Amanda Scott (23 page)

“Harry, what happened? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t fret, m’dear, ’tis merely a clout on the head. He’s unconscious, and we’ve already sent one of your lads running for Dr. Baillie. He’s not dead yet, and if I’m not much mistaken, he’s a good many years left to him.”

“But what happened, for goodness’ sake?”

“Some idiot assassinated Perceval,” Reston said brusquely. “Greyfalcon just got bumped in the ensuing melee, is all. Found him crumpled up by the wall when the place cleared out. Sylvia, here I say, Sylvia, don’t faint on me now, you wretched girl!”

S
YLVIA RECOVERED QUICKLY FROM
her momentary faintness and, noting that the men were dripping on the hall floor, ordered them to carry Greyfalcon upstairs to his bedchamber. Before they reached the wide stairway, the earl had begun to stir and his eyelids fluttered.

“Here, I believe he’s coming ’round at last,” said Reston. “Greyfalcon, wake up, man.” But although Greyfalcon looked around him vaguely, he did not respond, and his eyelids flickered shut again.

“Perhaps it would be better if you took him into the library,” Sylvia said. “The room is quite warm, and there is … No, there is no sofa in there, only wing chairs. And the drawing room—”

“No need to spoil any furniture,” said Reston gravely. “He’s isn’t so damp as some of us, but he’s taking a wetting just getting to and from the carriage. Besides, the doctor is going to want to take a good look at him.”

“Don’t need any damned leech,” Greyfalcon muttered.

Sylvia saw that his eyes were open again and decided that the quicker he got upstairs, the better. “Take him up, Harry. I’ll wait the doctor here. I have heard her ladyship mention that he lives in Half Moon Street, so he shouldn’t be long.”

“Don’t need any damned leech,” repeated Greyfalcon in a more surly tone.

“Take him up, men,” commanded Reston. “I shall be right behind you to see he gets tucked into bed. No argument now, man. I’d not risk your displeasure if you were hale and hearty, but I daresay my weight’s up to yours now.”

They disappeared up the stairs, leaving Sylvia alone in the hall, but she enjoyed her solitary state for only a moment before, in a flurry of black gauze, the countess came rushing down the stairs. “Oh, Sylvia,” she cried, “oh, my dear, what has happened to Francis? I saw them carrying him into his bedchamber, but Reston said that everything was in hand and that I need not accompany him. Oh, Sylvia, I am his mother. Ought I not to be at his side?”

The thought of Lady Greyfalcon caring for anyone else was if not ludicrous, at least incredible, and Sylvia bit her bottom lip to keep from saying so. Instead, she guided her hostess firmly into the library and pushed her into a wing chair before the fire, ordering her to sit still until tea could be ordered for her.

“You must not fret, ma’am,” she said after seeing to the order and leaving the door ajar so that she might hear the doctor’s arrival. “He is in good hands now, and Reston is certain that he suffered no more than a bump on the head. He might just as well have done that in a hunting accident, you know. Only remember when Christopher put his pony at the gate in the hay meadow and came a cropper on the other side when the pony refused. He was unconscious for nearly half an hour and laid up for only a week.”

“Which was all that saved him from his papa’s wrath,” said the countess tartly. “I cannot think how many times that boy had been told he was not to attempt jumping that idiotish pony. Oh, dear, I could not bear to lose Francis, too,” she added, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye with her handkerchief.

“Well, you shall not,” said Sylvia briskly, ignoring the shiver that raced up and down her spine at the countess’s words. How could she have been so thoughtless as to put that notion into her head. Anyone but a complete ninny ought to have realized what route her thinking would take at the single mention of Christopher’s name. “I promise you, ma’am, that his lordship will have the very best nursing, for I shall see to that myself, and I have had some experience, you know, for when Papa was ill two years ago, I looked after him, and he, you must realize, was not the easiest of patients. The doctor will be here shortly, and if you like, I shall go up with him, and he will tell me just what to do. Wigan will help me, so you need not be thinking that it will be too much for me.”

“Oh, Sylvia, if only you could, but Greyfalcon will not allow it, of that I am certain. And your father will not like it either. He will say—and rightly, too—that you are in London to enjoy yourself and not to play nursemaid to a man who can afford any number of proper nurses to look after him.”

