“He’s waitin’ for ye. We ’ave to hurry.” He crossed the room and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her toward the outside door.
“Daniel,” Olivia yelled.
Bridget grabbed a heavy skillet off the table and hefted it over her head just as the door to the kitchen burst open. The footman stood there, his chest heaving, fists clenched. Jennings followed close behind.
Patrick glanced from the two men, to the pan, and then to Bridget. He freed Olivia instantly and moved away, his hands held outward. “You don’t understand. Lazarus needs yer help. The hackney is outside.” He pointed to the two men. “Ye can bring them if ye must.”
Olivia stared at the younger man. His expression was full of worry. Surely, he didn’t mean to hurt her if he was willing to allow Daniel and Jennings to accompany them.
“You’ll be needing yer doctoring things.”
Had Lazarus been shot again? She turned to the footman. “Bring my cloak and a coat for yourself. I will get my medical case.” She looked at Patrick. “We’ll be ready to leave in a moment.” As she left the room, she swore she saw a flicker of relief cross his face.
Her case in hand, she hurried back to meet the others. Worry pulled at her. Lazarus had had barely enough time to recover from his last bullet wound. She took her cloak from the footman, swung it over her shoulders, and headed for the servants’ entrance. Daniel and Patrick jostled against one another as they followed. Ignoring the sounds of pushing and shoving, she opened the door and froze.
Lazarus stood in the opening, his hair and clothes wet from the rain.
“I need your help.”
He stepped into the room, his coat wrapped around the large bundle he carried. He shifted the weight, and the side of his coat fell back, revealing the battered face of a young girl.
Patrick rushed forward. “I tried to get her to come.”
Lazarus glanced at Olivia, then back at the youth. “Fingers will need you.”
The young man nodded and disappeared into the rain without another word.
Olivia took one look at the girl and spun on her heel. “Follow me.” She left the room, then called over her shoulder, “Daniel, bring a towel for our guest.”
Entering the infirmary, she set about lighting the lamps on the sideboard and credenza. Lazarus stood in the doorway, his arms cradled around the girl.
“Put her down here.” She patted the cot, set her medical case down on the nearby table, and opened it.
He lay his burden down on the cot and with gentle fingers, peeled back his coat. The girl whimpered, her hand clutching at his shirt.
“Shh. You’re safe here.” He uncurled her fingers from his shirtfront and dropped a kiss on her forehead.
He met Olivia’s gaze. “Her name is Rachel.”
Olivia nodded, trying to control her temper at the sight before her. The girl’s nose and mouth were bloody, her right eye dark purple and swollen. Another bruise darkened her left cheekbone. Her wrist lay at an odd angle across her chest. She couldn’t have been more than twelve years of age. “Who did this to her?”
Lazarus shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
Olivia looked up from dabbing the blood from the girl’s nose. “It
does
matter.”
“It doesn’t concern you.”
Straightening, she glared at him. “You bring a young girl who has obviously been beaten to me for help, and you say it is no concern of mine? By bringing her here, you make it my concern.”
Ignoring her, he took the towel the footman held out. He wiped his face and ran the towel over his hair. Droplets of rain hid in the dark strands, reminding her of shining diamonds in the lamplight. Realizing she was staring, she swallowed and quickly set to work washing away the last of the blood from Rachel’s mouth and nose.
“Please send for Mr. Durant,” Olivia said as the footman moved to the door.
“Wait,” Lazarus commanded. “Durant, the Bow Street Runner?”
“Yes.”
“He’s not needed.”
“What? Of course a member of the law is needed. The person who did this needs to be punished.”
He looked at Rachel for a long time. When he raised his head, his eyes were black chips of ice. “He will be.”
Olivia quelled the urge to step back. His anger pulsed through the room like a living thing. Now was not the time to press him to do the proper thing. With one last glance at his stony expression, she set about splinting the young girl’s wrist. It was obviously broken and would take a great deal of time and care to heal properly.
Setting aside the extra cloth she’d used to wrap the splint, she watched him from under her lashes. She wasn’t sure how he would react to her next request. Clearing her throat, she met his gaze. “I’d like you to step out into the hall for a few moments.”
