“We’ve been lookin’ for you for a long time now,” the officer said, immediately grasping Aaron’s hands and pulling them behind his back. Aaron said nothing as a pair of irons encircled his wrists painfully.
“Father! Tell them you did nothing wrong!” Beatrix cried, still kneeling beside Lord Bellton. “You men have it all wrong!”
“The magistrate will determine that, I’m afraid,” one of the officers answered her darkly. “But his name is quite well known in these parts. I don’t think the judge will have any trouble deciding his fate, especially now that he’s shot a man!”
The officers pushed Aaron out of the door, leaving the Earl to sneer down at Beatrix triumphantly. He spit a fleck of blood from his mouth on the straw near her and laughed.
“And this is what happens when those of us with noble blood forget ourselves, choosing to waste our precious days with the commoners.” He turned and left the barn, determined to leave Lord Bellton to whatever fate had in store for him.
“Can you hear me?” Beatrix asked tearfully, shaking the Marquess’s shoulder gently. She looked for the source of the blood that covered the ground beneath him, and sobbed when she rolled him backwards. The bullet had entered his chest just above his heart.
“I’m going to get help,” she said, still sobbing. “Stay with me, please! I won’t be long!”
Beatrix rushed into the house and called out for the physician, praying he was still tending to his patient in the downstairs room. Fate had smiled upon her, as one of the confused servants appeared at the top of the stairs with the older man.
She told him what had happened as they hurried to the stable, several servants in tow to help bring Lord Bellton into the house. The physician fell to the ground beside him and felt for a pulse, his expression turning very grave.
“The heartbeat is there, but it is very faint, I’m afraid. Carry him inside at once!” he ordered, and those nearby scrambled to obey.
Outside, Beatrix looked from the dying Marquess to the cage atop a wagon in which her father had already been loaded. His arms still clamped behind him, he could do nothing but lean forward and call out to her his goodbye. She ran to follow him, but at that moment the constable flicked the whip against the horses’ necks and the wagon jolted forward, pitching Aaron against the bars before he could try to right himself.
“Father! No!” Beatrix cried, but he only shook his head sadly. Even from that distance between them she could see that there were tears in his eyes. She looked around wildly for anyone who could assist her. “Where are they taking him?”
“I’m sorry, miss, but he may be driven to Chelmsford from here. He could even be taken to London,” one of the hands said gently. “Seein’ as how the Earl there claims he’s a wanted thief and now a murderer.”
“But he’s not! The Earl is the one who shot Lord Bellton! I was standing there and witnessed it all!” she cried, and the servant turned a ghostly pale.
“What? He came a-runnin’, shoutin’ that this thief had assaulted him then shot the master! We have to tell someone!” The servant turned and ran inside, and within moments a small cluster of men raced for the stable and mounted various horses, giving chase to the constable’s wagon. Beatrix watched in fear, knowing they may never catch up in time, but praying fervently that they should.
After they’d disappeared from view, she hurried inside to seek out the Marquess. He mustn’t die this way! Beatrix inquired of the first people she saw, who pointed her up to Lord Bellton’s rooms.
Grateful for these past few days of wandering through the house, Beatrix hurried to his rooms and opened the door. Sir Williams looked up from the Marquess’s bedside and sighed with relief.
“Oh thank goodness it’s you!” he said. “Please, I must have your assistance.”
The other servants, already feeling useless and idle, moved aside to give Beatrix a wide berth. Barclay led her to a basin of fresh water to wash her hands, and Mrs. Powell took off her own apron to tie it around Beatrix.
When she was ready, she took her place opposite the physician and waited for his instructions.
“Here, if you’ll place more pressure here, I can seek out the bullet where it remains lodged. We must hope that it has not severed an artery or sliced through a nerve. If it has, it will only be a matter of minutes before he is beyond saving.”
Beatrix pushed those words from her mind as she focused on where Sir Williams needed her efforts. She held the bandage securely down while the man pried back some skin to peer inside. Others covered their mouths in horror or stepped back from the bedside, and two of the servants silently took their leave.
Before long, only two others remained. Barclay and Mrs. Powell stayed to offer any assistance they could, helpless though they felt. Beatrix continued as Sir Williams had instructed, passing off blood-soaked bandages to Mrs. Powell as needed and replacing them with a fresh linen from the pile.
She looked down at Lord Bellton’s colorless face, grateful that their work seemed not to pain him. That same thought also caused her heart to skip a beat, as it meant he was closer to death than she’d earlier feared.
“Ah! There you are, you little bast— never mind,” Sir Williams said, stopping himself from using such language. His shoulders dropped slightly with relief as his small tongs held aloft the small, misshapen, shiny metal shot. He dropped the bullet into a porcelain basin and Barclay carried it away, but Sir Williams called out to him.
“Do not misplace that,” he said without looking up from the wound. “I have no doubt in my mind that the pistol did not belong to the man accused of this terrible crime, and the authorities will need to see that for themselves.”
“What do you mean, sir?” Barclay asked, still holding the basin and looking down at the object.
“That is silver, not lead,” the physician answered, still prodding the wound to ensure that no other pieces lingered inside. “It is largely ceremonial, not used for actual defense. They’re quite commonly used for duels, I’m afraid, usually between two members of the noble classes.”
Barclay frowned at Mrs. Powell, who only returned his confused expression. Beatrix shivered, grateful for the news.
“Sir Williams, my father has already been taken away, accused of this crime,” she said, nearly pleading. “Are you saying that you could somehow prove he’s an innocent man?”
