“Ain’t no one I know going to recognize me dressed like this,” she replied, spreading her black skirt. Sleeves extended past her elbows, and the high but loose neckline was augmented with a tucked-in white fichu.
Ashley considered the ill-fitting uniform the girl was wearing. “We need to get you something that fits better.” And that blended in. Only the housekeeper here wore black; the other maids in Uncle Edward’s employ wore dark green, as did the footmen.
“The linen draper keeps used clothes in the back,” Sally offered. “We might could find something there.”
Before Ashley could reach for her reticule, Sally retrieved the purse from her apron pocket. “I didn’t spend it all yesterday.” She shook the purse. Coins jingled.
“Off you both go, then.”
Alone with Ravencroft, Ashley eased him onto his back. Seemingly of their own accord, her hands lingered on his warm bare skin. Yes, lovely and warm. Too warm? She pulled the blankets up to his chin, sat on the edge of the bed, and held the back of her fingers to his forehead. He definitely felt warmer than he had yesterday.
While she pondered if his temperature was high enough to be considered a fever, he opened his eyes.
“Good morning,” she offered, quickly withdrawing her hand to her lap.
He blinked, glanced around the room, and closed his eyes. Just when she thought he’d fallen asleep again, he looked at her. “Not dreaming?” His normally deep voice sounded especially rough, like boulders tumbling down a ravine.
She shook her head.
“Coach and four run over me?”
The bed and even the floor at her feet seemed to vibrate when he spoke. She gave a tiny shake of her head. “You ran afoul of two pimps, Big Bob and Little Lenny. Apparently you injured Lenny’s knee.”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise before he squinted his eyes shut, grimacing in pain, his breathing becoming rapid and shallow.
She retrieved the whiskey bottle from its hiding place and poured two fingers’ worth into a glass. “Here, this will help.” She lifted his head and held the glass to his mouth while he drank.
“Ow, ow, ow,” he muttered, and probed his split lip with his tongue.
She forgot to breathe for a moment, staring at the tip of his tongue, then shook herself. “I have something that will help.” She grabbed the smaller of the tins she’d mixed. “This formula has more beeswax in it and will help protect the cut.” She warmed it between her thumb and forefinger as before and applied it to his split lip. He stayed perfectly still, his hazel gaze riveted to her face as she brazenly caressed his lips with her fingertip.
She cleared her throat as she wiped her fingers on her apron.
“Oh,” he said, more of a moan than a word, and seemed to relax farther into the pillows. The lines of pain on his forehead eased.
Ah, good. The whiskey was taking effect.
He gave a slow blink. “How…”
“How did you end up here?”
He raised his chin in a brief nod. She explained about her stumbling into the alley at the end of the fight, the misunderstanding with the butcher and his wife, the household staff being gone for the afternoon. “And now not only am I hiding you in my bedchamber, the girl you fought to protect is hiding here as well.”
He watched her intently as she spoke, not saying anything, only his facial expressions responding to her tale, as though it took too much effort for him to comment. He was slower and slower opening his eyes after each blink, and by the time she finished her explanation, he was asleep again.
“I will chalk that up to the pain and whiskey rather than a negative reflection on my story-telling abilities,” she said softly.
With squeamish Sally being gone, now was a good time to change the dressing on his arm. Ashley unwrapped the muslin bandage and checked the stitches. Only a little spotting from fresh blood, no more than expected, but the edges of the cut were a brighter, angrier shade of red than she’d hoped for.
He flinched when she dribbled gin over the wound and let it drip into the basin, but didn’t fully wake up. She sprinkled a generous amount of basilicum powder and dried, crushed lavender all along the line of sutures before applying a fresh dressing and bandage to his arm.
The old bandage was burning in the fireplace by the time Maggie and Sally returned. “The Mansfield butler said he would get the note directly to your friend,” Sally said. “And Mrs. Gillespie asks if you’re going to have lunch downstairs or would prefer a tray in your room.”
Ashley glanced at Ravencroft. “I’ll go downstairs. I need to keep to a normal schedule and keep other servants out of here as much as possible. Any luck at the linen drapers?”
Maggie triumphantly retrieved a paper-wrapped package from the shopping basket. “Just needs a little nip and tuck.”
Lunch was delicious. Ashley passed her compliments along to the cook and requested an extra serving of almost everything. When the footman wasn’t looking, she tucked the buttered rolls, nuts, cheese, and other dry foods into a napkin which she concealed in the folds of her skirt as she returned to her room.
