“Silvester,” she called out, pulling him back to himself, and Langley turned to look over his shoulder.
Margot stood by the bed. She had the key in her hand, because of course she did. But that was not what his eyes were drawn to—no, it was the gash from her collarbone to her shoulder. That bloody blade had cut into her. A strange, unpleasant shake possessed Langley, and for the first time in his life he was scared.
He dropped the lulling attacker to the carpet, who landed with a moan, forgotten and abandoned. With hurried steps, Langley ran to Margot’s side.
“God.” He caught her up before she slipped down to the ground, propping her back onto the bed, grabbing up his shirt, tearing it to pieces, and pressing the material against her cut, trying to stem the bleeding. She flinched at the contact.
“Is he?—”
“Don’t think about him. He’s unconscious. Leave him. We have more important things to do. Hold that there.” Hurriedly, Langley threw on his breeches and jacket, the bother of his shoes he left, and anything like his cravat he did not bother to search for—it would take too long. He placed her dress beside Margot on the bed. “We must leave at once.”
“Before our presence draws in too many eyes?”
“I know a doctor,” Langley said. The man would have to help him now. It was worth the risk of exposure. “Come, can you walk?”
“Of course.” Margot attempted to stand, using one of Langley’s proffered hands and the bed rail to ease herself up. Even in the moonlight she looked very pale.
Deciding this would take too long, Langley scooped her in his arms, tucked her evening gown on her lap, and marched out of the Norton guest room, descending through the mansion as silently as he could, taking the servants’ stairs.
“You seem very familiar with the route,” Margot said after a few minutes. He was pleased she made no motion to climb down or out of his hold, simply lay in his arms, accepting his aid.
“Indeed, I have witnessed a great many escapades in these halls,” Langley replied.
She lapsed into silence, which Langley did not like, and when they reached the outside of the house and he hurried towards the stables, the flickering light of his carriage illuminated far tooclearly the gauntness of Margot’s features, and the redness of his blood-soaked shirt. How far away was Bloomsbury, ten or twenty minutes, or less because it was so early in the morning? Doctor Caton would be asleep, or worse, what if he was out visiting with a patient?
“Adams, take us to 5 Marchmont street, quick smart. Don’t stop for anything.” He gave the address of Philip Caton with the hope that Pip would do all he could to help Margot. Despite everything.
Easing her inside the carriage, Langley held on to Margot as he settled into the seat, cradling her against him in an intimate and, were she not injured, romantic pose—close, he supposed, to an embrace. The carriage took off, rattling down the streets with Adams following Langley’s hurried directions. Lights and houses dashed past, but Langley did not see them, his eyes were riveted on her face.
“If anything should happen.” Margot wetted her lips. “You will find my sister’s direction at the lawyer’s. Please go and find her in Cornwall. I have written to her several times, but I have not heard back—” She sounded frightened, and Langley did not know if this was for herself, or simply for her absent sister. Margot sucked in a breath. “Elsie will know how to proceed with my parents and William. She will know what to say… She always does.” Her voice wavered there, and she sounded as if she wanted more than anything to see her younger sister again. “You would like her so. I shouldn’t have sent her away, I should have…”
“We will be in Bloomsbury in no time, and there is a wonderful doctor there who will make everything right.” Langley realised he was talking to her as if Margot were a child. The need to offer out reassurances was changing him. Perhaps it was said just as much for him as it was for her. “You’ll be as fit as a fiddle before the day is out.”
Even in the shadowy depths of the carriage, Langley could see Margot’s scepticism at this amount of optimism. Were this any other circumstance he would have been tempted to reach for a humorous comment, a light-hearted remark in an attempt to lift the dark mood, but nothing occurred to him. Nor did he want it to.
“And will you tell Mrs. Bowley?—”
“Oh my God,” Langley cursed, “woman, stop bloody fretting about everybody else. I will take care of it all.” He wanted to add that he would take care of her, but the words would not come to his lips. He recalled too clearly what had happened when they’d been together. As he tried to force these sentiments into a convincing sentence, the carriage started to slow down, so instead he said, “We’re here.”
The Bloomsbury house was a familiar one to Langley. He had bought it for Pip. It was a handsome if simple three-storey abode, made from red brick with black railings and a matching painted door.
Adams ran to the front and started knocking, and Langley helped Margot forward and out of the vehicle. It was an awkward business, as she seemed torn between wanting to protect her modesty and continuing to hold Langley’s ruined shirt to her wound. Once she was on the street level, Langley hoisted her up in his arms and carried her up the steps, and through the now-open front door.
The contrast of warmth, of comfort, flooded through Langley at the sight of the hastily grabbed and lit candles and the face of Caton’s housekeeper as the doctor appeared at the top of the stairs. The doctor took one look at the scene of Langley holding up the injured Margot, and pointed towards his surgery.
“Through there,” Caton ordered, hurrying down the steps.
Everyone followed his direction, Langley first with Margot clutched to him. The fireplace was filled, and a spark splutteredit to life. The curtains were pulled more tightly shut, and the housekeeper hurriedly closed the door. Only when this was done did Langley lower Margot down onto the doctor’s table, and take a shaky step back.
Leaning close, the doctor said a few words to Margot, who gave a brisk nod and allowed him to begin his examination.
Stepping across to his servant, Adams, Langley told the man to get back to the Norton household, and wake up the servants present, alerting them to the intruder in the guestroom. “He’s injured but dangerous. Bind and gag him if you can and take him to the Runners.”
Adams nodded, and slipped silently from the room, out to the waiting carriage. That done, Langley turned back and hungrily stared at the scene before him, trying to work out the next best course of action he could take.
“Give me something to do, or else I shall run mad.” Became his mantra as he started to pace in ever decreasing circles around the surgery, as he watched Caton stitch up her cut. Why hadn’t he enabled Pip to buy a larger surgery? Surely a doctor needed more space than this poky surgical room. Pip had always assured him this was the perfect house, but now he was actually witness to the reassurances, the stitching, the administration of the medicine… Langley simply felt guilty.
“I reckon,” Pip said, “that is you done, miss. All sewed up. For now. You’ve been very brave.”
