Chapter 11
Eleven
“Mrs. Greystone?” Fernsby said from the doorway of her laboratory.
“Yes?” Amelia looked up from the worktable where she’d been assembling the items she needed for the experiment at the school. The fact that her butler had interrupted her was unusual, and his grim expression concerning. “What is it?”
She’d enjoyed a light breakfast in the kitchen only an hour ago, as was her habit.
She liked the warmth of the room and the conversation among the servants, even if she didn’t always participate in it.
Her mood had been particularly light, a continuation since dinner with Henry the night before last.
But now that lightness was fading as Fernsby swallowed. “Pardon the interruption, but Sergeant Fletcher is here and says it’s urgent he speak with you.”
Fletcher? Amelia’s stomach dropped to the floor, her mouth dry. “I see.” But she didn’t. Why would Fletcher call instead of Henry—unless...
With trembling hands, she removed the apron she’d automatically donned and hung it on the peg, only to have it fall to the floor. Fernsby reached for it before she could, hanging it up as Amelia attempted to gather her thoughts before following Fernsby out the door.
“Did he—he say what he wanted?” she asked in an undertone.
“No, madam.” Fernsby didn’t expand as he led the way down the stairs. That alone suggested the sergeant hadn’t come bearing good news.
Amelia paused on the stairs after only a few steps down, gripping the handrail tightly, thoughts reeling. She was no next of kin, and Henry’s parents lived in London—but perhaps he had confided in his friend. Perhaps that was why Fletcher was here.
Oh dear God. She couldn’t bear it if something had happened to Henry. Surely fate wouldn’t be so cruel as to take him from her when they’d just shared their love for one another less than two days before.
Would it?
Yet terrible things happened every day. Life was rarely fair or easy. Happiness was too often fleeting. The lessons were harsh ones that she’d struggled to endure.
Fernsby reached the landing ahead of her, only to turn back with concern when he realized she wasn’t following him. “Madam? Are you quite well?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m coming.” She forced her shaking legs to cooperate and hurried down the rest of the stairs, holding back panic.
Henry might need her, and she was dawdling and giving in to fear. What kind of unofficial assistant allowed her fright to take control?
Fernsby waited at the entrance of the drawing room though he needn’t have bothered. She could see the tall sergeant in his navy blue uniform pacing the room, helmet tucked under one arm.
“Sergeant Fletcher?” She clasped her hands before her, fingers cramping from the tightness of her unconscious grip.
He turned to face her, the distress in his expression causing her to reach for the back of a chair to steady herself. “Mrs. Greystone.” His mouth opened and closed several times as he seemed to search for the right words.
“Not…Henry?” She held back the urge to shake the news out of the man. “Is he...well?” She couldn’t bring herself to suggest anything else. Not when she feared the alternative would upend her entire world yet again.
How many people she loved did she have to bury?
“There was a-an explosion. A bomb.” His chest heaved with the effort of delivering the terrible news. “At the Yard last night. He and young Marcus were caught in the blast.”
Amelia’s entire body shuddered, her breath caught in her throat. Her attention was riveted on the sergeant, a small part of her aware Fernsby guarded the doorway, something for which she was grateful.
“And?” she prompted even as she repeated a silent prayer. Please not Henry. Please not Henry.
“He struck his head on the pavement. Broke a few ribs. Bruised his shoulder.” Fletcher touched his own. “The doctor thinks he’ll recover but...” He gave a small shake of his head as though forcing the thought away. “It will take time to know for certain.”
Amelia tipped her head back and drew a breath, closing her eyes in relief. He was alive, and for the moment, that was all she needed to hear. After another steadying breath, she met the sergeant’s gaze. “And Marcus?”
Henry had told her about the boy, how he’d been helpful with two of his cases. How he was smart as a whip, and twice as clever. That he was trying—for the moment, unsuccessfully—to convince the lad to attend St. Hope’s Charitable School.
“Hurt but well enough to return home after we sorted things out.” He frowned. “Though I’m still not certain he has a home to return to.”
Thank goodness the boy hadn’t been seriously injured—which left only one name ringing in her ears.
“Where is Henry?” She wanted to see him and assess the damage for herself as much as she wanted her next breath.
“He’s to be released from hospital later this morning. Going to stay with his parents.”
She bit her lip to keep from asking if he could be brought to her home instead. That was hardly her place when they were only courting. “Good. Good, I’m sure his mother and father will take excellent care of him.”
