Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

GWINNIE TAKES A HIT

" R ose, I received an odd feeling from Miss Southerland," Gwinnie said, as the coach left Green Street. "I don't think she likes how Mrs. Southerland ran the charity. I'm not even sure they were friends. What did you learn in the kitchen from Miss Wooler and any of the women about?"

"I would agree with you. She didn't know how Mrs. Southerland ran the charity. She came in assuming she needed to be all formal and strict. Miss Wooler told me she and Mrs. Albert have been trying to educate her on how things were run, but it's like she don't believe 'em. Miss Wooler confessed to me she may have to find another position if Miss Southerland continues down the path she took when she first came. She has frightened the women."

"I noticed she calls them girls like they were 16 or 17."

"Yes. But since she hasn't been there even two full days yet, Mrs. Albert and Miss Wooler are willing to give her time to learn more about the house. They have told the women to have patience, too," Rose said.

"I told Miss Southerland I would return near the end of the week; however, we will return tomorrow, or should I say Sarah Knolls will return tomorrow. Sarah is not inclined to wait until the end of the week. Nor will she send advance notice, as Miss Southerland requested, for I'm certain advanced notice is something I will forget before now and tomorrow," Gwinnie said airily.

Rose laughed. "That sounds like a Dowager Duchess of Malmsby decision."

"One should always learn from the best," Gwinnie told her gravely, then the two women burst into laughter.

"I jest hope she learns before any of the women run away, back to the former lives they fled," Rose said, shaking her head.

"Can you share any details of what you learned is going on?"

Rose compressed her lips a moment. "Miss Wooler said this morning she made 'em come single file into the dining room. There was to be no talking, no laughing, no smiling, and no one was to leave the table until all were ready to leave."

"Why?"

Rose shrugged. "I asked Miss Wooler the same thing and she didn't know. But isn't that how some women's institutions are run?" she offered.

Gwinnie thought about that. "I believe the Magdalen Hospital is strict. They offer tours; however, I have never been there. Maybe Miss Southerland has."

"She might have gone there to find new maids."

"Yes, that's possible," Gwinnie agreed. She stared out the carriage window as she thought about their meeting with Miss Southerland. "I shall have to speak to Lord Soothcoor," she said. "Oh, look, we've lost our sunshine today. The clouds are coming in again. It was so nice this morning, I hope it doesn't bring more rain— or worse, snow again."

Rose looked out the other window. "I was hopin' for a more pleasant winter and spring than we had last year."

"I'll take the sun whenever I can get it," Gwinnie said, as their coach drew up before Malmsby House.

Stephen came down the front steps to open the carriage door for them, lower the step, and hand her out.

Gwinnie smiled, thanked him, and then stepped away while he handed Rose out of the carriage. "Thank?—"

Something hard and sharp hit her. Pain exploded in her head. She heard Rose screaming. She felt herself falling…

The next thing she knew, someone was carrying her by her legs and someone else carried her under her arms up the stairs before the house.

"Why wasn't Mr. Martin with her?" she heard her father's voice say from her feet.

"As we was coming straight home, he went investigating the neighborhood," she heard Rose say, her voice quivering.

"We'll carry her to the Lady Margaret Parlor," her father said.

"Put me down," she complained, her words garbled and slurred. Her head ached, and she couldn't seem to open her eyes, but she wasn't lost to all sensibility, with her dress hiked up so her father could carry her legs, her dress dragged on the ground. Who carried her with their arms under her breasts? She weakly tried to kick her legs out of her father's hold.

"Stop it, Gwinnie," he ordered.

"I can walk," she complained, disgusted with how weak the words sounded to her own ears.

"Stephen, get the parlor door then fetch a doctor."

If it wasn't Stephen carrying her, who—? She couldn't think. Her head hurt too much. She felt she might pass out again, and that, she did not want.

Finally, she felt the cushioning of her grandmother's sofa as they laid her down. It amused her that her father thought to pull her skirts back down to cover her legs and tuck them around her after the way he carried her.

"Lord Soothcoor," she heard Rose say. Soothcoor !

"Please hold her shoulders up so I might remove her coat and bonnet," Rose requested.

Gwinnie couldn't help the whimper that escaped her lips as Rose made quick work of her hat and coat. Finally, Soothcoor laid her down against the pillows. Someone threw a heavy wool shawl across her legs.

