“I don’t doubt that it does, My Lord. You just rest now. If you are more comfortable in the chair, I’ll get the hassock so you can put your feet up.”
Smithers busied himself making Percival comfortable.
The tea came, and Percival drank it, although he grimaced over the bitter flavor. But as he settled back in his chair, he found that he could rest against his right shoulder and support his aching head against the wing. Shortly, the pain in his head settled to a dull throb.
McClellan came in a little while later, and kneeled down on one knee. “I’ve taken the liberty of sending for Dr. Hardwick, My Lord.”
“The army surgeon, McClellan?”
“Aye, My Lord, but you know there is none finer for tending wounds. He’ll know what is right, an’ not be speakin’ o’ bleedin’ when there is no need.”
“Thank you, McClellan. No matter who we have in, no more laudanum.”
“Indeed not, My Lord. I shall see to it personally.”
McClellan stood up and backed away, giving Smithers room to bring in a bowl of steaming broth. Percival was able to sip a little of it before leaning back in his chair and falling asleep.
* * *
Tiffany woke with a start and nearly fell off the narrow bed. Someone with a dim candle was moving about the room.
“It is just me,” Emily said. “I’ve brought you a little breakfast. Old Elizabet sent down some sewing for you to work on. They are looking for you on the streets, so it is not safe for you to go out and about.”
“I feared that would be the way of it,” Tiffany replied. “I only hope that I am not endangering all of you by being here.”
“No one knows,” Emily reassured her. “It was dark when we came in and this place is well concealed. When I go out, I’ll cover my tracks so no one will be able to follow me back.”
Emily had been the best of them at concealing her tracks and at finding hiding places, so Tiffany relaxed a little. “I don’t suppose you brought anything to read, or something to write with and on?”
“Tiff! What do you take me for? For that matter, do you think you are some prisoner and I’m your gaoler?”
“Only the kindly messenger to one in hiding. Thank you for bringing the food and the sewing. It will help to keep me from going mad in this small room. What time is it, anyway?”
“Near midday. I looked in on you earlier, but you were fast asleep. It is a sad thing, but we must go on.”
“Did it do anyone any good at all? Or would it have been just as well if I’d been sent up the night Percival caught me?”
“O-ho, Percival, is it?” Emily teased. “I did wonder about that.”
“Emily . . .”
“Oh, never mind. I suppose you are not in the mood for funnin’. You did good, Tiffany. The food and medicine that you and that Lord of yours sent saved Lisa’s life, and it looks as if she might be able to sing again.”
“That is one thing, at least. What is the work you have brought to me?”
“Some lace to be mended, handkerchiefs to hem, and a new set of clothes for you. Old Elizabet says you must not go about as a boy. She’s set the rumor that she has a niece coming to visit from the country. That will be you.”
“It will serve, I suppose, if I change my hair and smudge my face.”
“For now, you are to keep out of sight and make the things we bring in presentable so’s we can sell them.”
“I am glad to help any way I can,” Tiffany promised.
Breakfast was a far cry from the viands to which she had become accustomed. Oatmeal porridge in a bowl with a chip out of one edge, a cup of garden tea that tasted strongly of sage, and a crust of bread with some lard scraped over it. There was also a shriveled apple.
“I could make better food for everyone . . .” Tiffany started to suggest.
“Old Elizabet was sure that would be the first thing you would say. She says to tell you that you are not to go next nor nigh to any kind of cooking, since they are looking for a cook.”
