Chapter 20
James delivered the pail to one of the maids employed by The Mad Bull and ordered some breakfast along with a bath on Lady Edwina’s behalf.
As if the poor woman had not been put through enough, she now had to suffer this too.
It wasn’t fair, but it made him feel slightly better about bringing her here instead of to Croft House.
With all her concerns regarding her brother’s reaction to her return, he was glad to have helped ease her mind a little. Whatever her worries, they probably would have increased tenfold once she started feeling poorly.
She’d looked more miserable than a half-drowned kitten pulled from the Thames when he’d left the room.
Expelling a heavy sigh, he stepped out into the courtyard that sat between the inn and the surrounding buildings and ambled to the privy.
Every part of his body ached. Probably didn't help that he'd slept in that blasted chair. Damned uncomfortable to say the least. Even without the wounds he'd sustained, he'd still have woken with a sore neck.
With the wounds taken into account, he felt like bloody hell, but the bed had not been an option. And besides, he'd had to guard the door, just in case someone figured out where they were.
He finished his business and crossed to the pump where he rinsed his hands.
A heavy weight sat on his shoulders, comprised of bone-deep guilt.
Defying Croft didn’t sit well with him even though he was certain he’d made the right decision.
Lady Edwina deserved to choose her own path.
Had James delivered her to Croft, it would have been much harder to delay her reunion with her brother.
Croft would have had to stand against a duke in order to do so. At least this way, he could blame the whole debacle on his insubordinate valet.
By the time James returned inside, the breakfast he’d ordered was being placed on a tray which he offered to take up himself. No sense in making the serving staff waste time on an unnecessary trip.
“We’ve two large pots of water heating over the fire,” said the innkeeper. “It will be brought up in about half an hour along with the tub. If there’s anything else you or your wife require, please let me know.”
James thanked him and started to turn away, then asked, “Would a clean dress be possible? My wife’s was ruined in the mugging.”
It was the most reasonable thing he’d been able to think of to explain their appearances, and the fact he’d been shot, when they’d arrived here last night.
Thankfully no one had questioned them and no additional clarification had been required.
He supposed it was assumed that whatever traveling bag there had been was stolen.
Also thankfully, Lady Edwina hadn’t protested when he’d referred to her as his wife, whom he’d collected from the coach that had brought her back to London after she’d visited with her sister in the countryside.
It accounted for why he’d spent the first night at the inn alone, and again, this hadn’t be questioned.
“I’ll speak with the maids and see what I can do,” said the innkeeper.
James assured him they’d pay for the garment, thanked the man for his help, and proceeded upstairs.
When he entered the room, he found Lady Edwina back in bed and tucked under the blankets.
She squinted toward him and he was struck by how pale she was.
Probably not a new development, but he’d been too preoccupied with helping her earlier to notice.
His heart clenched, which he promptly ignored in favor of pushing the door shut. “How are you feeling? Any better than before?”
“Maybe a little,” she murmured, her voice so soft he struggled to hear.
He approached the bed with the tray but stopped when she recoiled, her expression scrunching with clear displeasure.
Switching directions, he crossed to a table that stood in the opposite corner.
“I’ll put this here in case you get hungry later.
It’s nothing heavy, just a couple of slices of buttered toast with eggs on the side and a hot cup of tea. ”
There was a pause, and then, “Tea sounds good.”
He set the tray on the table and brought her the cup. It took her a moment to push herself into a sitting position and get the pillow behind her back for added support. Her shoulders still quivered, he noted, but she managed to take the cup from his hands without spilling the liquid.
James was overcome by relief as she drank. She’d be all right. He sensed it at the core of his very existence. A sentiment that swiftly had him retreating a step.
He cleared his throat. “A tub and hot water should arrive shortly. Is there, um…anything else you need?”
“No.” She shook her head, then met his gaze across the distance. “Thank you, Murry.”
For some peculiar reason, he suddenly felt extremely awkward, like he was too big for the room. Unsure of himself for the first time since he’d been a boy, he scratched the back of his neck and glanced toward the table where his own breakfast waited alongside hers.
