The boy came near and waved his tiny fingers over Arthur’s face. “You seem to be awake to me, sir. Maybe you have the ’nesia. The maid said Bex, Arthur Bex.”
Arthur touched the bump on his head. It was inflamed and tender at his crown. “’Nesia, you say? Amnesia?”
“Yes. The ’Nesia,” the boy said. The little fellow’s leaping up and down was too loud for a dream. “Think on it, sir. Who are ya?”
Arthur swiped at his mouth. “This is no dream.”
“No, it isn’t, sir.”
But he wished it was a dream, for Arthur had said aloud his birth name. Oliver Arthur Bexeley was the name given to him by loving parents who had died of consumption when he was six. He smoothed his hand over his bandaged arm. “It’s coming back to me now, lad. Yes. That name I said, that was a role I’d performed years ago when I was about your age. My name is Bex, Arthur Bex.”
The boy grinned up big. “Good, sir. The girl said you were a famous actor. Don’t want you sick no more, or with the ’Nesia. My mama read a novel where the hero had that. She says he shoulda went to Bedlam.”
“No, I don’t want to go there, right, Es—”
Ester? Was she well? Did she get hurt in the crash? He thrashed until he sat up. “Where is she? Did she get injured?”
The boy waved his hands. “Sir, calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself or get more of that ’nesia.”
How could he? Ester could be hurt because he had pushed too hard. With his good hand, he grabbed the boy’s shirt collar. “Tell me if Miss Croome is well? Where is she?” Head pounding, he settled back down and released the boy. “She can’t be hurt because of me.”
“Sir, calm down. Your maid is in the servant’s quarters. She didn’t seem no hurt.”
It took a moment to understand what the boy said, for the blood rushed hard in Arthur’s ears. He fell back, pained in his chest. Ester was not hurt, but they thought Ester, his Ester, was a servant. “See if she’ll come to me. I must see her now.”
“Papa has her doing duties. He says she’s not very good at much, but she tries hard. I’m sure when she’s done, she can come, but I’ll tell her, her and Papa. Want that farthing.”
The boy walked to the door and stopped. “She was nice to me. Read me some more of Mama’s novel. She’s not stupid like what Mama says about them. She’s not dark as pitch, either.” With a shrug, the forthright scamp was out the door.
Arthur should feel better that one young mind had started to be changed about the races, one who had a lifetime to influence others. But Ester was no maid. She didn’t need to pretend to be one.
Oh, woman. She had donned another role, just to save Arthur’s sorry hide. She should’ve let him rot before debasing herself. Arthur had to right this now. He sat up all the way this time, but the throbbing to his head made him sink back upon the mattress. Nausea swept over him, and he hoped whatever was in his gut remained there.
The door opened, and an old man entered the room, but behind his hunched shoulder was Ester.
Arthur’s pulsed raced at the sight of her. She was not injured, no bandages or slings on her person, but she’d made a turban out of her shawl to cover her head. Did it hide a bandage or some other injury? Maybe she knew it would kill him to know he’d caused her to be hurt.
“Mr. Bex.” Her eyes looked glossy and bright as he sought her gaze.
The tap of the old man’s cane became louder as he crossed the floor. “Young fellow, my son who runs this place is busy. My grandboy, Timothy, said ye were awake.”
“I am, but is Miss Croome well?”
“Fine, Mr. Bex,” she said, “Brought you tea.”
“That was quite an accident, young fella. Took the men in the stables quite a while to fix, a day and a half.”
Arthur swallowed hard, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of Ester as she made a slight turn to the window.
“It will be dark in a few hours, sir.”
His stomach sickened. “We’ve been here a day and a half?”
“Yes, sir. Almost two days you’ve—ye been unconscious.” She said. “I paid the grooms with your purse. Been managing your expenses as usual, sir. Mr. Smythe here has been helpful finding me things to do.”
“Yes, your maid has been doing good, not lying about,” the old man said.
Ester smiled. “To serve, that’s me purpose.”
