She peered over her shoulder. “Still breathing, but shallow breaths. He came ’round when David lifted him from the creek but fainted when we put him in the farm cart, and he hasn’t spoken since. Is Dr. Farley with you?”
“I didn’t wait. Clarion went back to guide him around the damaged bridge.” He neared the bed, taking in the old man’s naked chest and tangled hair.
“I cut his shirt off,” she said, indicating a ragged mess on the floor. A wad of clean linen covered his shoulder where she had cleaned a wound. The seepage of blood did not appear to be severe. His hair was wet where she had washed a head wound, and a smear of blood soiled the pillow slip.
“I think he cracked some ribs, too,” she said, gesturing helplessly. “No obvious breaks in his arms or legs, but his back—I just don’t know. We need Dr. Farley.”
“Clarion will find him and get him here as quick as can be done,” he murmured. In spite of his conflicts with the earl, Rob didn’t doubt him on this. He started to go around the bed, but Lucy rose. “Take my place here. I’ll see how Agnes is managing with the boys. She secured Andy’s arm, but she says it’s a bad break, and the doctor will have to set it.”
When she opened the door, the sound of voices rose from below.
“I found some of the men out front when I rode up,” Rob said. “I sent one to guard the wreckage. I don’t want anyone to touch it until I have a chance to examine that bridge. It was in perfect repair a week ago. I looked at it myself.”
She nodded. “I think the tenants and the villagers working up the hill are worried. I’ll talk to them.” She closed the door behind her and left him alone with the injured man.
Her departure left Rob oddly bereft, but he had little time to consider what that meant. He placed a gentle hand on the old man’s chest, relieved at the faint movement beneath his fingers. He looked around helplessly for something to do, anything to provide comfort. The water in the basin next to him had turned a muddy brown, and the old man’s face was clean enough. He hadn’t felt so helpless since the day he watched a platoon of men walk directly into a French ambush, too far away to intervene or even shout a warning. He picked up one slack hand and held it between both of his.
“Don’t leave me now, Da. Not before we talk.”
A flicker of an eyelash, quickly quieted, gave him hope.
“I’m here with you now, and the doctor is coming.” He took a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry I’ve been sidestepping that conversation. There’s much I need to know. Much you need to hear, not all of it good.”
Rob laid his head on the bed, the fragile fingers still cradled in his.
*
Hours later, Lucypushed a cart toward the drawing room with a pot of fresh tea and a platter of Agnes’s biscuits.
Vincent Thatcher slumped on her stairs, where he’d rested to wait for her, reluctant to share the drawing room with those he considered his betters. The physician had given Andy laudanum, and he’d been put in one of the guest rooms. Vincent wouldn’t leave him.
“If you insist on staying the night, I’ll have Cilla make up a pallet for you in Andy’s room, Thatcher, or we have rooms in the attic,” she said, filling his mug. He took an offered biscuit.
“Thank ye, ma’am. I’ll stay with my boy.”
“But if you want to go home, I can sit with him through the night. Dr. Farley says he’ll be right as rain after that arm heals, and the Bensons are here in force to look after their father.”
As if in response to her words, Eli Benson came down the stairs.
“How is he?” Lucy asked. There had been universal relief when Farley announced he saw no sign of back injury. He told them the response to foot and leg stimulus boded well. It was short-lived, as the innkeeper remained unconscious and unresponsive otherwise.
“Sleeping still,” Eli said with a worried frown. “Farley told us we’ll know more if he makes it through the night. Emma sits with him. She’ll fetch us if there is a change.”
If…“I had a room made up for your brother before you got here, but he won’t use it. You’re welcome to.”
“Thank you, Lucy. If I get sleepy, I’ll take you up on it.”
“I’ll be in Andy’s room,” Thatcher said, taking his coffee and biscuit up with him.
She pushed the cart ahead of Eli into the drawing room. Ellis Corbin had come, but he’d returned to Ashmead, walking through the woods before dark with the children. Brynn Morgan had been dragooned into seeing to the Willow. The earl had taken his son home, as well, promising to send for news in the morning. Paul Farley nodded in a winged-back chair by the empty hearth.
Sir Robert, who sat next to a table in the far corner, every nerve alert, watched them come in. He stuffed papers he’d been reading into his pocket. “Any change?”
Eli shook his head and pulled a chair up next to his brother. Wrapped in worry, their tense expressions enhanced a resemblance she hadn’t noticed before, more in their posture and gestures than their faces.How odd to resemble two people as different as David Caulfield and Eli Benson.
“Does Emma need a break?” Sir Robert asked.
Eli shook his head, reaching to the teacart for a biscuit. “She won’t leave his side.”
