“Devon,” she begged, “you must lie down – there’s a stretcher right here. They have to bring you into the house. I’ll stay with you, I promise.”
He was motionless except for the violent shivers that ran through his frame.
“Darling,” Kathleen whispered near his ear with anguished worry, “please let go of me.”
He responded with an indecipherable sound, his arms cinching harder around her… and he began to fall as he lost consciousness.
Thankfully, the footmen were right there to grab Devon before he crushed Kathleen under his solid weight. As they pulled him away from her and lowered him to the stretcher, her dazed brain comprehended the word he’d said.
Never.
Chapter 18
D
uring the process of settling Devon onto the stretcher, the hem of his wet shirt rode up. Kathleen and Mrs. Church gasped simultaneously as they saw a hideous purple-black bruise the size of a dinner plate, spreading across the left side of his rib cage and chest.
Kathleen blanched as she thought of the blunt force it had taken to cause such an injury. Surely he must have broken ribs. Desperately she wondered if one of his lungs might have collapsed. Carefully she bent to arrange one of his sprawled arms against his side. How shocking it was to see a man of his vitality lying there so limp and still.
Mrs. Church settled a blanket over him and told the footmen, “Take him up to the master bedroom. Softly… no jostling. Treat him as if he were a newborn babe.”
After counting in unison, the footmen lifted the stretcher. “A babe that weighs fourteen stone,” one of them grunted.
Mrs. Church tried to look stern, but the corners of her eyes crinkled briefly. “Mind your tongue, David.”
Kathleen followed behind the footmen, swiping impatiently at the film of tears over her eyes.
Walking beside her, the housekeeper murmured consolingly, “There, there. Don’t distress yourself, my lady. We’ll soon have him patched up and as good as new.”
Although Kathleen longed to believe her, she whispered tightly, “He’s so bruised and feeble – he might have internal injuries.”
“He didn’t seem so feeble as all that, a moment ago,” the housekeeper observed dryly.
Kathleen turned scarlet. “He was overwrought. He didn’t know what he was doing.”
“If you say so, my lady.” Mrs. Church’s slight smile faded as she continued. “I think we should save our worry for Mr. Winterborne. Just before Mr. Ravenel was carried inside, he said that Mr. Winterborne’s leg is broken and he’s also been blinded.”
“Oh, no. We must find out if he wants us to send for someone.”
“I would be surprised if he did,” the housekeeper said pragmatically as they entered the house.
“Why do you say that?” Kathleen asked.
“If he had anyone, he wouldn’t have come here alone for Christmas in the first place.”
While Dr. Weeks attended to Devon’s injuries, Kathleen went to visit West.
Even before she reached the open door of his room, she heard noise and laughter drifting into the hallway. She stood at the threshold, watching with a touch of fond resignation as she saw West sitting up in bed, regaling a group that included a half-dozen servants, Pandora, Cassandra, both dogs, and Hamlet. Helen stood beside a lamp, reading the temperature of a glass thermometer.
Thankfully West no longer appeared to be shivering, and his color had improved.
“… then I glimpsed a man wading back out into the river,” he was saying, “toward a half-submerged railway carriage with people trapped inside. And I said to myself, ‘That man is a hero. Also an idiot. Because he’s already been in the water for too long, and he won’t be able to save them, and he’s about to sacrifice his life for nothing.’ I proceeded to climb down the embankment and found Sutton. ‘Where is the earl?’ I asked.” West paused for dramatic effect, relishing the rapt attention of his audience. “And where do you think Sutton pointed? Out to the river, where that reckless fool had just saved a trio of children, and was wading after them with a baby in one arm and a woman on the other.”
“The man was Lord Trenear?” one of the housemaids gasped.
“None other.”
The entire group exclaimed with pleasure and possessive pride.
“Nothing to it, for a bloke as big as his lordship,” one of the footmen said with a grin.
“I should think he’ll be put in the papers for this,” another exclaimed.
“I hope so,” West said, “if only because I know how he would loathe it.” He paused as he saw Kathleen in the doorway.
“All of you,” she said sotto voce to the servants, “had better clear out before Sims or Mrs. Church catches you in here.”
“I was just reaching the best part,” West protested. “I’m about to describe my thrilling yet poignant rescue of the earl.”
“You can describe it later,” Kathleen said, standing in the doorway as the servants hastily filed out. “For now, you should be resting.” She glanced at Helen. “How is his temperature?”
“He needs to go up one more degree.”
“The devil I do,” West said. “With that fire stoked so high, the room is an oven. Soon I’ll be as brown as a Christmas goose. Speaking of that… I’m famished.”
“The doctor said we can’t feed you until you’ve reached the right temperature,” Pandora said.
“Will you take another cup of tea?” Cassandra asked.
“I’ll have a brandy,” West retorted, “along with a wedge of currant pie, a plate of cheese, a bowl of potato and turnip mash, and a beefsteak.”
Cassandra smiled. “I’ll ask the doctor if you may have some broth.”
“Broth?” he repeated indignantly.
“Come along, Hamlet,” Pandora said, “before West decides he wants bacon as well.”
“Wait,” Kathleen said, frowning. “Isn’t Hamlet supposed to be in the cellars?”
“Cook wouldn’t allow it,” Cassandra said. “She said he would find a way to knock over the bins and eat all the root vegetables.” She cast a proud glance at the cheerful-looking creature. “Because he is a very creative and enterprising pig.”
“Cook didn’t say that last part,” Pandora said.
“No,” Cassandra admitted, “but it was implied.”