Chapter 40

Forty

OUTSIDE OF HART AND SOLICITORS, LONDON - JUNE 28, 1816

CELINE

For years after Gabriel died, I had nightmares of that morning. Almost daily, I woke on a tear-filled gasp convinced my hands were still dripping in his blood.

This was nothing like that yet somehow… exactly like that. The acrid smoke burned my lungs. My throat revolted with every breath, a combination of bruising, soot, and the agonizing knot that called it home.

I didn't know how long I sat on the pavement with William's head in my lap, brushing bloody curls away from his face and counting each and every precious breath.

"Celine?" A worried voice came from above me. I was unwilling to look away from William's face to confirm, but it sounded like Kit.

He knelt before me—it was Kit, wearing a look of horror. "Is he…"

"He's still breathing," my voice was hoarse and unrecognizable. "Can you go fetch a doctor?"

"Right, yes." Awkwardly, he clambered up and raced off without another word.

Dimly, I recognized that the heat from the flames was lessening, that the smoke was dissipating somewhat. The shouts from the bucket line dulled.

Another person collapsed beside me. Orange hair, the color of the now subdued fire—Mrs. Ainsley. Wordlessly she pressed a cloth to the wound on William's head, holding pressure. My stomach dropped with the understanding that I should have been doing that.

"What can I do?" someone asked from above me. The voice was familiar, but I couldn't place it without looking away, and I couldn't—wouldn't.

"The bird," I croaked.

"What?"

"The bird," I tried again, nodding toward where he lay. "Is he… is he alive?"

"Uh… it's trying to get up, but it looks like it's got a damaged wing. What happened to it?"

"He saved me," I whispered through tears. "Can you bring him over?"

"I— Should I touch— I don't know…"

"Augie," Mrs. Ainsley snapped, confirming his identity. "Pick up the damn bird."

"Yes. Sorry." Large hands appeared before my face, clasping a struggling, ruffled, but very much alive bird. He hopped out of the hand with an irritated flap of his unaffected wing and flopped on the ground beside me. Using his beak for leverage, he pulled himself onto my knee, where he nudged my arm with his head.

"Thank you," I breathed.

Chirp-chirp.

We sat in vigil, the four of us, for some time before Kit returned with a doctor who joined us on the lamplit walkway with his bag.

"What happened?"

"He was attacked. I didn't see it, but I think he was hit with a board over there somewhere," I nodded. "I saw him kicked in the stomach or the ribs… It was from a distance."

He pulled Mrs. Ainsley's hand away from the wound. No gush of blood came forth and that was a relief.

"Just the one blow to the head?"

"I don't— I think so."

"Was he unconscious when you found him?"

"No, and he woke up for a moment."

Nodding thoughtfully, he reached down to probe Will's ribs. A quiet groan came from deep in his chest, and it was the sweetest sound I had ever heard.

Still hovering above us, Kit asked, "Will, can you hear me?"

"Shh," Will murmured through closed lips. I lied before— that was the sweetest sound. I choked on something that might have been a laugh or a sob, it was impossible to tell.

"All good signs," the doctor added. "As long as he does not take a turn, he will likely recover to some extent."

"To some extent?" I demanded, panic flooding me again.

"Head injuries are tricky business, miss…"

"Hart," I lied, needing to say it—at least once.

"He may be completely fine. He may never be the same. He may never wake up. The only way to know for certain is time. There are a few broken ribs here too," he prodded Will's ribcage, earning another groan. "They don't feel out of alignment though. Those aren't life-threatening, but they're certainly painful. Unfortunately, anything we give him for pain could make his head worse. He is in for a long few nights."

"There's no way to tell?"

"We'll know more if he wakes fully. In the meantime, we'll need to get a stretcher built and get him somewhere more comfortable. Where are his lodgings?" Everyone pointed simultaneously to the charred second floor of the building.

"Perhaps somewhere else then," he responded.

Mrs. Ainsley slipped her hand over mine and squeezed gently. Offering what comfort she could.

The doctor turned to me. "And you? Is your throat the worst of your injuries?"

"Yes," I answered with a hollow tone.

"Are there any others injured?"

"The man who hit him, I stabbed him in the foot. And I kicked him between the legs."

"Well done!" Kit interrupted.

"I think one of the gentlemen has him and his accomplice restrained over there," I nodded toward the alley.

"I'll take you to them," Mrs. Ainsley volunteered, her tone conveying the displeasure she had with the task. "You two work on a stretcher," she instructed.

One by one, the onlookers dissipated, the darkened alley and street emptying. And I sat there on the pavement as people grumbled while they passed, annoyed that they had to maneuver around us.

William's hand was still in mine, and his chest rose and fell with each precious breath.

"Lady Rycliffe?" Mrs. Ainsley asked. "The constable would like a word. I tried to explain that this wasn't the best time, but…"

"He'll have to come here. I'm not moving him."

"Of course." She wandered off, returning a moment later with a portly gentleman.

"Lady Rycliffe? I'd like to get your version of events if you don't mind."

"It's a long story, and I'm not entirely certain how those two fit in. Tonight I arrived to see William being kicked and beaten. I pulled my knife and a sharpened piece of wood and stabbed the rotten-smelling one in the foot and kicked him in the privates. I caught the other one around the neck with a knife before realizing the fire was blazing. I called for help."

"And the longer version?"

"Not tonight, please?"

He gave an irritable sigh before agreeing to call on me in two days. By the time he finished, Kit and Mr. Ainsley had returned with a makeshift stretcher and a plan to take Will to Kit's to rest for the night.

Will gave another pained groan when they moved him, but his hand tightened on mine.

I hurried alongside the stretcher down the street, grasping Will's fingers, the bird resting on his knee.