“Well, pooh to that, and so I should tell him. I am a grown woman and not some simpering miss who will whine and mope at missing a party or two, and I daresay that is all I will miss. But there is one thing you cannot have considered, ma’am: there is no one else in this house who does not go in awe of his lordship. He will not wish to obey the doctor. Of that I am as certain as you are. And you will remember that when Christopher had his accident, Doctor Travers warned us that although he might seem perfectly fit, concussion was extremely dangerous and must be treated with great respect. I am not at all afraid of Greyfalcon, and I promise you that if the doctor says he must stay in bed, he will do so.”

There were noises of arrival from the hall just then, so she left her hostess and hurried to greet Doctor Baillie, a tall man so slender as to be more correctly described as skinny. He walked with a slight limp and with his head and shoulders thrust forward as though he were always in a hurry. He introduced himself and demanded to be taken at once to his patient.

“I’ll take the doctor up, Merrill,” she said to the butler, who appeared through the green baize door under the stairway just then. “Do see you what has become of her ladyship’s tea, if you please.”

“Yes, miss.”

Greyfalcon’s bedchamber was located near his mother’s and at no great distance from Sylvia’s. She had never been inside, however, and she did not go in now. When the door opened, she saw that the group of men had succeeded in getting the earl out of his wet clothes and putting him to bed. His voice, sounding quarrelsome, mingled with those of the others.

“Here now, clear all this lot out of here,” commanded the doctor as he stepped inside. “I shall want one footman to assist me. The rest of you, out.” He waited until they had obeyed him, then shut the door firmly behind them.

Most of the men continued past Sylvia and down the stairs. Only Reston lingered.

“He is awake, then, Harry?”

“You heard him. He doesn’t wish to be in bed, and I doubt that that doctor will keep him there without he ties him down. Got a mind of his own, Greyfalcon has.”

The door opened a moment later, and Baillie stepped out. “I can do nothing with him, Miss Jensen-Graham, if he insists upon getting out of bed, and so I tell you. That young footman in there has been ordered to get him dry clothes, and he seems to be obeying the order. If the man will not allow me to bleed him, I cannot be held responsible for the consequences.”

“Harry, don’t go anywhere,” Sylvia said quickly. “I want to talk to you. Now, let me pass, Doctor.”

“But, look here, you can’t—”

“For heaven’s sake, sir!” She pushed past him, thrusting the half-open door out of her way and thereby surprising the earl as he was about to emerge naked from his bed.

Hastily, Greyfalcon dived back beneath the covers, pulling them up to his chin, his face paling with pain at even this much exertion. His voice seemed to come with effort, but his words were clear. “What are you doing in here? Get out.”

“Very pretty manners, my lord. Where did you learn them?”

“Never mind that, my girl,” he retorted, his pain-ridden voice turning the words into a breathless growl. “Your own are nothing to boast about. You’ve no business in my bedchamber.”

“No, but if you do not cease to behave like a child and let the doctor examine you, I shall remain here, sir. Take those things away, William,” she added, speaking to the footman who emerged just then from Greyfalcon’s dressing room. “His lordship does not want them, after all.”

William, looked from Sylvia to his master, swallowed carefully, and flushed to the roots of his hair. “M’lord?”

“Bring them here, William. At once.” This time there was no mistaking the fact that the effort to speak was painful.

“Stop right there, William,” commanded Sylvia as the footman took another step toward his master.

William hesitated, looking again from one to the other, and Greyfalcon demanded angrily, “Where the devil is Wigan?”

“Out, m’lord. You told him you wouldn’t need him until after eight, that you was dining at Brooks’s.”

“So I did. Don’t stand there gaping at me, man, bring my clothes. You don’t take your orders from Miss Jensen-Graham.”

“William,” Sylvia said quietly, “put his lordship’s clothes back at once and run downstairs to call those men back up here. They will not have gone yet, because I am persuaded that her ladyship will have ordered refreshment for them. Tell them they are needed here again, and quickly.”

Greyfalcon turned his gaze upon her. “What do you propose to do with them, if I may ask?”

