Who had done this to him? Where was he?
The last thing he clearly remembered was the giant’s fist slamming into his face as the butcher came out into the alley. Night sky was visible through a gap in the window curtains. How long had he been here? Whereverherewas.
Flickering candlelight reflected on a covered dish on the bedside table. He lifted the lid and discovered steak and fried potatoes. Cold, of course. He was too hungry to care. The scent of rosemary in the ointment with so prevalent, he even tasted it in the food. Still good, the meat tender. He washed it down with lemonade from the pitcher beside the covered dish, awkwardly poured with his left hand because it hurt too much to move his right arm. A thick bandage wound around his right arm from elbow to wrist. The more he looked at it, remembering the searing flash of pain when the pimp sliced his arm, the more it throbbed.
For once he wished he had something stronger available to drink.
A bottle on the floor caught his eye, tucked behind the table, mostly hidden by the bed curtain.
Whiskey.
He’d never been so glad to see spirits. He squeezed the bottle between his thighs to open it one-handed and took a deep drink. Coughing, throat burning and his eyes watering, he sealed it and put it back in its hiding spot.
He had questions and wanted to explore his surroundings, but he suddenly felt chilled at the same time the warmth of the alcohol spread through him. A wave of exhaustion slammed into him so strong, he barely had the strength to limp back to the bed and pull the blankets up to his chin before he passed out again.
* * *
Ashley sat on the edge of the bed the next morning, applying ointment to Ravencroft’s bare chest. She’d already tended to his face and applied a fresh compress to his eye. “I like how the bruises aren’t as deep as one might expect at this point, and the swelling is coming down,” she said to Sally, “but I’m concerned that he hasn’t woken up yet.”
“Oh, he’s been awake. Out of bed, too,” Maggie said, throwing a scoop of coal on the fire. “At least for a little while.”
Ashley and Sally both looked at her.
Maggie pointed at the privacy screen in the corner, which concealed the chamber pot and close stool. “I emptied it this morning. It had definitely been used.”
Ashley felt her cheeks flush. “Was there… Was his water bloody?”
“The bruises by his kidneys,” Sally murmured. Ashley glanced at her and nodded.
“No, miss.”
“Oh! And he was hungry,” Sally chimed in. “Unless you ate the last of the steak during the night. And the pitcher of lemonade was empty.”
“He got up, and I slept through it?” Ashley shook her head, annoyed at herself. That had to be a good sign, though, that he’d been awake and had something to eat and drink.
“Shall I take this downstairs with your tray?” Maggie held up the bowl from the hearth.
Ashley set down the tin of ointment and went to check. “No, this stays here where it’s warm.” She stirred the contents. “Lovely.” Coming right along, the whole mixture was turning a mushy, fuzzy grey-green. She covered it again and set it back on the hearth.
Ravencroft seemed just as unconscious as he had been yesterday afternoon. “Help me turn him.” She pulled the blankets down to his waist and the three of them made easy work of rolling him onto his side, again cushioning his injured arm on a small pillow. She had just finished smoothing ointment on the rest of his bruises when they heard a scratch on the hall door.
All three of them froze.
Sally recovered first and went to open the door a crack. “Yes?”
“This just came for Miss Hamlin,” the upstairs maid said, and handed over a letter.
Sally shut the door and brought the letter.
Ashley sat at her desk to read it. Another note from Georgia. Oh dear, she had forgotten to reply to last night’s note. This one was a little more frantic in tone. Mother and Aunt Lydia were in a tizzy because Uncle David had not come to rehearsal last night and had not even had the courtesy to send a note with Uncle Liam, who had offered no explanation as to Uncle David’s whereabouts.
Blast. She had been so worried about how she could get a half-naked earl out of her home without causing a scandal, she had forgotten to consider how his disappearance would affect his friends and family. Ashley tapped the letter on her desk, her thoughts racing.
She did not know where Ravencroft resided, but surely Mr. Westbrook did.
She quickly wrote two notes. In the first she asked Mr. Westbrook to join her in a turn about the square this afternoon. In the second note, she apologized to Georgia for her delay in responding, and commiserated with the cook about the unexpected gift from the kitty as well as Lady Mansfield’s frustration regarding Lord Ravencroft’s absence. In the last paragraph, she asked Georgia to get the enclosed note to Mr. Westbrook so she could ask him a question about his mandolin. With a twinge of conscience at her lie, Ashley folded the note closed and asked Sally to deliver it right away.
“You can go along too,” she said to Maggie, “if you feel it’s safe for you to be seen in this neighborhood.”
