Page 82 of Murder at the Seven Dials
“Audrey,” he gasped. “Audrey, can you hear me?”
A glorious sound punched through the racing pulse in his ears and the splash of water: the choking gargle of a cough.
He grabbed onto a piling, where several small hands latched onto his wrist and clutched at his coat sleeve.
“It’s the lady!” the young girl exclaimed. She, and the two boys she’d been playing with, heaved, and though their combined strength did little to assist him out of the water, he was grateful they hadn’t scampered away. The two boys grabbed at the duchess’s arms, keeping her afloat as Hugh hauled himself onto the dock. He then dragged her up next to him. She moaned as he laid her down onto the wood.
“Blood,” the girl whispered.
A dark stain bloomed against the drenched, deep green fabric of her upper right shoulder.
Hugh tore off his sopping wet jacket and then yanked at his sleeve, ripping the threads. He balled up the wet linen and pressed it to her shoulder. She screamed at the sudden pressure, and her lashes fluttered open. Terrified, deep blue eyes met his.
“It’s him,” she gasped, her lips purple, bits of debris and dirt clinging to her brows and cheeks. The Thames was polluted and writhing with pestilence. He pushed the thought of anything contaminating her wound from his mind and focused on what to do next.
“Mister Hugh!” The wharf rattled uproariously. Hugh tore his eyes from her; Sir pointed toward the black roof of their waiting carriage, closer now than it had been before. At the head of the wharf, two uniformed patrolmen had tackled whom Hugh hoped was Fellows, and several more men were rushing toward the melee. Basil had reached Bow Street, and Sir Gabriel had taken Hugh’s request seriously.Thank God.
He scooped the duchess into his arms. Her drenched gown and limp form were a burden, but his legs held as he rushed, as swift-footed as he could, toward the carriage. There was only one place he could think to bring her; one person he trusted.
“Number Eighteen St. James’s Square,” he told the jarvey as the man assisted Hugh into the carriage, Sir leaping in on the opposite side. “As fast as you can, goddamn it!”
The jarvey slammed the door and the chassis rocked madly.
“Where are we going, Mister Hugh?” Sir asked.
“My friend. He’s a doctor.”
“The tall nob, with the chops?”
“That’s the one,” he said, knowing full well that Sir had taken to following him around London, waiting to make himself useful in any capacity. Today, it might have saved the duchess’s life.
Might.
The wound bled profusely, and worry knocked against his thoughts. There was no room in his mind to consider it further. He cradled her as the driver took his orders to heart and careened from the wharves. She shivered and groaned, wincing with every movement. He hated that the rattling motion of the carriage caused her pain, but the faster they arrived at Thornton’s, the faster he could treat her shoulder.
“Stay awake, Audrey,” he told her, dispatching with her title and proper form of address. He needed her to hear him; perhaps even shock her a little.
“It was him,” she murmured, her eyes opened to slits. “He killed her.”
“I know.” Hugh gathered her closer, their soaked figures both shivering now. “St. John was with the duke that night, and his mother had given him orders to end their relationship.”
Audrey’s eyes flared open. “The marchioness. Letter. My pocket.”
If the Thames hadn’t fished the letter out of her pocket, the water would have destroyed it by now. Hugh cringed at the lost evidence.
“She wrote it,” he guessed. Lady Wimbly had led the singer to Jewell House and had hired Fellows to kill her there. How had the marchioness known her son would be gone by the time Miss Lovejoy, and then Fellows, arrived?
“P-pretended to be Wimbly,” Audrey confirmed, jerking her head as she tried to nod. She grimaced. “My shoulder…the bullet.”
“I’m taking you to my friend Thornton. He’s going to help you. Audrey, you have to stay awake.”
“I should have…” she started, but then her next word tremored.
“Waited for me? Not gone to the wharves alone?” he interjected. He clenched his teeth against more of a reprimand. He couldn’t scold her, not when she was like this.
“Brought a pistol,” she finished. Hugh barked a laugh.
“Yes, I think you should have too,” he agreed.
