Comfort slipped into the dim stairwell and turned up the gaslight to better evaluate Bram's condition. Stooping, she touched his shoulder and tapped it gently. “Bram? Bram, can you hear me?”
She thought his eyes might have flickered behind his lids, so she held her breath, studying them for a moment but realizing it was only the play of shadows across his face. Afraid to move him, Comfort took advantage of his unconsciousness to leave his side and find what she could that would give him some ease when he woke. She discovered half a bottle of whiskey in one of Newt's desk drawers and some crumpled, paint-spattered sheets in a storage closet.
She was close to the bottom of the stairs when she realized that something had changed. Bram's body lay nearer the door than it had when she left. “Bram? You're awake?”
He didn't open his eyes, but he answered her from behind clenched teeth. “God, yes.”
She almost cried with relief. “I'm coming. I have some sheets to put under your head and whiskey for the pain.”
Bram looked up at her through a slit under his lashes. “Good. Hit me with the bottle and cover me with the sheet.”
Comfort marveled that he could find humor in his situation. It seemed excessive, even for him. Looking down at him, she simply shook her head. Ten minutes couldn't have passed since he'd told her that he never took anything too seriously. There were some things she could accept at his word.
Comfort set the bottle on the lowest step and let go of two of the sheets. She folded the one in her arms into thirds and slipped it under Bram's head. “Can you look at me?” she asked.
He opened his eyes. “Twins.” He gave her a groggy smile. “Very nice.”
She couldn't tell whether he was having her on. She held up three fingers and demanded that he tell her the truth. Although he answered correctly, she wasn't convinced that he hadn't guessed. “I swear if I learn that you're pulling my leg, I'll pull yours.”
“The broken one?”
“That's the only one worth pulling.”
“Hard-hearted woman,” he said under his breath.
“Yes.” She looked him over again. “Can you extend your good leg? Wiggle your fingers?”
He did both those things. “See?”
She thought he was inordinately proud of his accomplishment, but then again, she wasn't the one in what had to be excruciating pain. “I need you to move away from the door. You're blocking it.”
He looked sideways and saw what she said was true. “I was trying to get out.”
“I know. And I'm sorry I wasn't able to stop you. I only left you for a few minutes.”
“It's all right.”
“I can help you.”
“No. I'd rather you didn't.”
Comfort nodded, understanding. In his position, she didn't think she'd want anyone touching her either. She moved out of his way and sank her teeth into her lower lip to keep from making unhelpful wincing noises. She grimaced several times, but he was concentrating on inching away from the door and paying no attention to her. When he'd moved far enough that even a man possessing the girth of Dr. Winter could get through, she told him to stop.
Comfort readjusted the makeshift pillow under Bram's head. “Have you ever had a broken bone?”
“No.” He raised his head and looked down the length of his body at the unfortunate positioning of his left leg. “God, no.” His pant leg was stretched tight across his knee. “I think I fell on it.”
“What?”
“I think I fell on my own leg.” His voice was rough but clear. “The stairs slipped out from under my feet, and I couldn't catch myself. I landed with all of my weight on my knee and . . .” His voice trailed away as he tried to recall what happened. “I don't remember after that.”
“That's because you also hit your head.”
“What about my face?”
She smiled. “Untouched. As beautiful as it ever was.” Comfort thought he seemed satisfied with that. Bram was nothing if not confident of his fine looks. “Dr. Winter's been sent for.”
“I don't know him.”
“He's more than competent to handle your injury, and he wasn't far away. In fact, I expect that he'll be here shortly.” Whether or not Mr. Appleby would make it so was out of her hands. “I also sent Mr. Tweedy out to notify your brother.”
Bram groaned, but pain had nothing to do with it. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I thought he should know.”
“Did you send someone to tell my mother?”
“No. Your brother's closer.”
“Yes, but
she
would do something. Bode will thank your messenger for the information and return to what occupies him: his goddamn ships.”
