Portia threw down the book she’d been reading.
“Good lord!” Cordelia yelped, then groaned as her ribs ached powerfully.
“What’s happened?” Portia asked, her brow furrowing. When people spoke loudly enough for Portia to hear, she knew something was wrong. She slipped off the bed and knelt down in front of her sister, pushing Cordelia’s mess of curls away from her face.
“I’ve done my ribs, I think,” Cordelia said, taking Portia’s hands.
“Let’s see then,” Portia replied.
When Cordelia was back on her feet, Portia helped her unbutton the breeches, hiking the long shirt up and tucking it under her armpits. Portia clicked her tongue as she surveyed the damage.
“Bad?” Cordelia asked. But she already knew what the answer would be. Blue and purple splotches had spread on her abdomen like spilled ink. The pinpricks were in her vision again, and she took a shallow breath to try to steady herself.
“You couldn’t have done this tomorrow, or the day after?” Portia said, shaking her head.
“No,” Cordelia snapped. “And why should it matter anyway?”
There was a knock at the door. “That’s Dolly with the warm water,” she said, leaning against one of the pillars of her bed.
Portia went to answer it.
“Lia? What’s h-h-happened? The servants downstairs are in a f-f-f—”
“Flap?” Portia finished on behalf of her younger sister.
Hermione was carrying a steaming pitcher of water. “Dolly g-g-ave me th-this,” she said, shutting her eyes to help force the words out. Hermione’s stammer was always worse when she was stressed.
“Hermione, it’s nothing. I just took a bad fall this afternoon.”
Hermione gasped. “It doesn’t l-l-look like nothing!”
Portia wrestled the pitcher out of her hands. “Are you going to help or keep staring like a fool?”
“What’s going on in here? I can hear you down the hall!” Bea said, slamming the bedroom door behind her, rattling a few picture frames.
“Hush, Bea!” Cordelia scolded.
“Oh my God!” Bea clapped a hand over her mouth. “You look terrible!”
“Bea, go and get some biscuits and tea from the kitchen. Bring plenty of sugar, understand? And not a word of this to anyone, especially Mrs. Norris!” Portia said. Her gravelly voice took on an authoritarian quality when she needed it to.
Happy to have something to do and a secret to keep, Bea tiptoed out of the bedroom and into the hallway.
“And you,” Portia added. “Fetch some fresh clothes, and some rouge.”
“R-r-rouge?” Hermione asked. “Mrs. Norris won’t approve.”
“I didn’t ask you what Mrs. Norris would think!” Portia snapped. “Now, go!”
“I’m not sure rouge would make me look any better,” Cordelia said.
Portia shrugged her shoulders. “Well, we’ll need to try.”
Cordelia braced herself against the bedpost as Portia pressed the warm cloth to her ribcage. Though it ached, it also soothed the pain somewhat. She sighed in relief.
“How exactly did this happen?” Portia asked, eyeing her elder sister with a raised eyebrow.
“I took Brutus out for a ride,” she replied, almost at a whisper.
