Chapter Two

      Benedict Poole had returned to the library after escorting Harriet to the bedchamber where the last remaining member of his family, other than himself, lay wasting away. He poured himself another measure of brandy and settled by the fire, broodingly contemplating the woman he had never thought to see again. He gulped a mouthful of the spirit and grimaced. She’d driven him to drink already and she’d been here, what? Half an hour?

      A bustle of movement in the Great Hall some time later interrupted his thoughts—the unmistakable sounds of departure. He would not say goodbye. She had not afforded him that courtesy, all those years ago.

      One last look. That’s all.

      He crossed to the window and positioned himself to one side, shielded by the curtain, in order that a casual glance would not reveal him. Snow drove horizontally across the front of the house and he was all at once aware of the howl of the wind. He had been so lost in his thoughts he had not even noticed the deterioration in the weather. Three figures, well wrapped against the cold, appeared at the top of the steps, the smallest two clinging on to the arms of the taller central figure, presumably one of the footmen. That was Harriet, huddled in a hooded cloak of deep, rich blue, trimmed with fur. As he watched them gingerly descend the steps, the second woman—Harriet’s maid—suddenly let go of the footman’s arm and appeared to hurry ahead. Benedict jerked forward, ready to shout a warning even though there was no chance she would hear him, but, before he could utter a sound, the maid’s feet shot from under her and she fell.

      He didn’t stop to think but ran to the door, through the hall and straight out of the front door. The cold air blasted icy spikes against his face as he hurried down the steps, almost slipping in his haste. The maid’s leg—it could be broken. She mustn’t be moved. Maybe he could straighten it... He had helped more than one ship’s surgeon set broken bones during his travels. He thrust aside any nerves, any doubts.

      Harriet was crouching by the maid, who was shaking her head, her tearful voice begging no one to touch her. He reached for Harriet, who seemed about to try to pull her maid upright.

      ‘Allow me,’ he said.

      Harriet turned and gazed up at him, her expression inscrutable, those eyes of hers, once so expressive, guarded. Her nose and cheeks were bright red but her lips, when she spoke, had a bluish tinge. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘Go inside and wait,’ he said. ‘Get yourself warm and dry. We’ll deal with your maid.’

      ‘Janet,’ she said. ‘Her name is Janet. It’s her back, as well as her leg. You...you won’t hurt her?’

      ‘I can’t promise that. We must move her but we must first straighten her leg. Ask Crabtree to bring some brandy and something to bind her leg. He’s the butler,’ he added as she raised her brows. ‘But be careful how you—’

      She speared him with a scathing look. ‘I am not likely to risk falling, having seen what happened to Janet,’ she said.

      The panic had melted from her voice, which now dripped contempt. Benedict mentally shrugged. Her moods were none of his concern. Harriet stripped off her cloak and laid it over her stricken maid before picking her way back up the steps.

      Benedict glanced at the footman—Cooper, it was, he now saw. ‘That leg could be broken. Have you ever helped set a leg before?’ he asked.

      ‘I have,’ a new voice interposed. One of the post boys had dismounted and had joined Benedict standing over Janet, who was shivering violently. ‘I’m used to it,’ he added with a grin. ‘Always someone breaking somethin’ when horses are involved.’

      ‘Tell your mate to take the horses back to the yard and bed them down for the night,’ Benedict said. ‘The ladies will be going nowhere.’

      ‘Right you are, sir,’ the post boy said, signalling to his partner, who waved an acknowledgement before kicking his horse into motion.

      Benedict crouched beside the stricken maid.

      ‘Don’t touch me!’ she shrieked. ‘It’s my back! I can’t stand it!’

      ‘Hush, now,’ Benedict said as the maid subsided into sobs. ‘We must find out if your leg is broken. It will have to be straightened before we can move you.’

      The butler appeared at the top of the steps and gingerly made his way to where Janet lay.

      ‘Ah, Crabtree. Thank you.’ Benedict took the glass and held it to Janet’s lips. ‘Drink.’

      Janet shook her head. ‘I never touch—’

      ‘Drink. It will help dull the pain when we straighten your leg. You need to be moved.’

      Benedict tipped the glass up, pinching her chin to force her mouth open. This was no time for niceties. The cold had seeped through his clothes, chilling his flesh already. Janet must be in an even worse case, lying on the snow-blanketed stone steps.

      ‘What are you doing? How is she?’

      His head jerked round. Harriet was back, peering over his shoulder at her maid.

      ‘I thought I told you to stay inside.’

      ‘Janet is my responsibility. I can help.’

      ‘If you want to help, go back inside.’

      Her stare might have frozen him had he not already been chilled to his core.

      ‘Don’t leave me, my lady. Pleeeease.’

      Harriet crouched by Benedict’s side and gripped Janet’s hands. The length of her thigh pressed briefly against his and he was aware she shifted away at the exact same time he did, so they no longer touched. Another footman appeared, carrying lengths of cloth and a wooden board, with the information that the doctor had been sent for.

      Benedict pushed Janet’s cloak aside and raised her skirt, Harriet’s soothing murmur punctuating Janet’s whimpers. A close look at the bent leg raised Benedict’s hopes. The foot looked twisted, making a broken ankle a distinct possibility, but the leg itself appeared intact. A pink stain in the snow, however, suggested it was cut.

      Benedict spoke to Cooper and the post boy. ‘If her back is damaged, we must move her carefully.’ He directed the men on how to tip Janet sideways, keeping her back as straight as possible whilst he moved her leg from under her, silently blessing the time he had spent with Josiah Buckley, the ship’s surgeon, on his recent voyage back to England from India. He might not know how to help Janet, but he did know how not to make things worse.

      The next few minutes were hellish. Benedict gritted his teeth and forced himself to continue, gently straightening Janet’s leg and then, using a knife proffered by the post boy, cutting off her boot. Another snippet of knowledge gleaned from Buckley—that an injured foot or ankle will swell, making boots hard to remove. Not that the sailors wore footwear aboard the ship, but their discussions had been wide-ranging.