Chapter 18
On Jem’s arm, Reese approached the door to the ballroom. The light spilled over them the same way it had a couple of years ago. Though this wasn’t Twickenham, Kellworth in its glory reminded her of that first time when they had worn borrowed clothes and learned long-forgotten dance steps.
“What are you thinking?” he whispered.
“What do you think?” Reese sighed, happy despite being in the heavy gown. “The clothing of this period becomes you.”
“I could say the same to you, and you don’t have to tell me you find the dress confining.” Jem gave a dark chuckle.
“Well, it is.” Reese shifted, glad she didn’t have on stays. That had been a battle at the modern-day Twickenham Regency ball she wouldn’t want to repeat.
“There’s Ellen.” Reese nodded toward where Ellen stood laughing with Michael near the edge of the dancers. “He must be excited to show her our time.”
“I’m excited to see it too,” Jem admitted, “though I imagine he’s worried, what with her pregnancy.”
“Well, I trust Nellie’s potions.” She’d seen their work with the malnourished cottiers during their first visit.
“It’s a waltz.” Jem grinned at her. “Shall we?”
“Yes!”
They entered the ballroom. Since the music had begun, he swept her into a Viennese waltz step, something they had learned in a dance class they’d taken back home to prepare for this trip. And it was exhilarating. When they passed George and Beatrice, the older man grinned.
Next came a country dance, which challenged them both but was still fun. Gareth claimed a dance with Reese, so Jem did the same with Catherine, teasing the earl about having danced with her before any of them had traveled through time. They then all took turns dancing with cottiers and servants.
Reese was glad someone had cracked open a few of the windows, since the room was growing quite warm.
Watching how everyone handled themselves filled her with pride.
She made her way over to where Catherine stood with Nellie and an elegantly clad woman Reese recognized from the wedding they had attended on their second visit.
She couldn’t remember the lady’s name, only that she was also noble.
Then a maid stepped up beside Reese, looking uncomfortable.
“Do you need her ladyship for something?” Reese asked.
The maid hesitated, then nodded and said quietly, “There’s a question from the kitchen. Cook isn’t certain whether to send out more of the cold meats yet. They’re going faster than expected.”
Reese glanced at Catherine, who was fully engaged with the elegantly dressed woman.
“Let’s not trouble the countess about this. I know she doesn’t want anyone to go hungry tonight, especially with all this dancing.”
The maid bobbed a curtsy. “Thank you, ma’am.”
With a sigh, Reese told Jem where she was going and followed the maid from the ballroom. The air grew cooler in the hallway until she reached the large kitchen, heavy with the scent of bread and roasting meat.
Cook looked up as Reese entered and grinned a welcome.
“Go ahead and send out more food,” Reese said. “I’ve seen how much you cooked, so you should be fine.”
“Just as I thought,” the cook said, a furrow creasing her brow, “but ’tis odd how quickly some of it has gone.”
Reese thought back to the people visiting the food tables along the side of the ballroom and couldn’t remember anyone taking food in excess. After hosting some play parties and feeding teen appetites, she understood bottomless-pit hunger.
“How so?” Reese asked.
Cook gestured toward a side table. “’Tis almost like someone is sneaking some of the food off the trays, but there’s plenty for the servants, so ’tis not them.”
Reese stepped closer to the table, and that was when she noticed a dark smear on the floor near the curtain that separated the scullery from the service corridor beyond. She picked up a lamp and crouched to examine it.
It had to be blood.
But how? The cook was fastidious, and the meat had been roasting for hours. Reese shifted her gaze to the curtains.
It shifted.
A sudden chill crept down her spine, and Reese straightened slowly.
“Hello?” she asked carefully.
The curtain jerked, and a man lunged through it.
He brushed past her, his shoulder striking her and making her stumble back a step, more from surprise than pain.
She could tell there was something wrong as he staggered away.
He reminded her a little of some of the cottiers when she had first seen them, gaunt and hollowed, wearing threadbare clothes.
And the dark stain was coming from his poor feet.
His ragged shoes slipped on the smooth stone floor, and he went down hard. As she rushed to him, he rolled over.
Reese had seen his face before. It was the man from the prison carriage, the one who had escaped. He looked terrible.
Fear flashed across his face, and he groaned, “Please...” as he tried to lift himself but couldn’t.
“You poor man.” Reese knelt beside him. “Hunger drives people to do desperate things.”
He stared at her.
“You’re bleeding,” she said, reaching gently for his foot.
“But your fine gown,” he mumbled, flinching.
“I won’t hurt you, but you have to let me help,” she said firmly, praying he didn’t have frostbite or infection.
“Mrs. Taylor,” the cook said from behind, and then she gasped.
“Send for the Countess,” Reese commanded. “Tell her there’s a medical emergency. Quietly.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The cook’s expression was tight, but she and Reese had gone back and forth during that first visit, enough to know better than to argue.
