Page 86 of Miss Ashbury and the Anatomy of Mending a Heart

Head wounds bled like the dickens—no wonder the woman’s husband had thought she was dying. It didn’t help that she’d lain there stunned for a few moments before she rose—by the time she realized she was bleeding, a small puddle had formed.

“I fainted all over again, didn’t I?” she’d said, sheepishly, holding a towel to her head. “Never liked the sight of blood. It makes me queasy.”

“I was much the same before I took this position,” Vera admitted with a smile. “I barely notice it now—it’s like wiping a child’s nose to me.”

“Ugh, my Michael’s nose might be worse than this scratch, that’s for sure. At least in winter.”

“It’s amazing such small creatures can create such a great mess.”

“Isn’t that always the way, though?”

In the end, Mrs. Crawford needed only three small stitches. It was Vera’s first time doing the procedure all on her own from start to finish—she was used to Stephen holding a lamp close and looming over her, humming his suggestions or approval as she went. Mr. Crawford had the dubious honor of holding the lamp—he looked the other way the entire time, gulping like he was about to be sick upon the floor.

Vera smiled and shook her head. It seemed that it was the way of things—normally strong men couldn’t handle seeing their dear wives in any sort of distress. But Mrs. Crawford had swabbed the floor clean before they arrived with one hand while the other clamped the rag to her head.

“Are you sure you won’t stay the night?” the woman offered again with a kind smile. “It’s no trouble to rouse Michael. Or you can have our bed, and we’ll sleep in the sitting room.”

Calling it a sitting room was being generous—there was one small sofa and two wooden chairs near the front window. Still, Vera was touched by her words. Mr. and Mrs. Crawford had humble means but offered what they had, freely. It was a stark comparison to Vera’s own mother and father.

“Thank you for the kind offer, but if I’m not home within the hour, the baroness will send a search party after me. I’d best be going. Besides, I think the rain’s about to let up.”

It was a lie and they both knew it. If anything, the storm had gained momentum. Much like an idiot who kept ordering rounds of ale at the pub, it was getting louder and more boisterous as the night went on. Still, Vera thought she saw a slight flicker of relief in the woman’s eyes.

“And don’t forget—neither you nor Mr. Crawford will be sleeping well tonight,” she added. She turned to the husband. “You’d better not go to bed at all—watch the clock and wake her every hour on the hour. Ask her a few basic questions. If you cannot wake her, or if she loses her senses, come and get the doctor. I’m sure he’ll be home by then.”

Mr. Crawford nodded with wide eyes.

Vera smiled at his serious expression. “I don’t expect any complications. Everything looks fine.”

She had no doubt Mr. Crawford would fulfill her orders to the letter. It had been all she could do to make him go and change into dry clothes once they arrived at his house. Vera smiled wider and did her best not to show how wet and cold she was. The thought of a warm bath was all that had kept her going the entire evening. That and soup. Oh, how she hoped Mrs. Portence had saved some soup!

Even the footman had fared better than she had—he had a long, oilskin coat that he buttoned up to his chin. Not that she could resent the fellow for it—this was her first storm on the outside of a carriage, and he’d weathered many. She could hardly begrudge him better preparation.

The baroness had chosen him for this task on purpose—Mr. Frederick was fifty if he was a day, and though his figure was still large and imposing, he had grey around his temples and a wife and four children that he loved dearly. He was protection and as close to a chaperone as the baroness had managed, considering the conditions.

“Are you ready, Mr. Frederick?” She smiled brightly and tried not to show how little she looked forward to the miles-long journey back to Bertforth House.

Mr. Frederick nodded and led her outside, where he’d already hitched the horses. Vera was thankful they were exceedingly docile, as thunder rolled like a great bass drum across the countryside, punctuated by the sharp crack of lightning and the banshee howling of the wind.

The horses were drenched, the poor things. They stood, heads lowered against the gale. Vera couldn’t help the sympathy that panged her heart. Mr. Frederick helped Vera up and took the spot next to her. She gathered her sodden woolen cloak around her and tried to ignore how cold she was.

Vera smiled to herself. How different things were now than when she’d started as Stephen’s assistant! Just this very night, she’d neatly stitched a woman’s head, all by herself. Now she was headed home in a terrible gale. She’d gained knowledge these past weeks—knowledge and courage.

Mr. Frederick gently slapped the wet reins against the wetter horses and pointed them toward home.

CHAPTER 26- STEPHEN

“They should have been back by now.” Stephen paced in front of the window.

He himself had only returned a quarter hour previously; he hadn’t even removed his boots yet.

“That’s funny—that’s what she’d been saying about you.” His mother paged through a book, looking utterly unconcerned.

Stephen frowned at her, then glanced at the clock. “What time did you say Mr. Crawford came, again?”

She sighed. “You heard me quite clearly the first two times. Are you certain you aren’t the one with the head injury?”

“I would think you’d be more concerned. Your protectiveness of Vera seems to have markedly waned.”