Page 7

Robyn Fitzlloyd⁠—

Not quite Georgine’s nemesis, though a constant, irksome pebble in her slipper, he now spoke with a note of concern that seemed almost genuine—a disconcerting novelty from his lips.

“Doctor Tinsdale believes Georgie will probably not rouse until morning, Robyn,” his sister, Matilda, said. “She lost a significant amount of blood, and the shock alone is enough to keep her abed for some time. He’s wrapped her arm against her torso to prevent any movement of her shoulder.”

Doctor Tinsdale?

A doctor has been here?

What was Georgine’s prognosis?

“Did he leave instructions?” Robyn asked, a touch of impatience tempering the question.

Because of the inconvenience Georgine had caused his household?

She could hardly be faulted for taking a lead ball meant for another.

How long had she been unconscious, anyway?

“The physician removed the ball and sterilized and bandaged the wound, but because the bone was chipped, Doctor Tinsdale would like her monitored throughout the night.” Utter exhaustion leached into Matilda’s voice. “He left laudanum. Georgine will be in extreme pain when she awakens. He also advised that movement will worsen her discomfort, so we are to keep her as still as possible. Oh, and only small sips of water tonight. She’ll be thirsty, but he does not want to risk her vomiting and tearing the sutures.”

“Understandable,” Robyn murmured.

The sound of paper crackling carried to Georgine.

“He left a daily regimen, too, and said he would leave instructions with Mrs. Fennick on how to prepare the various tonics as well as what Georgine should eat to help her heal.” The paper rustled again. “She is to have warm bone broth with a spoonful of honey and garlic syrup in the morning. Midday, yarrow or thyme tea. Evening: elderberry cordial or chamomile tea with honey, and as needed, garlic-vinegar-honey tonic, but only small sips.”

None of which sounded the least appealing.

In truth, revolting better described Georgine’s invalid’s menu.

Robyn made a rough sound in his throat.

Annoyance? Displeasure? Frustration?

Disgust at the unappetizing menu?

“I’m relieved that’s not my fare. Poor Georgine.” Again, a note of genuine concern tempered his reply.

Well, that answered that question.

Georgine released a long, shallow breath.

How much would a chipped bone delay her recovery, and what did that mean for the use of her arm?

Alarm thrummed through her.

Would she have the use of her arm?

Matilda murmured something Georgine could not make out.

“Ah, I see.” Robyn’s tone was impossible to decipher. “Well, this should prove quite interesting.”

What should?

“Doctor Tinsdale will call in the morning to check on her progress,” Matilda said, scarcely above an exhausted whisper.

“You look done in, Mittie.” Weariness and affection tempered Robyn’s mellow baritone. “Why don’t you take a dinner tray in your room and then retire for the night? It is nearly half of nine already. Since it’s unlikely Miss Thackerly will awaken, I’ll have Agnes sit with her.”