Page 44 of Much Ado About Margaret
Bridger straightened up. “Is that true?”
“Yes,” he spat. “I’ve the scars to prove it.”
“There are other ways,” Bridger told him, still cautious.
“Your Mr. Richmond already dug me out of the depths once,” said Pimm, shaking his head, trembling with dark laughter. “That girl I got with child in Bath? He was the one that put up the money for her family. So, I came here asking for more, but he refused me.” Sighing, he turned his head to regard Ruby. “I found another way.”
Bridger swallowed around a thorn. “Don’t do this to her. We’re broken boys made by a broken man. We’ve both made mistakes, but don’t become him, brother, for there is no more approval or affection to win—our father’s mind has fled, only his body remains. When I left our home last, I vowed to make things better.” Little by little, Pimm hung his head. All the rage had fled him, leaving an empty vessel behind. “If you took those beatings for me, let it be for something. Let me carry the burden now.”
The storm collided hard against the church. Rain splattered in through the open church doors. The flames on the candles danced and soared, then quieted as the wind died down.
“I give up, Bridger, you’ve won,” his brother whispered. “Take me home to Father.”
19
Hear my soul speak:
The very instant that I saw you did
My heart fly to your service.
The Tempest, Act 3, Scene 1
“What were you thinking? Charging my brother like that…He could have shot you! You could have been…”
Maggie trained her gaze on the work in front of her, on the clean strip of cloth wound neatly and snugly around Bridger’s arm. But as he failed to finish his statement, she couldn’t avoid his searching stare. Their eyes met over the rounded, muscled dune of his left shoulder. The heat of his skin was incredible, almost scalding, and she quickly pulled her hands away.
“Is that concern I hear in your voice?” she asked, teasing.
“You know it is.”
“Then I will answer—I wasn’t thinking. Not really. I just remember he said almost those exact words when he flattened me, and you thumped him an instant later. I’ll say it was that memory; it told me to act, and so I did.” Maggie trimmed away the tail of excess bandage and sat back, trying not to see thebroad, tempting expanse of his chest in achingly reachable proximity. The blood had seeped through his sleeve, ruining the shirt, and it was easier to see to the wound with it removed completely. They sat before the fire in a small, cozy room upstairs in the vicar’s rectory. It was a tidy stone cottage squatting beside the Cray Arches church, decorated to Mr. Corner’s tastes; he seemed to favor a mossy green color and pastoral paintings of pigs. He had offered them rooms, aware of the unavailability of the apothecary or doctor with the storm, and willing to provide shelter so long as Paul Darrow agreed to be locked in the wine cellar.
Ruby slept next door, exhausted after crying herself to sleep.
“The sight of blood doesn’t disturb you?” Bridger asked.
“Papa told me all about the surgeries and amputations on the ship,” she replied matter-of-factly. “And he showed me how to bandage cuts and scrapes. Violet fell out of a tree once and broke her ankle. I was there to help her, and it made me feel sick at first, but there’s a sort of clarity in acting and keeping a steady hand. I think I might faint at my own blood, but I’ve no hesitation when helping another.”
Bridger smiled so broadly it took her by surprise. “I’ve often looked at you and wondered how you came to be, but it is all starting to make sense now. You were remarkably clearheaded in the heat of the moment.”
“All’s well that ends well, I suppose.” She shrugged and sighed. “I should go back to Ruby.” Before she could stand, Bridger placed his hand over hers, then anchored it to his wrist.
“Stay awhile. Please.” She did. Maggie felt his heartbeat under her hand. The soft brush of the hair on his forearm against her palm felt unexpectedly intimate. His legs were stretched out before him as he watched her fiddle with the bitof cut bandage. After a spell, he said, “I’ll take my brother back to Fletcher as soon as the storm abates.”
“You shouldn’t travel yet,” she replied.
“I’ll survive it. What I won’t survive is another of his schemes. I have to believe Pimm means it when he says there will be no more mischief, for I’ve never seen him cry like that, never knew…” He trailed off, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank you for warning me about the pistol. I might have suffered far worse than a graze.”
“I’m just relieved we prevented them from going through with it,” said Maggie. Bone-tired, she reclined in the hard little chair and rubbed the back of her neck. “Do you know, Ruby forged their license? From a bishop, no less? I think we had better hope Mr. Corner doesn’t notice and let Ann’s family handle her punishment. Though it pains me to impose, it would be best if we kept this secret between us. She wanted desperately to be noticed. Now the attention has come, and it will bring her nothing but sorrow. She might not see that now, but…”
“She will.” Bridger shifted, his tone grim. The door behind them was open, and she could hear Foster snoring in a chair outside Ruby’s room. They were alone, but anyone might wander by and see her nestled against his arm. The vicar and his wife had retired long ago, and Maggie knew for propriety’s sake she should do the same. Yet she couldn’t pry herself from his side. When the pistol had fired, her heart had stopped, and for a fleeting, gutting instant, she had believed him dead.
Bridger studied her, the pressure of his stormy eyes insistent but not unpleasant. She wished she could open his mind like a box of little treasures and root around, see just what was inside, know just what he thought of her.
“And as for us,” he continued in a raw whisper. Suddenly, his face was rather closer to hers, and the heat of his skin transferred to her, igniting a path from their point of contact to thebase of her throat. She felt alert, alive, acutely aware of him. “Let there be no secrets between us, Miss Arden.”
She nodded.
