“And what of Mr. Arundel?”
“I will send the baron word, of course, but even if he were here, there would be little he could do. Lord Keating is awful at a sick bed. He always likes to be doing something, you see. He does not like to be idle.”
Belle thought that tending an injured man left little time for idleness. Perhaps the baron had been tending the sickbed incorrectly.
“I would stay with Mr. Arundel, of course, but I’m afraid I have another emergency. I mentioned before that I planned to leave? My granddaughter suffered a fall recently. She broke her wrist, which would be unfortunate enough, but she has two small children to care for. Her mother is on the Continent as her husband is the ambassador for Portugal, so she has asked me to come and help for a few weeks.”
“I see.”
“Yes. I hate to leave you with Mr. Arundel. I would take him with me, but I fear moving him.”
“He should not be moved.”
“You certainly do not have to stay with him. I can pay Mr.—er...What did I say his name was?”
“Smith.”
“Right. I can pay Mr. Smith to tend him, and of course I will leave staff here. You can return to your shop, but I would advise you against that.”
“Why?”
Lady Keating leaned toward her, seeming to impart a piece of wisdom. “The men after Arundel found you there once. It’s unlikely they tracked us here, but even if they did, they cannot get onto the grounds or in the house. We have excellent security. Your shop is a different matter. These men can and will hurt you if they think they can use you or your father to get to Arundel.”
“I need to write to my father immediately.”
“I agree. You should both stay away from the shop and in hiding until Mr. Arundel recovers and can sort this out.”
Belle didn’t want to ask what would happen if Arundel didn’t recover. Instead, she said, “All of this over a sabotaged railway.”
“It’s not about the railway. It’s never about the obvious. In my experience it’s almost always about money or power. Mr. Arundel discovered something that will cost someone dearly in money or power. Arundel may not even know what it is he’s learned that’s so dangerous. But he’s a good agent. He will settle this matter.”
“You seem to have a lot of faith in a man you’ve never met before.”
“My husband chose him for the Royal Saboteurs. That means he’s the best.” Lady Keating rose. “Now, if you don’t mind my saying so, you look exhausted. I asked my housekeeper to prepare another chamber. May I show you to it so you can rest?”
“What about Mr. Arundel?”
“He will be my concern tonight. And Mr. Smith will care for him as well. You need only sleep. You can make a decision about whether to stay here or return to your shop in the morning.”
Once in the chamber she’d been given, Belle slumped against the door. She’d refused the offer of a maid but was relieved to find hot water and clean linens waiting for her. She stripped out of her bed clothes and resisted the urge to toss them all in the fire. Instead, she scrubbed her skin clean of the smell of smoke and the flecks of ash then put on a clean nightrail provided for her. If she hadn’t been so weary, she might have explored the room. It was not as large as the one where they’d put Arundel, but it was still more luxurious than any room she’d ever slept in. Even Maggie’s home didn’t have rugs so plush or curtains so heavy. Belle climbed into the bed and pulled the mound of covers over her until she was buried under them.
She wondered where her father was sleeping right now. She wondered if Arundel was still alive. She wondered how her life had been turned so topsy-turvy.
And then she wondered nothing else because sleep descended on her, and she gratefully succumbed.
EVERY MUSCLE IN HIS body ached, including a few he hadn’t known he possessed. For a long while, Hew lay still, assessing his injuries. His side still hurt as though someone had pressed a hot poker to it. His head pounded, which made his eyes throb in turn. His arms, legs, hands, feet, even his hair felt raw and wounded. But he was alive.
He was also clean. He caught the scent of soap and his skin felt free of the sweaty grime from the days of fever.
He opened his eyes and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. Then he stared at the unfamiliar man who peered down at him. “Good morning, sir,” the man said in accented English. Hew couldn’t place the accent at the moment, not with all the pounding and aching distracting him.
“Feeling better?” the man asked.
“No,” Hew croaked.
That didn’t seem to deter the man, who lifted Hew’s eyelids, one by one, then prepared a tincture from a liquid in a blue glass jar, which he unceremoniously dumped down Hew’s throat. Hew would have objected, but the task was accomplished before he’d even realized what was about to happen.
This man had to be a quack. No one else would have been so efficient and skilled. “Your fever has broken, and I imagine you are hungry,” the quack said.
