Chapter 6 #2
They’d just made their way to the vestibule when Henry came through the front door.
A bare bulb illuminated the space, but it made his face look even more haggard, especially because of his bruised face.
He’d untied his bowtie and it hung around his neck.
Closing the door, he sighed. “What does the doctor have to say?”
“He wants to amputate the boy’s leg. Your sister has argued on behalf of the mother to send the boy to a surgeon in London who may repair the bone.” Her father clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ve given my consent. Would you care to escort the boy to London?”
“I’d like to go,” Ginger said, her tone flat. She didn’t want there to be any argument.
Her father shifted, his brow furrowing. “To London?”
“You can’t possibly go to London at this hour,” her mother said. She set a steady hand on Ginger’s forearm.
Henry winced, walking his fingertips over his swollen lip. An ugly purple bruise covered his cheek. “Mama is right, Ginny. Things are uncertain enough right now. It’s best for you to be home. Not to mention the fact that I’ve accused the men involved with the police.”
Ginger shook her head. “I’m certain it would be a comfort to Mrs. Martin for me to go with her to London.”
Her father frowned. “I’m afraid she won’t be able to go to London at all. And neither should you.”
The soft buzz of the electric bulb pulsed in the tense air between them. Ginger readied herself for a clash with her father, anger coiling in the taut muscles of her arms. “And why won’t she be able to go to London?”
Her father’s gaze sliced toward her, as though she’d tried his patience enough. “Because of the Act.” His tone held exasperation. “She’s had to register as an enemy alien. She can’t travel further than five miles from the village. Penmore is at the edge of where she might go, to be honest.”
His words caught her off guard. She had expected him to say something about how he didn’t really want to drive Mrs. Martin to London or oversee the boy’s care. How she’d overstepped by offering. Now Ginger felt ignorant.
She’d buy an armful of newspapers in the morning and read everything about the blasted Act.
“You should stay here, Ginny.” Henry sat on a settee, pain written on his features. “The trip to London could be difficult for the boy. It might be frightening to witness.”
Difficult or not, she had to help. She’d put Charlie and the Martins in further danger. Throwing her shoulders back, she said, “Did I balk at his injury? I was fine. I’m not a frail flower, Henry. And if Mrs. Martin can’t go, then there’s room enough for us both to accompany the boy.”
Her mother crossed her arms. “It’s too dangerous for you, Ginger. The men who did this to Charlie—and attacked Henry—could return. Or stop the car.”
Please don’t take their side, Mama. Without one ally, she might not go.
“Then it’s as dangerous for Henry, isn’t it?
No one is going to stop us on the way to London and ask if they have accused us of German sympathies.
” She swiveled her gaze to her father. “Please, Father. It’ll give me a chance to check in with Stephen in London.
See if he’s made any progress with Home Secretary McKenna. ”
Mentioning Stephen was a trump card, and she didn’t doubt her father would know why she’d used it. But it would also give him reason to hope she’d accept Stephen while in London.
Her father’s dark eyes reflected a quickness that showed she was right. “And where will you stay? Morgan says the boy needs to leave immediately.”
“With Madeline. She won’t mind.” Ginger’s aunt was still in London for the end of the Season.
Her father gave her mother a surprised look, as though he hadn’t expected Ginger to be so prepared with a response. “I don’t need another one of my children injured over this.”
“I promise I’ll be careful.” Ginger leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Is that a yes?”
Her father scanned her face warily and nodded. “I know exactly what you’re doing. Perhaps you’ll consent to please me and come back an engaged woman.”
Ginger stepped back from him and raised her chin.
Even in the middle of the night and during calamity, her father didn’t miss the opportunity to pressure her.
Still, it would do her no good to seem stubborn and hard-headed.
“You never know. Perhaps being in London again will inspire me to settle the issue once and for all.”
A mildly pleased expression filled her father’s face.
Ginger pressed her lips together. Once and for all could mean many things. She hoped her choice wouldn’t estrange her from her father. Somehow, it felt as though the war had already fractured her world.
“Very good. You will need to drop us and Mrs. Martin off at Penmore after we’ve loaded the child. Hopefully Bosworth won’t mind your mother and I squeezing in with him in the front.”