He shook his head. “I’m not leaving her. I promised I would stay with her, and I will.”
“I understand that...but I need to check to see if she was...” She trailed off, not sure how to put her fear that Rachel had been raped into words.
He stiffened. It was as though he understood her worry without her having to voice it. “That didn’t happen.”
“Are you certain?” she asked, hating to press the subject.
“Yes,” he rasped. “Patrick stopped the bastard in time.”
Feeling an enormous sense of relief, Olivia brushed a few strands of hair from the girl’s cheek. “Would you be willing to turn your back? I’d like to remove her dress and check for other injuries.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek telling her he was only just managing to keep his anger in check. He nodded and turned away.
Wasting no time, she removed the ragged gown and ran her hands over Rachel’s chest and limbs, trying to ascertain if she had suffered other injuries. A deep blue contusion ran from just under her ribs nearly to her waist. Olivia applied a gentle pressure along the length. Rachel moaned in response.
Lazarus started to turn, then stopped, his back stiffening at the sound of the young girl’s pain. “You’re hurting her.”
“Not intentionally, I assure you. I’m trying to ascertain if she suffered breaks in her ribs.” Olivia draped a sheet over her. “You may turn around now.”
He looked at her over his shoulder, then turned to face the cot. Curling his hand around Rachel’s limp fingers, he gave it a gentle squeeze.
Touched by his kindness to the girl, Olivia moved away to give them a measure of privacy. Under the pretense of having something to do, she lifted a nearby ewer of water, poured it into the basin, and washed her hands. “She will be fine in a few weeks’ time,” she said in a reassuring tone. “She has some terrible bruising, but I do not believe any ribs are broken.”
When he didn’t respond, she looked up from drying her hands. He stood by the bed, staring down at the injured girl.
“Is she the person you are looking for?”
“No.” He brushed back the hair from Rachel’s forehead. “Though she is very much like her.” He raised his head and met Olivia’s gaze, his expression unreadable. “Is she able to travel?”
Taking note of his closed expression, she swallowed the questions his response set clamouring to life. “If she will not be traveling far and if she has a safe place to stay and recover.”
“She does.”
“She should stay abed for at least a week.”
“Would you be willing to see her again to ensure she is healing properly?”
“Of course.” Olivia couldn’t keep a smile from her lips. “You know how I insist on checking up on my patients.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgement, a small smile touching his mouth in return.
Chapter Eight
“If I had known
he
was to be your guest, I wouldn’t have helped you get an invitation.”
The words were spoken low enough, but Olivia was certain Lazarus had heard them, though he gave no sign of it. Perhaps because he was too busy scanning the overcrowded ballroom for the Duke of Sandhurst.
“I had to practically get on my knees and beg Lady Bingham for that invitation,” Amanda hissed from the side of her fan.
“And I appreciate it, as I’ve already told you numerous times.” Olivia forced her lips into a smile and hoped she at least appeared to be having a pleasant conversation.
“May I get you ladies some refreshment?”
She met Lazarus’ gaze and knew he was trying to find a polite way to give them some time alone. She smiled for real this time. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
“Not for me. If I need a glass of that insipid punch Lady Bingham always serves, my husband,
Lord
Riverton, will get it for me.”
Lazarus inclined his head. “As you wish.” With a quick bow, he turned away.
Olivia watched him disappear into the crush knowing he would take the time away to do a more thorough search for the duke.
“I can’t believe you asked him to be your escort.”
“Would you accompany me to the retiring room?” she asked, barely holding onto her patience.
“Whatever for?” Amanda moved closer. “Are you feeling ill? Though if I had to be polite to that man for one second longer, I would be the one worrying about casting up my accounts.”
“You haven’t said a polite word to or about Mr. Prescott all evening.”
“It hardly matters. The man is completely uncouth.” With a languid hand, Lady Riverton waved her fan back and forth.