Reese turned back to the man. “You’re safe for the moment, but you’re injured.”
He sagged visibly, exhaustion appearing to overtake panic. “I’m sorry.”
Reese swallowed. “I understand.”
Jem was about to go in search of his wife when a footman approached and said softly, “The Countess is needed and should bring her bag.”
Had something happened to Reese?
Though his instinct was to run from the room, Jem pushed down his alarm and murmured something reassuring.
To the side, a maid was saying something to Catherine and Gareth, who had joined her.
Following their behavior, Jem made his way to the side of the room ahead of them and then to the door that would take him to the kitchen.
No one seemed to notice. The music continued, and the dancers didn’t break formation.
“Is everyone safe?” Gareth asked, looking concerned as he followed behind.
“I don’t know,” Jem said, increasing his pace. He explained his worry about Reese.
Gareth’s jaw tightened, and he walked faster too. They entered the kitchen together and stopped short.
A man in filthy clothes lay on the floor near the scullery door, and Reese was spreading a blanket over him.
The poor fellow looked as though he could have been in one of those Holocaust photos.
His feet were uncovered, and it looked like Reese had removed his boots, their soles holey where they had been cast aside, his feet dark with blood.
“Let me through.” Catherine brushed past them with her bag and knelt by the man, paying no heed to her gown. She pushed back her sleeves and examined his feet with brisk efficiency.
“This poor man is half-starved,” she said, her voice sharp and disapproving. “That made his skin split more easily. Fortunately, these cuts look worse than they are. While he’s got cold-weather injury, at least it’s not frostbite. He won’t lose any of his toes.”
Reese knelt nearby, her soiled hands held up as though to avoid touching anything. When Jem took a step closer, she gave her head a little shake and glanced at Gareth. Then Jem understood.
The earl was livid.
“That man is an escaped prisoner.” Gareth glared at him. “I cannot ignore it.”
“And neither can you ignore the fact that he’s freezing to death on your kitchen floor,” Reese shot back.
“Enough. Both of you.” Catherine shot them each a dark look. “Right now, he needs care, not a debate.”
“What are you suggesting?” Gareth asked stiffly. “That we open our home to this... felon?”
“Yes,” Catherine said simply.
When the earl opened his mouth to reply, Reese beat him to it, her voice full of compassion. “Gareth, please. When I discovered him, he tried to run but was so weak he couldn’t stay on his feet. And when he fell, he only had the strength to roll over. Nothing more.”
“Mercy is the true badge of nobility,” Jem murmured.
“Francis Bacon.” Gareth shot him a flat look but gave a curt nod. “This man will not stay in the family wing.”
At that moment, Nellie stepped into the kitchen. “I have a tea known for helping those with a weakened constitution.” She glanced at Reese and winked.
It was likely the same potion she had offered to some of the worst-off cottiers. The results had been miraculous. Which meant the man would feel better quickly, possibly enough to run again, and should have a guard.
Catherine looked up at her. “Brilliant. Now we’ll need some footmen to carry him to the sickroom nearest the kitchen.”
The prisoner stirred with a soft groan. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first. Then he seemed to realize he was surrounded by people in fine clothes, and his eyes widened with fright.
“Easy,” Jem said quietly. “You’re not in trouble. Not yet.”
That earned him a glare from Gareth.
“I meant no harm,” the prisoner rasped. “But I was so hungry.”
Reese made a sound low in her throat. Jem felt it resonate in his own chest.
Gareth folded his arms, looking very much like a stern judge. “You were imprisoned for theft.”
The man swallowed. “Aye, my Lord.”
“What did you steal?” Reese asked.
“Just bread and a bite of meat. My boy hadn’t eaten in two days.” The man let out a sob. “And now he’s likely living on the streets.”
Catherine stilled as silence settled heavily over the kitchen.
Jem met Reese’s gaze, and they both said, “Les Mis.”
At Gareth’s confused expression, Catherine added, “Les Misérables? The story by Victor Hugo about a thief who found redemption.”
The earl’s expression darkened, though it could have been from anger or something more complicated. “The law does not concern itself with intention,” he declared. “Only action.”
“And that,” Reese snapped, “is exactly why people starve.”
“If you insist on sending for the magistrate,” Catherine said, “you may as well order a coffin.”
“We will keep this contained.” Gareth heaved a breath. “He will remain here until he is well enough to be transported to London.”
Nellie passed Catherine a mug of broth, now laced with the potion. Catherine held it to the man’s lips. “Drink,” she commanded. “Slowly.”
“Thank you.” Reese patted Gareth’s arm.
Catherine rose, already issuing instructions. Two footmen arrived to carry the prisoner away, and the Hildebrands followed.
“We have to find out what happened to his son and get him here,” Reese muttered, reaching for Jem’s hand. “And see if the father can be rehabilitated.”