Dr. Morgan and Henry transported Charlie to the idling motorcar on a stretcher, Mrs. Martin following. She wrung her hands as they walked out of the hospital. She turned to Ginger. “Thank you, Lady Virginia. For all you’ve done for me.” She climbed in beside her son.
As Dr. Morgan exited from the car, he wore a scowl. He turned to Ginger. “Since this was your brilliant idea, I entrust the boy to you. If he grows pale or his pulse drops, I advise you to stop and find the closest doctor you can. Get him amputated if that happens.”
Ginger’s throat went dry. “How do I know if his pulse drops?”
The doctor reached for her hand. At her hesitation, he said, “If you’ll permit me.”
She nodded, then offered her hand. “Place two fingers here.” Dr. Morgan put his middle and forefinger below the wrist. “Count the beats you feel for ten seconds. Use your brother’s pocket watch. Then multiply by six—you know arithmetic, yes?”
She pulled her wrist away. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Dr. Morgan.”
He seemed unfazed by the insult he’d offered. “If you can’t find the pulse on the wrist or if it’s too faint, try here, at the base of the neck.” He touched his own neck to show her. “If his pulse is below forty, there’s reason for concern.”
Her father cleared his throat from the front of the car. “That’s quite enough, Dr. Morgan. We must be on our way.”
The trip to Penmore was quick, followed by an exchange of goodbyes. Ginger hated to leave Mrs. Martin behind. But at least here she’d be safe, wouldn’t she?
Ginger leaned out of the car window to wave.
The distant hoot of an owl sounded in the night, followed by the rustling of spiky branches from the tall conical evergreens beside the house.
She held her breath, listening intently.
The violence of the evening had left an edge on her heart.
What if her mother was right? The men who’d been so angry with the Martins could come here still.
Hopefully, Henry’s trip to the police would deter them.
As the car pulled away down the long driveway, Ginger glanced over her shoulder at the house. The grey stone walls of the estate gleamed with moonlight.
Large, looming, safe. The home of her family and the earls of Braddock since the civil war a few hundred years earlier. Her Royalist ancestor had distinguished himself at the Battle of Braddock Down and been bestowed a title accordingly.
She couldn’t help but wonder what other tribulations had befallen the gates of her home. Yet it had survived wars and plagues and conflict, hadn’t it? She couldn’t be the one to destroy it all with an ignorant mistake.
Taking comfort in the idea, Ginger turned back toward the car. Charlie lay on the seat in front of them, his leg in a makeshift splint. He appeared to be sleeping, thank goodness. The doctor had also appeared to have applied iodine to the cuts and scrapes on his face and arms.
Ginger’s hands clenched into tight fists. Who would do this to a child? The inhumanity of it was beyond appalling. What would they have done to him if she hadn’t found him?
She studied Henry’s profile. “The men who did this—they did it rather brazenly. Right beside a public house. Do you think they—”
“They won’t be likely to see any consequences if that is what you’re asking.” Henry reclined his head against the seat. His eyes were unreadable in the car’s darkness.
“But they attacked you.” Ginger reached toward his cheek.
He scowled and pulled back. “This world is a lot less friendly to those of our ilk than you believe, dear sister. Socialism and communism are on the rise among the lower classes. Don’t be surprised if the people who resent us will take this war as an opportunity to declare their own.
” He dabbed at his lip with a handkerchief.
“I should have asked Pierce to fetch me some ice before I left.”
A chilly silence, black as the horizon, surrounded them.
Henry’s words had brought the fears of the evening into the car.
“I don’t know what my role should be in the coming months, but I can’t sit back and see everything around us destroyed.
If the world is changing, we must prepare to change with it.
Otherwise, we’ll be swept away by the winds of the coming storm. ”
“I don’t disagree, but I can’t find your place for you.” Henry closed his eyes, his voice terse. “You’re going to have to prove you can rise to the challenge on your own.”
She stared at him in confusion as the car jolted and bumped along the road. What was Henry suggesting? She swallowed the question. If she couldn’t even come up with her own way of proving her worth, then maybe Henry was right.
Poor Bosworth. A trip to London this late at night was a difficult thing to ask of him. Within a few minutes, Henry seemed to have drifted off to sleep, a skill she didn’t possess. Tired as she was, she didn’t sleep well outside her own bed.