She blinked. “I'm sure you're wrong.”
Bram's grimace veered toward derisive.
“I can't send anyone out with a message for your mother. I have only one teller here, and my uncles are still at the exchange.”
“It's all right,” he said after a moment. “She'd come with three doctors and six servants to bear my litter. It would be a farce of enormous proportions.” He raised one hand to indicate their small space. “They couldn't possibly all fit, and God knows, she would insist that they try.”
Comfort didn't have any trouble believing that. She laid her knuckles against his cheek. His skin was cool to the touch. She reached behind her and gathered the discarded sheets. Snapping them open, she covered Bram from his feet to his shoulders. “You're going to live,” she said. “It's not a death shroud.”
He smiled weakly. “I think I'll take that whiskey now.”
She opened the bottle and held it to his lips. He placed a hand over hers and made certain she gave him more than a medicinal swallow. She let him have another swig before she took it away. She'd just put it back on the stairs when footsteps approached the other side of the door.
Comfort scrambled to her feet and kept the door from being pushed open with too much force. “Dr. Winter.” She held up one finger to delay his entrance a moment longer. “Thank you for coming. Let me open the door from this side. You'll have to squeeze through, I'm afraid.”
“I'm sure I'd have to do that in any case,” he said, beaming and patting his protruding belly. He wore a brown wool jacket buttoned only at the top, as was the current style. It was meant to show off his yellow-and-green-checked vest but did a better job of showing off his love for rich desserts.
Comfort pulled the door open as far as she was able without disturbing Bram before she motioned the doctor inside. “Thank you, Mr. Appleby,” she said when the teller continued to hover near the door. “You can go back to your station. It's time to resume business.” She climbed a few stairs to give Dr. Winter room to move and sat down.
“Let's see what we've got here,” Dr. Winter said, drawing back the sheets. “You're the only injury I've heard about, Mr. DeLong. Seems nothing buckled, or if it did, people got out of the way. Oh my. I'd say that's broken.” He opened his black leather medical bag and took out a pair of scissors. “But let's make sure.”
Comfort knuckled her mouth to keep from laughing at Bram's genuine look of horror. If Dr. Winter noticed that his patient wanted to object, he wasn't having any of it. He sliced through Bram's trouser leg from the ankle to just above the knee and spread the material open. Comfort squinted at the misshapen flesh around the break. The skin was angry red and pulled taut over the swollen knee. She didn't need the doctor's quiet whistle to know it was a serious injury.
Winter dropped the scissors back in the bag and handed it off to Comfort. “Well, it has to be set, of course, but I don't want to do that here. I'd prefer my office, but I can manage if there's a place with some privacy in the bank. The lobby is acceptable if you remove your customers. We still have to get him out of this stairwell, of course.”
“We can move him to where we keep the safe,” Comfort said. “That's just behind the tellers' cages.”
“Good.” The doctor continued his examination, checking for bruising and other injuries. He made Bram answer more of the same questions that Comfort had already put to him, and then settled awkwardly on the bottom step once he was satisfied. He contemplated the door and the logistical problem of moving his patient.
Winter reared back as the door suddenly opened. There'd been no indication that anyone was approaching. Behind him, Comfort jumped to her feet and threw out a hand toward the door to protect Bram from being shoved aside. The doctor bent forward when Comfort stretched out above him and grabbed the door.
“Bode!” It wasn't until he smiled at her with a certain smugness that she realized she hadn't called him Mr. DeLong. It made her want to put her fist through the opening with the express intent of blackening his good eye. That would have certainly been unfortunate for him, because he was now wearing a black patch over his injured one. The rakish effect would not have been improved by wearing two. “You can't come in. There's no room.”
“Let go of the door and allow me to have a look.”
Comfort pushed away, teetering slightly over the good doctor until her heels rested solidly on the step. “Be careful.”
Nodding, Bode poked his head in. “Winter. You're here. That's fortunate.”
“Hello, Bode. What happened to your eye?”
