Page 145 of The Sisters of Sea View
Emily ran back down the hill and up the drive, heart pounding hard from anxiety as well as exertion.
Reaching Westmount, she handed over the precious burden and bent low, resting hands on knees to catch her breath. Her mother would scold her for such an ungainly position—especially with men present.
“Are you all right?” Sarah asked.
She nodded, panted, and replied, “Just winded.”
Sarah pressed her shoulder. “Thank you, Emily.”
When Emily straightened, she found Viola holding her gaze, brow creased in astonishment or perhaps pain. “Yes, thank you.”
“Shh. Try not to talk.”
The surgeon wrapped the ice in a cloth and handed it to Viola. “Hold it gently to your mouth. That’s it. That should help.”
A few minutes later, Mr. Bird took his leave. When he had gone, the elder Mr. Hutton reappeared in the threshold. “My son asks that you stay here for a time, Miss Viola. Mr. Bird will be returning this evening and could make sure all is well with you at the same time. You’ve suffered a shock, after all, as well as an injury, and it would ease his mind.”
“That is excessively kind,” Sarah began. “But I think Viola would be more comfortable at home.”
“Actually, I would like to stay,” Viola said.
Sarah glanced at her in surprise. “If you are sure...?”
“I am.”
Sarah took the bloody handkerchief from her. “I will take this home to soak.” She turned back to Mr. Hutton. “What time will Mr. Bird return?”
“Eight or so. Assuming no other emergencies.”
“If I can’t get away then, I’ll send Georgiana to walk you home.”
“Or Emily,” Viola suggested.
Emily turned to her, and the twins’ gazes locked and held.
Sarah looked from one to the other, eyebrows raised, and repeated, “Or Emily.”
———
Viola had mostly wanted to stay to assure herself Major Hutton was well and to hear what he had learned from the visiting surgeon.
After her sisters had gone, the major appeared in the doorway.
“Are you truly all right?”
She turned toward him. “Yes, so your Mr. Bird says.”
He peered at her. “Your lip looks like a mangosteen.”
“A what?”
“A purple fruit. From India.”
“Thank you very little, sir!” Despite herself, Viola felt a smile tremble on her lips. Her exceedingly sore lips. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
She thought a moment, then asked, “Why did you refuse to see me earlier today?”
“I needed to think. I didn’t want anyone to influence my decision.”