Happy to have something with which to occupy himself, he collected the plate and sat in the same chair he’d slept in. Neither of them spoke while he ate, and although he didn’t look directly toward her, he was aware that she kept sipping her tea.
A knock at the door some minutes later alerted him to the servants who’d come to prepare the bath. He admitted the two young men who carried the tub and the pair of serving girls who brought a bucket of water in each hand.
“We’ll set it down over there right next to the fire,” said one of the lads.
James approved the decision and supervised the filling of water afterward. He even tested the temperature with his hand to ensure it was slightly hotter than what would be comfortable. By the time Lady Edwina undressed and slid into the water, it would have cooled by a few degrees.
“Mr. Roper mentioned a dress,” said one of the serving girls, her attention on James. “I’ve one I can spare. I’ll go see about finding it for yer wife while ye help her prepare for the bath. Won’t be but a moment.”
Startled by her comment and what it implied, James barely managed to think of a quick excuse before the servants were all on their way out the door. The lads were already gone by the time he found his tongue.
“I was actually hoping one of you might assist her,” he told the women. When they turned to him in surprise, he said, “I was wounded last night, in case you weren’t aware. Will make it difficult for me to manage, what with the movement of my right arm restricted.”
Not exactly a lie. The wound in his upper back did make it difficult for him to lift his right arm without the tissue stretching in a way that risked delaying the healing process.
Nevertheless, he made a show of wincing and making a grimace the next time he moved it so they would think he was much worse off.
“Very well,” said one of the women. “I’ll help yer wife prepare for her bath while Mildred fetches the dress.”
“Thank you…?”
“Tabetha,” said the woman, her manner polite though her expression conveyed a desire for practicality rather than kindness.
Needing another excuse to quit the room altogether, James told her, “I’ll go ask Mr. Roper for more tea and another bucket, in case she starts feeling queasy again.”
He was gone before either Tabetha or Lady Edwina could manage a protest.
Once in the hallway, he expelled a deep breath. Defying his orders was already proving more complicated than he’d expected. There were definitely elements he’d not taken into account.
He scrubbed his face with his palm, prayed that all would be well in the end, and proceeded downstairs.
The tea and bucket did not take long to acquire, so he asked for additional writing supplies as well and took a seat at a table where he proceeded to pen a letter he’d no intention of sending.
At worst, Tabetha and Mildred would think him a thoughtless husband for taking so long to return to his sickly wife’s side.
Better that than to walk in on Lady Edwina in the nude.
He gripped the quill harder and muttered a curse, forcing his traitorous mind to banish the vision of supple curves and smooth, unblemished skin.
I will likely live to regret this, he wrote, putting his most pronounced thoughts into words. She deserves better than being stuck with a brute.
True. But a cultured aristocrat wouldn’t have had the wherewithal to save her as he had.
He’d likely have called the authorities and let them handle the matter, leading not only to Lady Edwina’s fate being exposed but also to her prompt return to her brother’s care, no doubt followed by marriage to the man who’d saved her. The opposite of what she wanted.
Still, a London inn was not the ideal place for a woman of her stature. It lacked the comforts to which she’d been accustomed all her life. Furthermore, James feared that the longer they stayed at The Mad Bull, the greater the risk of Croft discovering their location.
If one of Murdoch’s informants worked here, news of their presence would soon reach Croft’s ears.
No sooner had this thought occurred than he heard a man say, “I’m here on behalf of Chief Constable Kendrick.”
James would have ducked beneath the table if he’d have fit. Instead, his only choice in terms of hiding was to turn his face toward the wall. The only small blessing was the fact that he did not recognize the voice, which hopefully meant the Runner wouldn’t know who James was.
“How can I be of service?” The innkeeper asked.
“I’m seeking an Irishman, roughly thirty years of age, slim of build, dark brown hair, and about this tall. We know he’s fought here in the past — that it was he who stabbed Mr. Ian Callahan to death at one of your tables.”
“Aye. I remember the scoundrel. Do ye honestly think he’d be fool enough to return here after that, or that I’d let ’im back in?”