Chapter 7
Frantic banging on the door brought Seth out of his absorption in the work.
It had gone well. He had constructed the tiny box and gathered the ingredients for plaster while Sibby helped Becky with her needs and allowed her water and a bit of broth.
After, he carried Becky back to the surgery and laid her down with her leg encased in the box with her ankle properly positioned and gently wrapped in gauze, Sibby kept her still with amusing stories while he prepared and poured the plaster.
Becky would have a plaster boot halfway to her knee while the ankle healed.
Once firm he would shave the rough edges.
The mixture had just begun to set up, and Sibby had Becky laughing at some nonsense about an owl and a squirrel, when the knocking came.
It was Frank Holden, bursting with excitement. “Sum’un came like you said, Caulfield. We have him!”
“Where…” Seth stuttered, but he didn’t need to finish.
A stranger stood at his doorstep, one of Whittleby’s grooms, he suspected, holding on to another person who had been tied and gagged, someone built way too slight to be their culprit.
He urged them in from the cold, though he was at a loss how to deal with the situation.
Sibby was ahead of him. Behind Frank’s back she urged Mrs. Duncan into the surgery to sit with Becky. “Now what is all this?” she asked, projecting her lady of the manor voice.
Frank yanked his hat off and repeated that they had caught the man at the shack. Sibby glanced at Seth and studied the prisoner. She reached up and pulled down his gag.
“Tweren’t me,” the prisoner shouted. “I never killed anyone. Must o’ bin—” he clamped his jaw shut, and his eyes darted at all those staring at him.
“Who?” Sibby asked.
“No ’un.”
“Help us, and we may help you,” she said.
The prisoner snorted. “Ye’ll need to do better. If I talk…” His chin came up defiantly.
“Put his gag back on,” she ordered. “How did you find him, Frank?”
“He rowed downstream and pulled up at th’shack like we figured. Found him rooting around in there. Had this in his hand when we got ’im. Right shocked he were.” Frank handed Sibby the bag. She passed it to Seth.
“Coins? Payment obviously, but was he paying or receiving? Are you going to tell us?” Seth demanded.
The prisoner’s eyes, still defiant, but, Seth thought, frightened, glared back. He shook his head. They didn’t bother to remove the gag.
Sibby addressed the groom holding on to the prisoner. “Take this vermin to the Fox and Badger. Tell Ned I said to lock him in his cellar until we can have him tried for murder.”
The prisoner’s brows rose, and his eyes went wide, panicked. He shook his head from side to side.
“I’ll inform Sir Whittleby, Frank. You’ll want to stay here with Becky,” Sibby said as calmly as if she sent a man off to trial for his life every day.
The groom yanked the prisoner along by his arm, and Seth shut the door after them.
“You don’t really believe that man is Becky’s faceless man, do you?” he asked. “He’s too small. I don’t believe that one could have carried old Cramer from the shack to the clearing.”
“I don’t either,” she replied. “I’m hoping a night or two in that cellar will give him time to decide to tell us who he meets there.”
“Good thought,” Seth said. “I thought of asking her to look at him, but it didn’t seem worth upsetting her. If it comes to a trial—”
“My Becky doesn’t need—” Holden sputtered.
“If it comes to a trial, she may have to give witness, Frank. It is too early for that, though,” Sibby assured him. “You stay here and help Se—Mr. Caulfield finish up with Becky. Can Frank take her home?”
“Once the plaster dries, he may. I’ll have some instructions for you, Frank. Come and see what I’ve done.” Holden looked torn, but concern for his daughter won. Frank turned toward the surgery, Seth’s hand on his back.
* * *
Sybilla hadn’t gone two steps before Seth came out without his greatcoat and tugged her by the hand to the side of the building behind a shrub that hid them from the street.
Swept off her feet and into his arms, she had no time to think. She didn’t want to think. What began as a sweet kiss, a confirmation of something settled without words, quickly flared into passion.
Seth pulled back and studied her face, as if he was searching for words, searching for answers, searching for permission…
Before Sybilla could pull any of those together, he pulled her closer and resumed kissing her as thoroughly as a woman could be kissed, his lips sliding to the space beneath her ears and down her neck, before returning to her mouth.
Sybilla responded with fervor she didn’t expect and didn’t regret.
He pulled away, setting his hands on her shoulders, and leaning his forehead to hers. “You said not to apologize. I thought then that I needed to make my intentions clear.”
“You mean, sometimes we don’t need words?” she sighed.
“Precisely.” He stepped away then. “Off with you to the magistrate, to make sure they keep up the guard on the shack,” he whispered.
She gave him an amused salute. “And that he doesn’t cancel the constables.”