Page 9 of Lady of Charade
“My task is complete,” Clarence said with a smile. “Now, where are you off to tonight?”
“The Red Lion,” David said with a grin, knowing Clarence’s thoughts on the club — he disdained it, feeling its patrons were far too unruly. “I’ve had my fill of society functions for a time. They can be rather ghastly, night after night. Tonight, I’m after some fun.”
Clarence lifted his drink. “Well, my best to you, Redmond. One other thing before I take my leave.”
“Yes?”
“I have heard some… rumblings, I suppose you could say, regarding a certain Lady Houghton.”
“Ah… yes?” David swallowed. She had been a mistake, that one. He attempted to stay away from married women, but he was well aware of just how awful her husband was to her, and she had come to him for comfort a couple of months back. He had been slightly in his cups that night and had provided her what she sought, though he sorely regretted it the next morning and had been worried there may be repercussions. He had hoped she kept the specifics of their relations to herself but…
“Houghton seems to have an inkling of what occurred between the two of you. He is a powerful man, Redmond, and not a particularly forgiving one. Be sure to watch your back. I’ll watch it for you as I can, but perhaps keep in your right mind when you’re within one of your establishments.”
“Consider me warned, Clarence — doubly,” David said, beginning to feel like a naughty child who required chastising. “I’ll keep an eye out, as well as be sure to not enter too far into my cups — that’s a promise.”
“Very good. Well, I am off to Elizabeth’s parents for dinner. For which, I am glad for the liquid fortitude.”
David laughed.
“Good evening, Clarence.”
“And to you, Redmond.”
CHAPTER4
Sarah sat up with a start, every sense on the alert.
She gasped when she heard a loud banging on her door — it must have been what had initially awakened her. She had no idea what time it was, but from the pitch-black darkness she could see through the thin slice of the window in her room, she knew that it must still be the middle of the night. She rose, lifting her wrapper from the nearby chair and tightening it around herself as she padded over to the door in bare feet.
She hesitated when she reached the door, one hand on the handle, the other on the knob above it, ready to unlock it — but should she? She hurried back across the room, picked up her revolver, and returned to the door. Sarah had no wish to turn away anyone who may be in need, but then, she had enough experience to know to be careful.
Sarah undid the lock and opened the door a crack, lifting her revolver as she looked out, seeing no one within her line of sight. What was going on? She was about to close the door when she heard a groan from somewhere nearby, and she looked down to find that the voice belonged to a body piled at her feet.
She looked one way and the other to determine who might have abandoned this person on her doorstep, but whoever it was had departed too fast, especially with the delay in finding her weapon.
Well, it wasn’t the first time she had an unconscious body to deal with, though Sarah was a little worried about what might happen once — if — the body woke up, for he seemed the size of a man from what she could tell, though his head was turned over, away from her.
Sarah knelt and gently rolled the man over to his side as carefully as she could, for she was concerned about what type of head injury he might have. Had she not heard him groan, she would have worried whether or not he was even alive, so limp he was. The dim light outside her rooms made it too difficult to determine who he was nor what might have happened to him, so she hurried back inside, where she lit a lantern and brought it out with her.
She held it up to the mysterious man now, worried that she would be too late to treat whatever it was that ailed him. The moment she lifted the light and it glowed off his face, she gasped aloud in surprise, momentarily pulling back.
For the man lying across the doorstep of her lodging was none other than Mr. David Redmond, second son of the Earl of Brentwood.
Sarah hastily set the lantern back down in the room before returning to him. Head injury or not, she certainly couldn’t treat him outside, for not only would she not have anything she needed, but she feared passersby may see the elegant clothes he wore — in addition to her current state of undress — and attempt to take advantage of the situation. She half-lifted, half-dragged him into the room, grunting as she did so. He was rather lean, but he was still a tall man and far bigger than she was.
Once he was inside, she shut the door, locking it behind the two of them, and then in her usual practiced manner sprang into action before giving herself too much time to consider the situation — that would come later, once her initial diagnosis and treatment were complete.
Sarah wouldn’t be able to lift him onto the bed, but she did have a thin mattress for just this purpose, and she dragged him down the corridor, into her bedroom and upon it before lighting her second lantern, setting up the two on either side of Mr. Redmond so she might be better able to see just what exactly had happened to him.
With her initial shock at the recognition of him, she had missed the extent of his injuries. His eye was already turning black, while a slight bit of blood oozed from his nose, signaling that he had likely taken a beating. She wondered at the extent of injuries to his body but was most worried about his lack of consciousness. Gently feeling around his scalp, she discovered a particularly large bump on the side of his head, and she hissed through her teeth. From its position, it was most likely that he had fallen back upon the hard ground beneath him. The injury was certainly concerning, for there was honestly not much she could do but hope that it would heal in time without any lingering effects.
She found her knife, having no choice but to cut through his jacket and shirt, despite the fact that she was aware his clothing would have cost more than she had likely ever held in her hand at one time.
His chest was red, with a few scratches and newly forming bruises upon it, but there was one particularly deep gash that worried her.
Sarah filled a bucket of water, found clean rags and her basket of herbs, and cleaned his wounds before searching for the loosestrife in her bag. She had recently picked it up at the marketplace, as it had just begun to grow for the season on riverbanks throughout England, and she was pleased that she had not yet dried it. Everything worked much better fresh, she found, but supplies were limited here in London. She could hardly wait until she was back in a place where she could forage for her own herbs.
Sarah tore the yellowish-green leaves from the brown, hairy stalk, and bruised them slightly before pounding them to extract the juice. She applied it around Mr. Redmond’s cuts and scrapes, hoping it would do its job and stop the bleeding, allowing her to clean and close up the wounds as quickly as possible. She spread the liquid over the deep gash, a smaller amount on some of the smaller scratches. Taking prepared strips of linen, she wrapped them over the wounds.
