Page 32 of Silence of Deceit
Winnie? Delia’s roommate?Hell.
“We asked her to stay, but as we turned our attention to treating him, she slipped out.”
“Tell me about his wounds,” he demanded.
The doctor didn’t look pleased to recite Sir’s wounds for him, and perhaps it was odd for a young errand boy’s employer to come to his bedside and ask about his misfortune—but this was Sir. He was more than just an errand boy. Hugh had thought, he’d hoped, he would be keeping the lad out of trouble by assigning him these tasks, keeping him busy and away from the East End gangs. But it seemed trouble had found him anyway.
“A single stab wound to the abdomen.” The doctor pulled back the sheet that covered Sir and displayed his bandage-wrapped torso. The boy’s clothing usually hung off him; too-large shirts, surely hand-me-downs, and too-short trousers. Seeing his bare chest cramped Hugh’s heart unexpectedly. He was pale and freckled without a lick of meat between his skin and rib bones. Hugh’s attention drifted from his skeletal collarbone to several bruises—new purple patches mixed with older yellowing ones—on his chest and upper arms. He glanced up to find Basil eyeing them as well, lips turning downward in a grimace.
“He’s got a punctured spleen, and he’s developed a fever,” the doctor continued. Hugh stepped forward and cupped his palm over Sir’s brow. As ashen as his skin was, he felt burning hot.
He ruffled the lad’s hair before stepping away. What the devil had he been doing at that boarding house still? He turned to Basil. “I know where he was. I bloody sent him there.”
“This is not your fault, sir.”
Hugh shook his head, too furious to speak. The ladies had all taken a shine to him, Sir had claimed, so why then would he have been stabbed? Unless he’d seen something after all. The types of men who visited such establishments weren’t expected to be saints—Sir could have irritated someone. It didn’t necessarily mean he’d stumbled across something having to do with Delia.
Hugh exhaled and closed his eyes. What he wouldn’t give for Audrey’s ability—to be able to simply peer into that moment. See who stabbed Sir. He opened his eyes. “Where are his personal effects?” he asked the doctor.
He frowned at the odd question and pointed to a small ceramic bowl on the floor under his bed. It held just a few things: a folding penknife, a few coins, a hard-boiled egg. He crouched, picked out the knife and slid it quickly into his pocket, then scooped up the coins. He handed those to Sir’s mother.
“The knife is safe with me. And these are safer in your pocket than in that pan,” he told her, regardless of the doctor’s displeased scowl. “I’ll take care of the expense of his treatment here, Mrs. Givens. And I know you have more children at home, so I’m going to leave my valet here, Basil, to sit with Sir—Davy until he wakes.”
Whatever Basil’s reaction might have been to that announcement, Hugh did not divert his attention from the poor woman to view it.
She brushed away a few more tears, bobbing her head. Now, in the brighter lantern light of the hospital ward, he could see the same discolored bruising along her temple, and at the collar of her dress, in addition to her newly blackened eye.
“Thank you, Mister Hugh,” she said, using the name Sir had taken to calling him. “My boy said you were a generous man. He’s lucky to work for you, sir.”
He felt flustered by the woman’s praise, wishing only to be able to do more for her. It was clear that Mr. Givens used his fists against his wife and son, and probably his other children too. Hugh would address that problem later. Right now, he had a more immediate concern.
“I’ll find out who did this,” he told her. “And they will pay, dearly.”
She nodded, trusting him at his word, and after she gave Sir—Davy—a kiss on his forehead, reluctantly started away.
“I won’t leave his side, ma’am,” Basil assured her when she appeared hesitant to go. She thanked him, and then left.
Before Basil could start in with him, Hugh explained, “Whoever stabbed Sir might realize they failed to kill him and could come back to try again. Especially if Sir picked up something important at the boarding house regarding Delia Montgomery.”
His valet removed his hat and coat and draped them over an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair next to the bed. “They won’t get the chance.”
Biting back a grin at Basil’s stern declaration, Hugh went on, “I’ll see if Winnie can tell me anything more, and then I’ll head north to the asylum. If Sir wakes—” He caught himself and gritted his molars. “Whenhe wakes, find out what happened, what he knows, and send a messenger to me at Shadewell Sanatorium in Northumberland.”
It would take a few days traveling the Great North Road to reach his destination via phaeton, but a messenger horse could make it in nearly half that. Taking a last look at Sir’s sleeping face before turning to leave, Hugh hoped to find the boy awake and well on his return. He refused to consider any other outcome.
ChapterTen
The coaching inn was nothing elegant, and a far cry from even cozy, but when Audrey felt the coach slowing, the incessant rattling of the wheels over the rutted Great North Road quietening, she heaved a sigh of relief. They had been traveling since dawn, stopping several times to change horses, pay turnpike tolls, and take lunch at another post road inn and tavern. She and Greer had quit trying to converse hours ago and were both simply gritting their teeth and waiting to leap free of the coach as soon as possible.
As Carrigan helped her and her maid down, Audrey breathed in fresh, cool air and relished the stillness of the ground. It was past dark, the windows of the inn bright with lantern light, and her stomach grumbled with hunger.
“I’ll see about securing a room for us, Your Grace,” Greer announced and set off for the front door while Carrigan turned the horses toward the stables.
Audrey followed her maid slowly, rolling her shoulders and working out the kinks in her tight muscles. Road travel, even within one’s own private coach, was not a pleasant undertaking. Neither had been leaving Violet House, especially after confessing to Philip where she was going.
He’d been furious and had demanded she change her mind. When she didn’t, they’d had a terrible row, which ended with Philip shouting that he would have no choice but to accompany her, an offer which she had staunchly rejected.
“You can better make excuses for me here, in town. If anyone asks where I’ve gone, you can say I’m visiting my mother in Hertfordshire.”