Olivia’s grip tightened on her own fan until she felt certain the delicate ribs would snap and yet another one of the useless accessories fashion demanded she waste funds on would be ruined. “I am not engaging in a public row with you. Either you come with me and discuss this privately, or refrain from making such snide remarks.”
“Oh, very well, I’ll accompany you,” Amanda said in a put-upon tone. She turned toward the far end of the room as the musicians began to play. “I hope we don’t miss the first waltz. You know how I love to dance the first waltz.”
Olivia took a deep breath and practiced her breathing exercises. She found it helped her control her temper as well. “After you,” she said, gesturing for her friend to lead the way.
Ten minutes later, she closed the door to the suite of rooms being used by the ladies in attendance for the evening. She made a quick circuit of the area, taking in the lush carpet and jewel-toned velvet drapes. Matching chairs and settees were clustered together in the rooms encouraging one to sit and partake of the latest bit of scandalous gossip.
Ensuring they were alone, she made her way back to the door and leaned against it. If someone tried to enter, she would have enough warning to change the topic of conversation.
“Well?” Amanda tapped her foot impatiently.
“What is wrong with you this evening?” Olivia countered. “Why are you acting this way?”
“I’m concerned for you. Your association with Mr. Prescott will do your reputation no good.”
“And why is that?” She felt the need to pace, to work off her anger, but she stayed put. “Is it because he is a mere mister? Do not forget I am but one step removed from being a commoner.”
“Your brother holds a title that makes you gentry at the very least.”
“And it is only through his knighthood that I am accepted by the
Ton
at all.”
“Don’t belittle yourself.” Amanda huffed. “That’s your biggest fault. You continually place yourself among the lower classes. And I mean that in the most literal sense.”
Olivia folded her arms over her chest. “If you harbor some grand illusion of orchestrating a marriage between myself and one of Riverton’s titled friends, drop the idea right now. It won’t happen.”
Amanda crossed to the cheval mirror that sat in one corner. She gave a small moue of disgust and fluffed out the skirts of her butter yellow gown. “It could happen if you weren’t so stubborn. You are a well-bred young woman.” Turning one way and then another, she gazed at her reflection. “If you were to emphasize those attributes, instead of playing the wallflower, you would have any number of suitors.”
“Really?” Olivia raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “And which gentleman is willing to overlook the fact that I engaged in the manly behavior of doctoring others instead of making my debut like a proper young miss, not to mention my penchant for speaking my mind?”
“Just the other evening Viscount Ruskin mentioned how lovely you looked at the last ball I gave.” Amanda smiled in triumph.
“Viscount Ruskin isn’t interested in me. He’s looking for anyone who is willing to act as a stepmother to the five hellions he calls his sons.”
“That is true.” Lady Riverton tapped her chin with her fan as she leaned her hip against the end of a settee. “But I am certain there are others who would clamour for your attention if you didn’t act so...so...”
“Strange?” Olivia supplied.
“That wasn’t the word I was searching for. But you do have to admit, you act like a high-strung horse at the merest hint of a thunderstorm.”
Olivia lifted a shoulder in what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug. “Everyone has something they fear. Thunderstorms are mine.”
She stumbled forward as someone pushed against the door. Turning quickly, she grabbed the handle and pulled it open. Dismay filled her at the sight of a frowning Lady Jersey standing before her. Forcing a smile to her lips, Olivia gave a quick bow. “Forgive me, my lady.
Without giving the formidable woman a chance to respond, she ducked around her and headed back to the ballroom.
“Olivia, wait.” Amanda hurried down the hall after her.
“Are we not finished discussing my unsuitable escort and my off-putting manner?”
Amanda bit her lip as though it had just occurred to her how harsh her words had sounded. She laid her gloved fingers on Olivia’s arm. “You know I only mention these things because I want the best for you.”
“Yes, I know.” Hoping to distract her friend before she began to sulk, she linked her arm through the other woman’s. “Shall we return to the ball? You don’t want to miss the waltz.”
Amanda brightened. “Oh, the waltz. I nearly forgot. And I still have to find Riverton. He is most likely in the card room.” A small giggle escaped her, and she strode away with a waggle of her fingers.