his face. “Is—” He couldn’t say the words.