Gwinnie felt embarrassed that it had been her father and Lord Soothcoor who had to carry her in. None of the other male servants in the house were tall enough to get the proper leverage to get her off the ground. Drat her size! Oh! Where was Lancelot— that idiot twin of hers— when she needed him? He could have brought her in easily— Lucky him. He was at his Viscount Lakehurst property in the Cotswolds with his new bride.

She wanted to cry, and she didn't know if it was from the pain or the continued reminder she was too tall—or from both.

"I'll fetch Mrs. Hunnicutt," she heard Rose say. "We'll get a cool compress for your head, mi lady. Don't worry, there is no blood."

Blood! Gwinnie hadn't even thought about blood. She forced her eyes open, squinting against the light. She wished Merlin were here, but after the Christmas holidays, he'd escorted Grandmother back to Versely Park and then he'd also gone on to the Cotswolds to administer to the people in the villages near Lancelot's estate that did not have a physician.

Her father and Lord Soothcoor drew up chairs near the sofa.

"What happened?" her father asked. He grabbed her hand, his eyes glistened. "Did you see anyone?"

Gwinnie's heart twisted to see the tears of fear and love in her father's eyes. She tried to shake her head, but it hurt too much. "No, no one. It happened so fast! I don't even know what hit me."

"A brick!" her father said angrily. "Stephen tried to run after the bounder, but he got away. Soothcoor and I were in the front library and heard Rose screaming and came running."

"Need to… hire… taller servants." Gwinnie managed to say with a slight smile.

"Taller servants?" her father asked.

"To carry… me."

Her father shook his head. He looked up at Soothcoor. "Even in pain she makes jokes."

Rose returned with Mrs. Hunnicutt. "I chipped a piece of ice off the block in the cellar," Rose said. "The water should be very cold to help take the swelling down."

"Thank you," His Grace said as Mrs. Hunnicutt wrung out the cloth and laid it across Gwinnie's head.

"Oh, that does feel good. Thank you," she sighed for the blissful numbing cold.

"Lady Guinevere, you must wake up," a kindly male voice said. "Wake up, Lady Guinevere," the voice repeated.

Gwinnie wrinkled her brow. "No, sleep…"

"Lady Guinevere, I need to examine you. Wake up, my dear," said the voice.

Reluctantly, Gwinnie squinted her eyes open.

"That's good, now open them more… Mrs. Hunnicutt, would you close the drapes please. Sometimes with head injuries, any light can be painful."

The housekeeper hurried to close the drapes across the terrace door and on the long window next to the door.

"Thank you. Can you open your eyes more now?" the voice asked.

Gwinnie opened her eyes wider. "Oh, it's you, Dr. Walcott," she said.

"Yes. You have quite a knot on your head. You are beginning to show the bruising from that brick that hit you," he told her. "You are lucky it did not cut the skin and necessitate stitches. Now, I'm going to check your head. I know your entire head hurts, but let's see if we can ensure no bone is broken. I'm going to press lightly. You tell me if it suddenly hurts worse."

Gwinnie felt his fingers lightly push on her cheeks, her nose, her brows, her forehead, and all around where the brick hit.

"You are lucky, I do not detect any cracked or broken head bone."

"And the bruising?"

"It appears to be settling on the side of your face and under your eye. There is also a bit of skin scraping as well. You were lucky the brick did not hit your eye. You will display mottled shades of purple, blue, yellow, and red for a few days. Keep a cold compress against it to relieve the swelling. I shall leave some laudanum for you."

Gwinnie made a face. "I detest that stuff."

"Be that as it may, it does a wonder to get you to relax so your body can heal. Without it, you may be too tense to relax, and that is not good for healing. You only need to take a full dose at night, unless you suffer excruciating pain. I trust you to judge what is the pain severity. However, I do expect you to take the medicine to help you sleep. Sleep is what you need the most. I suggest you take a teaspoon in a glass of water now for the pain. If you fall asleep, know it is not the laudanum that sent you to sleep, but your worn-out body. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Dr. Walcott," she said softly. "I will take a little now. Hopefully, between it and a refreshed cold compress, the pounding in my head will ease."

"Lord Soothcoor and I will be in the library should you need us," the duke said to Rose.

"Yes, Your Grace," Rose returned.

"I will stay a bit longer to ensure she only falls asleep and not unconscious," Mr. Walcott said.

"Thank you, doctor," the duke said. He led Soothcoor out of the room.

"Mr. Martin! It is good you are here!" said Stephen as he opened the door to let Lewis in.

The footman looked shaken. "What's occurred?" Lewis demanded.

"'Tis Lady Gwinnie," the young man said. He gulped. "She's been hurt."

