What of the fever?
Audrey shoved the thought aside. She had learned from years of assisting her father that one could not anticipate future events in an emergency. One step at a time was what was needed. Order would be restored, but it must be attained one step at a time.
“I cannot ask you to do that, Miss Gideon. You have already been so brave, but your reputation …”
Audrey bit her lip. Lady Astley could arrive at any minute. The heavy rain must have caused considerable delay.
“The needs of the patient outweigh any other considerations.”
“Never mind that. I am accompanying you because it will set my mind at ease. It is just across the street and the rain has worsened, so no one will see.”
As if to confirm the correctness of her assertion, the sound of rain had increased to a dull roar outside. It was as dark as night with the thick covering of black clouds overhead blocking any light from the heavens above. God himself agreed with her taking care of this patient. If the current deluge continued, Lady Astley would be delayed even further. And even Lord Stirling could not dispute that caring for his heir must take precedence over what society viewed to bede rigueur. It would create a crisis of devastating proportions for the people of Stirling if something happened to Lord Trafford. He was their future lord, after all.
Audrey bent down to grab her cape, swirling it around her shoulders and raising the hood. The time for hesitation was over. The door to Lady Hays’s home was a mere thirty or forty feet away, closer than Lord Trafford’s room upstairs or the drawing room on the next floor. It was time to take care of her patient.
Lord Trafford was mumbling, staring down at the bloodied handkerchief pressed to his side, his face so white in the gloom it was incandescent. “Hang it all! I just wanted sodding breakfast.”
Audrey rushed forward, throwing an arm around his waist for support. Lord Trafford was near to keeling over. The news that he had not eaten since the night before was unwelcome. No wonder he was so pale! He had been stabbed and lost blood on an empty stomach. She needed to get him to Lady Hays’s forthwith.
“Make sure no one sees us.”
Audrey nodded as Lord Trafford and she made for the front door. She would return before Lady Astley arrived.
Truly!
But … Just in case …
“Wait!”
Lord Trafford halted, and Audrey reached down. Taking hold of the birdcage, she swung it over to Lord Trafford.
“You must take Flapper.”
He frowned. “What?”
“Carry the birdcage.”
He accepted it, and Audrey reached down to shut her valise and grab hold of the handle. She would need her medical supplies. Hoisting it up, she cursed under her breath. The valise was a considerable weight. Along with Lord Trafford’s tall frame leaning on her, she was bearing far more weight than she was accustomed to. She squared her shoulders and coaxed the injured heir to continue their journey to the front door.
She should summon one of the servants to assist her, but Lord Trafford appeared to think it would be better if they were not involved. And …They might inform Lady Astley where I am.
Flapper chirruped in alarm when she clumsily pulled the door open and they were met with a drenching gust. Once outside, she wondered if she had gone mad by agreeing to cross the street. A wall of water was an apt description for the scene that met them as they stood beneath the portico.
Glancing about, Audrey could see no one in the streets. She doubted anybody was about, but they would have to risk it. If they waited any longer, the bloodthirsty scoundrel could return and observe their movements, though it seemed unlikely he would have returned this soon after being frightened off. Surely he needed time to report back to his master and gather his wits?
Setting out into the rain, they stumbled and slipped their way across the street.
“Ring at the tradesman’s entrance,” muttered Lord Trafford.
Audrey guided them to the gate as directed, feeling around for the bell to ring it with frantic repetition. She waited a minute or two and rang it again. With great relief, bent with Lord Trafford’s increasing weight bearing down on her, Audrey heard the door opening and looked down to see Patrick, one of Lady Hays’s elderly retainers, inserting his leathery face through the cracked door.
“Who’s there?” the old man cried through the pouring rain.
“It is Lord Trafford,” Audrey shouted back. “He needs your assistance!”
“Master Julius?”
Patrick swung open the door, then sloshed up the stairs to assist her. Flapper’s cage was deposited on the top step before Lord Trafford’s weight lifted off her when Patrick took hold of him from the other side. Her patient groaned in pain as they gingerly navigated the wet steps to make their way inside.