“Certainly, sir. If you will not behave yourself and let the doctor examine you and prescribe for you, I shall have them tie you to the bed until he can accomplish his business. Reston suggested that course, and while I daresay you will not like it much, it will serve the purpose excellently well. And if you forbid William to obey me, I shall simply send Reston himself. He is in the corridor.”

Greyfalcon glared at her. “Rather drastic methods, are they not?”

“To be sure, sir, but your mother is very worried about you and cannot help but compare this occasion to that when Christopher was thrown by his pony. Having remembered so much, she also remembers that you are the only son left to her. It is for her sake as much as for yours that I am determined that you shall let the doctor examine you.”

“But I am fine,” he protested. “Barring some bruised ribs and a bump on the head—a bump that aches like the devil, I might add—and barring the fact that I’ve not the slightest memory of how I got home—”

“Do you remember what happened before that?” Sylvia asked, recalling just then that Christopher had retained no memory of the incident that had led to his injury. As soon as she saw the arrested look in Greyfalcon’s eyes, she knew the answer to her question.

“I went to the Commons to look for Perceval,” he said slowly. “I remember that much. The session was just ending, and I remember thinking I might not see him straight off in the crowd, so I moved a little nearer the wall and made my way toward the door through which I thought he would come.” He frowned, making the effort to remember, but then, with a grimace of pain, he gave it up. “I must have been pushed against the wall or something. Extraordinary. I ought to remember. I don’t even know if I saw him, so I don’t know if I’ve got an appointment to discuss your book with him or not.”

“Never mind about that, sir,” she said, deciding on the spot to tell him nothing at the moment about the prime minister’s assassination. “Surely you can see that you must let the doctor look you over. Must I call for reinforcements, or will you behave reasonably?”

He leaned back against the pillows, his lips twitching slightly as though they would smile if he would but let them. “You seem to leave me no choice, ma’am. Go away, William.”

“He is to remain in case the doctor requires any assistance,” Sylvia told him. When Greyfalcon looked mulish, she added sweetly, “Or if you prefer it, sir, I can remain.”

His lips tightened into a thin line for a moment, but then his countenance relaxed. “That’s two, my dear.”

“Two, sir?” She tilted her head a little to one side.

“Miss Mayfield and now this. Revenge will be sweet.”

She chuckled. “Do your worst, my lord. I shall only be glad to see you up and about again, but not until the doctor gives you leave. Understand that, Greyfalcon. I will have your word before I depart from this room.”

His gaze met hers, and she was certain for several moments that he would refuse to comply with her demand, but finally and without looking away, he said, “Very well, ma’am. I am your obedient servant. Now, go.”

She turned to obey and had her hand on the doorknob when he said her name quietly. She looked back.

“What would you have done if I had simply got out of bed despite your presence? Had you considered that?”

At a sudden loss for words and blushing furiously at the vision that leapt to her mind’s eye, she flung the door open and hurried into the corridor, “He’ll cooperate, Doctor,” she said, grinding her teeth. “I hope whatever you do to him is excruciatingly painful.”

Baillie smiled. “Sorry to disoblige you, ma’am, but I’m only going to take a look at his ribs and then bleed him to relieve the pressure of the concussion. I won’t ask how you convinced him to submit to my examination, but I think perhaps that I had better speak to you again after I have looked him over. He ought to remain in bed a day or two at least, and perhaps more. And he must not be agitated.”

“Should we not tell him about the assassination then, sir?” she asked, carefully keeping her voice low.

“What assassination?” She told him. “God bless my soul, what a dreadful thing! No, no, on no account must he be told. Goodness, he may have witnessed the whole thing. Do they know who did it? His evidence may be very important.”

“They caught the man at the scene,” Reston said in his grave way. “Some poor malcontent who just stood there, the gun still smoking in his hand, till they carried him off. Greyfalcon may have seen what happened. I did not, but I know several others did.”

“Well, it’s as well they won’t want his evidence, because that would put a tremendous strain on the man, and it is much better that we allow his memory to return naturally. He will attempt to force it if he knows where he was and what he may have seen, and that won’t help at all, so keep the papers away from him and try to be sure any visitors he may have do not blurt it out. Indeed, I think I will forbid visitors for a few days at least, particularly if his ribs are badly bruised.”