Lewis's blood ran cold. "How?" He grabbed the man's forearms.

"Someone threw a brick. I helped her out of the carriage and then someone threw a brick at her!"

Lewis gripped the man's arm tighter. "How bad?"

"I don't know. The doctor is with her. In the Lady Margaret Parlor."

"Bloody Hell!"

The door to the parlor burst open, banging against the wall. Lewis rushed over to Gwinnie, ignoring everyone in the room.

"Stephen told me of the attack on you when I came in." He kneeled beside the sofa, his breathing harsh. "I should have been here as your guard. I would have been on the watch." He started to reach out his left hand to touch her, then drew the hand back.

Gwinnie grabbed for his hand, drawing it toward her. She laughed slightly. "You can't be everywhere at once, Mr. Martin. And you need to be investigating Mrs. Southerland's death."

"You are right. I can't do both." He ran his right hand through his blond waves, content to let Gwinnie hold his other. "It appears the living need more care than the deceased. I need to talk to your father and Lord Soothcoor," Lewis said, gently sliding his hand free of hers and rising to his feet.

"Don't go!" Gwinnie implored him, reaching out. Then she stopped, her hand falling to her side. "My apologies, I am just so confused and hurting. I don't understand what happened or why. Just seeing you relaxes me and sends the pain away, for I know you will make it all right."

She smiled up at him, a smile that ripped at his heart. "I think that is what makes me feel better. My apologies," she finished softly.

"Do not apologize, Lady Guinevere. What you speak of is my job, and I am grateful that you trust me to do my job." He raised her hand to kiss her knuckles. "Rest now. Know that those who care for you are taking all precautions they can to see to your safety. Where are His Grace and Lord Soothcoor?"

Gwinnie frowned. "They were here a while ago."

"They are in the library," Rose said.

"Thank you," he said. He looked down at Gwinnie a moment longer, then he nodded toward the doctor and left the room.

Lewis closed the door gently behind him. He stood still for a moment. His heart was racing. He took in a deep breath and slowly let it out.

When Stephen had told him Lady Guinevere had been hurt by a brick thrown at her, a panic gripped him. He'd never felt anything like it before. He'd run ahead of Stephen and flung open the door of the Lady Margaret Parlor, not waiting for Stephen to announce him. When he'd gone down on his knees by her side, it had been all he could do not to grab her to his chest.

What was going on with him? He liked and admired Lady Guinevere, yes. He saw her as the type of woman he would choose to marry. But the feelings rioting through him were beyond friendship. They nearly overwhelmed him. They had to stop. He would be useless to his investigations if these emotions could shake his steady manner.

He gritted his teeth. I am a bastard , he reminded himself. I am not worthy of Lady Guinevere.

Besides, he told himself with cruel humor as his heart rate slowed and his normal manner returned, she did not like men shorter than she stood, even if only by a few inches.

"Mr. Martin, are you all right?" asked Stephen, approaching him from his position by the door.

Lewis turned to him, his natural wry smile gracing his lips again. "Yes, thank you, Stephen. I was taking a moment to sift through my thoughts before I speak with His Grace. Did you see who threw the brick at Lady Guinevere?" he asked, his Bow Street manner returning, pushing emotions aside.

"No sir, I was helping Rose descend from the carriage. Lady Guinevere stood on the walkway waiting for her maid."

"How far away from you would you say Lady Guinevere stood?"

Stephen thought for a moment. "I'd say six to seven feet?" he offered, his tone uncertain.

"What happened when she was hit?"

"I saw her go down. Rose screamed and rushed to her as I looked to see where the brick had come from. I saw a man running down the walk, then cross the street at an angle. I started to run after him, but Lady Guinevere needed me more."

"Was there anyone else on the street? Any street vendors, pedestrians, carriages? Anyone who might have seen the man? Might have seen what happened?"

Color drained from Stephen's face, his expression stricken. "The street-cleaning boy! He started to come to see what had happened to Lady Guinevere, but I waved him away and told him to go about his business."

Lewis reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a sixpence coin. It was the smallest he had. Regardless, if the boy could identify the man, Lewis would give him a crown. "Ask the lad to come here to tell us what he saw, and give him this to cover any tips he might miss."

"I'll announce myself to the duke and Lord Soothcoor," Lewis told him. "Please take my greatcoat and hat before you get the boy." He took off his greatcoat, remembering to get the pad of handkerchiefs from the pocket, and handed the coat, his hat, and gloves to Stephen.

