He took the steps two at a time and found room eleven in the first hall. He knocked once. “Dr. Bagot?”
No answer.
He turned to leave, but a faint creak drew him back. So the man was here after all. Tom pushed at the door—
“Oh!” Mrs. Musgrave gave a little start. “Tommy, dear, itisyou.”
He swung the door wider and glanced about the room in confusion. One neatly made bed. A greasy lantern. A crookedly hung mirror above a washstand, where a black-leather medical bag sat beside the pitcher.
No doctor.
“What are ye doing here?” Tom stepped inside, glancing at the cloth-covered platter in her hand. The smell of chocolate wafted from under the linen. “With those.”
“Oh, these.” Mrs. Musgrave smiled. She wore one of her flower-studded hats, and a bit of powder was smeared across her wrinkled cheeks. Perhaps it was only that which made her face so pallid. “I just thought how nice it would be to bring Miss Foxcroft some of my chocolate biscuits. You do remember she loved them.”
He nodded. “How did you end up here?”
“Oh?” Her eyes shifted. “Oh, oh, yes. When I realized she had already departed, I thought I might as well share these treats with someone who might enjoy them.” She touched his stitched cheek. “If I had known you looked like this, I would have brought them to you instead. Whatever happened to you, child?”
“Nothing.”
“I think perhaps you should wait for Dr. Bagot. He must take a look at you.”
“He already has.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“Then why were you”—Mrs. Musgrave gave a little chuckle—“you know, my dear, looking for him now?”
“I’ve not been able to talk with him about Meg. I want to know if she will …” Remember Tom? Look at him the same? Keep her promise? “Get better.”
“You need not worry. Most troubles have a way of sorting themselves.” Mrs. Musgrave patted his chest, then leaned up on her tiptoes and planted a small kiss on his cheek. Was it his imagination, or did her breath seem short?
“I must be running along now, dear. Bring little Joanie to see me soon. I am certain Lenox and her new kitten shall quite enjoy each other’s company.” After settling her platter beside the medical bag, Mrs. Musgrave offered him a faint little wave and bustled away.
Tom sighed.
When he could think straight, he would question Mrs. Musgrave further. Perhaps she was not so much in health as she seemed. But now, he must find Meg.
Clutching his ribs, he lumbered back into the hall. He had two things to give her.
The note.
And all the reasons she could not marry anyone else.
The grass was wet. With a throbbing head, she pushed herself up on her elbows, muscles quivering. Twilight had already settled, making the distant ocean a foggy haze. The wind moaned. She bit back her own complaints.Lord Cunningham.
Standing on wobbly legs, feet slipping in the grass, she made her way toward the black shadow of the carriage. “My lord?” She yanked at the crushed door. It didn’t budge. “My lord!”
“Over here.” The voice came from the bottom of the slope.
Fisting her dress, she skidded down to him and collapsed her knees into the sand. “Are you injured? Can you move?”
He was leaned against a rock, and even in the growing darkness, blood was visible across his temple. He tugged his cravat from his neck. “I think I have twisted my ankle. My head is madness.”
“Do not move. Here.” She mopped at the blood. “It is no more than a scratch.”