“Nothing interesting. How's my brother?” He glanced down at Bram and made his own assessment. Although he didn't know it, his soft whistle was an echo of the doctor's. “Hello, Bram.”
“Hello, Bode. Good idea to use the patch. Very piratical.”
“Travers's idea.” He met Bram's lopsided grin with one very much like it. “Odd, isn't it, that providence should restore balance to our situations so quickly?”
Even Bram's pain couldn't mask his startled expression. Seeing it, Comfort frowned. “What does he mean, Bram?”
It was Bode who answered. “I'm reminding my brother he shouldn't have had so much amusement at my expense.”
“You're saying he deserved this?” she asked. “That's cruel.”
Bram hushed her. “He's teasing me, Comfort. It's what brothers do. It's what I did to him.”
Her eyes darted between them and could find nothing in their expressions to support the uncomfortable feeling that they were lying. “We need to move Bram,” she told Bode. “Dr. Winter can set his leg in the back room. We're just not sure how to get him there.”
Bode nodded as he glanced around. “What do you have in the medical bag, Doc? Anything like a chisel?”
“I have a file.” He opened his bag and showed it to Bode. “To keep my scissors and scalpels sharp.”
“That could work. Give it to Miss Kennedy. I have a hunch she can move more nimbly around your patient than you can.”
“Very well reasoned,” Dr. Winter said. He passed the file over his shoulder to Comfort.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked.
Bode slipped an arm through and around the opening and pointed to the hinges. “Use it to pop the pins. If you have to loosen the plates, the point of a scalpel should work on the screws. Don't fret, Doc. I'll see that you get a new set if one of them is ruined.”
Comfort didn't care overmuch about the doctor's scalpels. She examined the file, turning it over in her hands, and thought that Bode had happened upon a good idea. It could work. She got up and carefully picked her way around Bram's sprawled form until she came to stand near his head. She yanked her skirt close around her feet so the fabric wouldn't fall all over Bram's face. Taking a substantial breath, she applied herself to removing the hinge pin from the middle plate. She slipped the flat edge of the file against the divot under the pinhead and pushed up. When it didn't budge, she used the heel of her hand like a hammer to steadily pound the file in the direction she wanted it to go. She gave a little yelp of surprise when it gave way.
“You see?” Bode wiggled the fingers of his outstretched hand. “Here, I'll take it.”
She dropped the pin in his palm and proceeded to attack the uppermost hinge. It came out with considerably less effort. Her challenge was the bottom one. She couldn't get under it to apply enough force to push on the pin. She bent the tips of two scalpels trying to turn the screws in the hinge plates before she gave up.
“Perhaps if I lie on the floor,” she said. Before anyone could dissuade her, she twisted into the corner and began sliding down the length of it. Bram cocked his head to one side to make room for her as she kept lowering herself to the floor until she was on her back. The width of the stairwell was too short for her to lie flat, so she made her feet climb the opposite wall. The hem of her dress slid past her ankles and pooled around her knees. She didn't raise her feet any higher. Thus braced, she slipped the file in place and pushed upward as hard as she could.
The pin gave a mere fraction of an inch. She grunted with her next effort. “I don't know,” she said. “I don't think I . . .”
“Yes, you can,” Bode said quietly. “Imagine all of you is the hammer.”
She glanced sideways and caught Dr. Winter's quizzical expression. Lifting her head just a bit, she was able to make out Bram's skepticism. She gripped the file again and closed her eyes.
I am the hammer
. She shoved the file upward with such force that the pin shot from the hinge plate as though fired from a cannon.
She caught it neatly on its way down, mere inches from Bram's open mouth. It was all very satisfying.
Bode grabbed the door and shimmied it free of the frame. He tipped and angled it so he could pull it toward him. He passed it to the men standing in a semicircle behind him and reached across the threshold to help Comfort to her feet. She managed it with considerably more grace than any other woman of his acquaintance who had occasion to find herself on her back.