"Right away, Mr. Martin. I wish I'd known— I didn't think—" Stephen sputtered.

"There is no reason you should have thought of the street sweeper," Lewis assured him. "Do not worry, just get the lad, now."

"Yes, sir."

Lewis approached the library door and knocked.

"Come in," he heard the duke say.

"Excuse me, Your Grace," Lewis said, opening the door.

"Come in, come in," said the Duke of Malmsby, waving him forward. "Did Stephen tell you what happened to Gwinnie?"

"He did, Your Grace. I went to see her before I came here. I also spoke to Stephen about the incident."

"Excellent."

"I hope you do not mind, but I have sent him out to fetch the street cleaner boy. That leaves you without a footman by the door."

"Street cleaner?"

"Yes, Your Grace, he was up the street nearer the brick thrower. He might be able to tell us more."

The duke looked at Lord Soothcoor who sat opposite him. "I saw him, too, and didn't even think?—"

Soothcoor shook his head. "I didn't either, I was too caught up in picking up my end of Lady Guinevere without causing her too much embarrassment."

"She is a tall woman," her father said with a laugh.

"Yes, but she isn't nearly as heavy as one might assume her to be," Soothcoor said.

"You carried her in?" Lewis asked, surprised, then wondered why he should be surprised. The duke was her father and Soothcoor, his friend. He knew the footman Jimmie was laid up with a sprained ankle.

"Malmsby and I did."

"What about the footman, Stephen?"

"I sent him to fetch the doctor," the duke said. "But come in and take a seat," he said, indicating the other chair in front of his desk.

Lewis sat down but stood up again immediately when they heard the front door open. He crossed to the library door to open it again. Stephen and a scruffy young boy about Daniel's age came into the house. He recognized the street cleaner.

"Robbie Gilgorn! When have you taken up street cleaning?" Lewis asked. He removed the cap from the boy's head and handed it back to him.

Robbie stuffed the cap in his jacket pocket. "Johnny's sick. 'e arsked if'n I'd take 'is spot whilst 'e be sick."

"That was nice of him."

"Naw, jest pertect'n 'is turf."

Lewis laughed. "Smart lad. Robbie, this is His Grace, the Duke of Malmsby, and this is his lordship, the Earl of Soothcoor."

Robbie bowed to each man solemnly.

"So, Master Gilgorn, tell us what you saw," Malmsby said, leaning forward, his hands folded on the desk. "Did you see the man who threw the brick?"

"Cor, yes. 'e were walk'n the street fer more than an 'our like," the boy said disgustedly.

"An hour!" exclaimed Malmsby.

Robbie nodded. "We jawed a bit. Said 'e were wait'n fer sum one."

Lewis led him over to the chair he'd been sitting in and urged him to sit. He thought the boy might feel more comfortable if he felt he were having a more equal level conversation and would offer more information."

"In talking to him, did you get his name?" Lewis asked?

"Naw— 'e started to tell me, but stopped, says I don't need to know 'is name— but ta begin'n 'ad that same sound as Frankie Egan."

"An ‘F' sound," said Lord Soothcoor.

Robbie shrugged. "I ain't lettered, I don't knowed ta letters, but it 'ad a sound close, like fff , like Frankie, like I says."

"Did you tell him your name?"

The boy looked at Lewis with disgust. "Naw, I knowed better. Says I were Sam."

Lewis grinned. "Good lad. Can you describe him? For a good description I'll give you a crown."

Robbie sat up straighter. "I ken do better. I ken draws him," he said proudly.

Malmsby, Soothcoor, and Lewis exchanged glances, then Malmsby leaned back and opened his desk drawer to pull out paper and a pencil. "Can you draw him now?" he asked as he pushed the items to the boy. "I'll see if my staff can get us refreshments while you work."

"Any sweets?" the boy asked, as he pulled the paper and pencil toward himself.

"Of course," assured Malmsby with a smile. He rang for Stephen and gave him instructions while the boy started sketching.

Lewis looked over at the drawing emerging on the paper. The boy had raw talent. Lewis had known the boy for a couple of years, hanging on the fringes of Daniel's former mudlark gang, but he would never have guessed the boy was a natural artist. He needed a teacher.

Maybe Soothcoor could get him into one of his schools.

A few minutes later a maid entered, walking carefully, carrying a loaded tea tray."

"Place the tea things on the table by the window," the duke directed. "Thank you, Mercy, we will serve ourselves."

"Yes, Your Grace. The doctor is about ready to leave. Said he's satisfied Lady Guinevere won't go unconscious."

