“Meg.”
“I said lie—”
“Where is she?” Tom reached out, snatched the man’s shirt, threads tearing. Everything swam, like leaves carried in a current bobbing up and down beneath the surface. His stomach upheaved. Why did he smell burnt flesh? “Get Meg … I want to see Meg.”
“She be with Dr. Bagot.”
“I want to see her.”
“You can’t.”
“The devil I can.” Tom lifted up, fire blazing his side, but a hard shove pinned him back.
Meade growled a succession of insults. Then a voice—a softer one—coaxed him back.
“Let me sit with him. You go on.” Joanie, sweet Joanie. With hair pushed behind big ears, she tucked the coverlets over Tom’s torture-wracked body. Her movements were quiet, nurturing, and steady.
Somehow, that calmed him.
“Shhh.” She swiped a cloth across his forehead, the linen cool and damp. “Don’t try to say anything. The body can do naught of fixing if the mind’s troubled too. That’s what Mamm always said.”
Sounded like something she would say.
Joanie was like her.
“We got the wound cauterized while you were still on the floor. Dr. Bagot wanted the bleeding stopped before we moved you.” She sighed. “But that was hours ago. You were coming awake anyway.”
Questions reared, but he wrestled them down. He knew he should ask. Now that the chamber was quiet, Joanie was alone with him, and he still had his consciousness.
But he couldn’t.
Minutes ticked by.
Then, on the wisps of a prayer, “Meg?”
“The bullet was lodged in her shoulder. Dr. Bagot removed it.”
“She willnae die?”
“No.” Joanie sang the question as if he were ridiculous. “She is already awake. Lord Cunningham is with her and Violet too. I don’t think she ever had a mother. Violet, I mean.”
An unexplained churn of relief and disappointment worked through Tom’s gut. “What happened? How did ye … did they find us?”
“You didn’t come home.”
“What?”
“To the cottage. You said you would, but you didn’t.” Joanie shrugged. “My brother always keeps his word. One thing Mamm and Papa taught us both.”
“Ye went looking for me.”
“The next morning, I walked to the road and got a ride with some wrecker. He gave me this.” She lifted a Spanish silver cob from her pocket. “Said he found it after his last shipwreck. He was terrible nice and took me all the way to Meade.”
“The constable?”
“He came too. We thought there might be trouble.”
Tom nodded, rolled his head to glance at her. “And Mr. Foxcroft.”