“It was a long night. He only just woke this morning.” The emotion in the sergeant’s face tugged at her even as he sniffed. “Scared the living daylights out of me, I admit.”
“Were you there?” she asked, her heart going out to Henry’s friend who was in clear distress. “When it happened?”
“I’d just left and was only a couple of streets away. Came running when I heard the blast, I feared the worst and…and nearly found it when I got there.”
Amelia was torn between wanting to know more and leaving it up to her imagination. Unfortunately, she had a vivid imagination. Best to know the facts. “Was anyone else hurt?” Or killed? But she couldn’t ask that.
“A few passersby, one constable. Henry got the worst of it. Quite a bit of damage to one side of the Yard. Shattered the windows of the pub across the street. Glass and rubble everywhere.” Fletcher huffed out a breath. “Made a terrible mess, we’re lucky no one was killed.”
“Yes. Very lucky.” Amelia pressed a hand to her chest in an attempt to calm her still pounding heart.
She turned to look at Fernsby who’d gone pale at the news, though relief shone in his eyes as he met her gaze. His distraught expression made it clear he was nearly as concerned as she was. That wasn’t a surprise; she knew he liked and respected Henry.
“I came to tell you as soon as he woke,” the sergeant continued, and Amelia faced him again.
“I couldn’t leave him until he talked to me.
He only woke for a short time and didn’t talk much, though he did say your name.
I knew he wanted me to tell you, so I came straightaway.
” Fletcher offered a partial smile. “I’m pleased that you and he—that you have—” He cut off the words, clearly unsure how to say what he meant.
“Thank you.” She was, too.
“He’s mentioned you, and himself. Once or twice.” The sergeant’s smile was more relaxed now. “I’ve been giving him a little advice, being a married man myself.”
Amelia smiled, easily able to imagine Henry’s reaction. “And did he take it?”
Fletcher frowned. “I don’t know. Has he invited you to the theater?”
“Not yet.” The theater? She had something to look forward to.
The gruff man nodded. “I should’ve known—I’ll have another word with him. When he gets better, that is. Can’t have all your outings revolve around murder investigations.”
“True. I appreciate that. I didn’t know Henry enjoyed the theater.” She wouldn’t have guessed it.
“Doesn’t matter if he does or not. As long as you do.”
Her smile felt more relaxed this time, her worry easing. “If you spent the night at Henry’s bedside, you must be hungry. Or at the very least, in need of coffee.” She glanced at Fernsby. “I’m sure Mrs. Appleton could prepare a quick breakfast.”
“I have no doubt that she would be pleased to,” Fernsby agreed.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” Fletcher said even as he held a hand to his stomach, suggesting it growled in response to the mention of food.
“Not at all. She baked bread just this morning and there are plenty of eggs.” Partly because Amelia didn’t eat many. At least not as many as her cook would like her to.
The sergeant grinned gratefully. “Well, that would certainly save me some time, and I can return to the hospital sooner. Mrs. Fletcher would thank you for it.”
“Perfect.” Amelia turned to Fernsby. “Will you see Sergeant Fletcher fed before he goes on his way? Perhaps he could take a few biscuits for later if we have any.”
“Of course, madam.” Fernsby dipped his head. “A quick meal will be prepared shortly if you’d care to venture to the kitchen when you’re ready.” The butler departed.
Fletcher’s gaze returned apologetically to Amelia. “Thank you, ma’am. I’m sorry to bring you such poor news first thing in the morning.”
“I’m grateful to know, and I look forward to seeing him for myself.” The sooner the better. She couldn’t relax until she did. How soon could she reasonably call on his parents?
“The physician intended to have another look at him this morning, and as long as his condition hasn’t worsened, he should be able to depart for his parents.”
Amelia nodded. “Good. Hospitals can be unpleasant.”
“The blow to his head appears to be the worst of it. His shoulder and ribs must be agony, based on the stiff way he moves. It looked as if he tried to protect Marcus as best he could.”
Of course, he had. Her heart squeezed at the thought.
“The explosion likely rattled his brain. It will take some time to heal. Doctor’s already warned him he will need to take it easy for a time.”
“How was that news received?” The timing wasn’t the best as he was at the start of an investigation, but wasn’t he always?
“He grumbled a bit but didn’t argue.” Fletcher shook his head. “He definitely isn’t feeling himself.”