Malmsby rose to his feet. "Thank you, Mercy. I will speak to the doctor before he leaves. Gentlemen, please serve yourselves.

Lewis looked over Robbie's shoulder. "I think I've seen this man before." He frowned, his mind whirling as it went through the scenarios that might bring the man's identity to mind.

Lewis turned to walk to the tea things as he thought. He poured himself and Robbie a cup of tea, putting plenty of sugar and milk in the boy's cup. He put an apple tart by the boy's cup and carried everything to the desk.

"Thankee, Mr. Martin. An' I'm done wit ta sketch as best as I ken 'member 'im," Robbie said.

Lewis clapped him on the shoulder. "You did a good job. We can use this to spread the word at Bow Street. I think I've seen him before, but I can't think where."

"When we was jaw'n, 'e says sumpth'n 'bout never should 'ave agreed. Says 'e never wants to be a Brown Bear guest agin. Does that 'elp any?"

Lewis grinned. He patted Robbie on the shoulder, then reached into his jacket pocket. "Here's the crown I promised you."

"Cor! I thought that were just jaw'n!"

"Your Da's a stone mason, correct?"

"Aye."

"This should help your family get through the winter until your Da's work picks up again."

"Aye, Mr. Martin! Thankee! Ken I go now? Johnny's depend'n on me to keep 'is street clean."

"What do you think, Lord Soothcoor? Can he leave?" Lewis asked.

"Do you know where he lives?" Soothcoor asked.

"Yes."

"Then yes, but I think he needs another tart for his help," the earl suggested.

Lewis laughed and fetched one, handing it to the boy. "Thank you, Robbie, for your help."

"Will her ladyship be all right?" the boy asked anxiously.

"We think so."

He dramatically wiped the back of his hand against his forehead. "Phew. That's good ta know. She's a right one."

"That she is," agreed Lewis.

Robbie rose from the chair and followed Lewis to the door. "Ya need anythin' else drawed, I can do it for ya— fer a price a'course."

"Naturally. And I may take you up on that," Lewis said, as he saw him out the front door.

The duke came out of the Lady Margaret Parlor just then. "We need to get Gwinnie up to her bed chamber. Dr. Walcott doesn't want to give her any additional laudanum until she is in bed, and she vehemently agrees."

"We can carry her up like the Duke of Ellinbourne and I carried Miss Anne up the stairs when she injured her ankle at Versely Park."

"How was that?" the duke asked.

Lewis held his arms out before him crossed. "We crossed our arms and held each other's forearms, had her sit on our arms while she had her arms around our necks. We also had someone walk behind us to ensure she did not fall backward."

"I can help you to do that, unless you have a groom you'd prefer to do it with me?"

He glared again at Lewis. "I'm a father before I'm a duke. Let's do this. Soothcoor can follow behind."

They collected Soothcoor from the library and then helped Gwinnie to her feet.

"Oh, my head is spinning," she said.

"Just stay standing for a moment, that should fade," Lewis said. He told her how they intended to get her upstairs.

"And you carried Ann upstairs this way?"

"Yes."

"I'm willing to try," she said.

The duke and Lewis crossed arms and grabbed each other's forearms. Gwinnie reached around to twine her arms about their necks, then sat on their arms.

"Ready, Your Grace?" Lewis said. "Lift."

"Oh!" Gwinnie exclaimed.

"Anything wrong?" her father asked.

"No, just surprised."

The men walked, carrying Gwinnie between them, Soothcoor following. Rose ran ahead to clear their way. They made their way slowly down the hall to the stairway and then slowly climbed each stair together.

"It's a little unnerving not to touch the handrail," the duke said.

Lewis laughed. "Yes, but we're doing fine. How are your wrists holding out?"

"Better than I imagined, but not as good as I might hope," admitted His Grace.

Rose opened the door directly into Gwinnie's bed chamber, bypassing the dressing room. She pulled down the bedding before they turned to let her lie back. Her father helped her get her legs up on the bed.

Lewis took in the bed chamber décor. He thought it suited Gwinnie. It was done in a pale blue-green. It wasn't overly frilly, more elegant than full of frills. He could imagine her with her red hair down, spread across the pillows?—

He pulled his thoughts up sharply and backed away from the bed. "That should make you more comfortable." He turned toward the duke. "I need to take the sketch to Bow Street. I'll return tomorrow, Your Grace," he said stiffly. He turned and left the room before he was tempted to linger and allow more visions of Gwinnie to come into his mind.