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The child did not reply but continued to sob.

“It happens sometimes, that the children working in the mills get their fingers into the cogs of the spinning-frames.” Willis clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve come to the right place, then. His Lordship will sew you up right and tight, and everything will be good again, you’ll see.”

The door opened and Marks stepped out.

“Marks, the child has a grave injury to his hand. His Lordship must see him first,” Anna told him.

“But we were here before him,” complained the others.

“He is a child, mon Dieu!” Anna brooked no argument and pushed the child forward.

Marks nodded. “The women and children go first. You know His Lordship’s rules.” He stepped aside to let Anna and the child pass.

* * *

Anna had been in this corridor before.

It was when she’d got lost and stumbled upon the room that housed his pathological collection.

But the room she was ushered into now was larger and the curtains were drawn back, allowing daylight to stream in. It was furnished with a sofa and several chairs, with an examination table in the centre. Shelves along the wall were stocked with vials, coloured glass bottles and jars, and a herb cabinet, while a side table held an orderly display of surgical instruments. The opposite wall was lined with shelves crammed with books and medical journals. By the window stood a large wooden writing table, cluttered with papers and open books.

In the armchair behind it, His Lordship sat, writing, his brow furrowed in thought. He looked clearly well, no trace of the illness that had plagued him during the night. It was as if it had never happened.

He turned as they entered, surprise flickering briefly in his eyes.

“Miss Hilversham.” His gaze softened. Then he noticed the boy clinging to her skirts. “What have we here?”

Anna gently squeezed the shoulders of the boy. Jem buried his face in her dress, shaking with fear and pain.

She crouched beside him, her voice low and soothing. “Jem, don’t you want to show His Lordship your hand so he can help you?”

The boy hesitated, then extended his hand.

St John quickly untied the bandages and cast them aside. “Ah. I see what happened. That blasted mill machinery. It is only the first joint that is damaged and not fully severed. You’re a lucky devil, Jem, it looks like you’ll be able to keep your finger. Nonetheless, it must be very painful. Shall we fix this?”

“Yes, p-p-please,” the child sobbed into Anna’s skirts.

St John straightened, meeting her eyes. “Miss Hilversham, if you would, please sit on the table with the child on your lap, holding him still. Soothe and distract him.” He indicated the examination table. Anna nodded and gently lifted Jem into her arms and guided him to the table. His small body was light, far too light for a boy his age, she thought as she settled on the table. He clung to her as if she were his last lifeline.

St John stepped up to his cabinet, muttering to himself. “It is tricky measuring the right dose based on his age and size. Hopefully he’ll tolerate it. Give too little and it won’t do a thing, give too much…” His words trailed off, but Anna caught the shadow of concern in his eyes. He carefully measured some laudanum in a vial, mixed it with water and poured it into a glass.

Returning to them, he crouched on their level. “Jem. Listen to me. I need you to drink this. It will make you sleepy, and hopefully you’ll drift off before I start. You won’t feel much, if anything at all.”

Anna watched as the child obediently drank the mixture. After a few moments, she felt his body gradually relax against her. His eyelashes fluttered, his head grew heavy, rolling against her chest.

“He really fell asleep.” Anna cradled the boy’s head gently.

“Good. Let’s get this done quickly.” He thoroughly cleaned the wound with a tincture, and the sharp scent of alcohol filled the room. Then he began stitching quickly.

Anna held her breath as she watched how his long fingers moved deftly, each stitch as fine and controlled as if he were embroidering an intricate piece of lacework.

“You can watch this?” His low voice broke the silence, yet his eyes remained on his task. “It doesn’t turn your stomach?”

Anna shook her head. “No. I find it interesting.”

He placed a final stitch and bandaged the finger. “There. It is done. He’s a lucky devil. Help me move him to the sofa over there.” Together, they lifted the boy and moved him to the sofa, laying him down gently.

“I would like to stay with him until he awakes.” Anna settled on the sofa next to the boy. “He shouldn’t wake up alone.”