Page 27 of To Hunt the Hunter

“Yes. He’s hurt, love, but he will be all right,” she said, praying she was telling the truth about that. She could not bear to think about the alternative.

“Hurt? Who hurt him? Oh, no… what happened? I must go to him—”

“Phoebe, no, love. Not now… I don’t think….”

But Phoebe had torn herself from Matilda’s arms and Matilda could do nothing but snatch up the lamp once more and hurry after her. To her immense relief, they saw Denton coming up the stairs just as Phoebe was about to run down them.

“Where is he?” the child cried, tears running down her little face. “Where is my uncle?”

“There, there, now, Miss Barrington. His lordship has been taken to his room and Pippin is with him. You trust Pippin to look after him, don’t you?”

“Y-Yes,” Phoebe stammered, trembling hard. “B-But I w-want to see him.”

“And so you shall,” the butler said kindly, taking her hand. “Come along, but you must wait until Pippin says you can go in. Do you promise?”

Phoebe nodded and then paused, holding out her other hand to Matilda, who hurried forward to take it, feeling she needed the reassurance just as much as Phoebe did.

It seemed an eternity that they lingered in the dim hallway, a clock somewhere ticking the minutes away as Matilda’s heartbeat measured them out with dull, aching thuds. Phoebe clung to her and Matilda held her tightly, knowing they were both were living in the same nightmarish place where neither of them dared breathe in case the world shattered around them.

They looked up as the door opened and a small, thin man with a serious face and spectacles came out, clutching a sheaf of papers.

“What is he doing with Uncle?” Phoebe demanded, her voice shrill with anxiety.

The man frowned at Phoebe as he closed the door quietly behind him. “His lordship had some business he needed taken care of. Nothing to trouble yourself over, child.”

Phoebe turned to Matilda, her eyes reflecting all the terror that Matilda was feeling as Phoebe voiced the question she’d not let herself consider. “What business does he need to do at such a moment, if he’s hurt? What are those papers?”

Before Matilda or anyone else could halt her, Phoebe darted past the man and yanked open the door, running into her uncle’s bedroom. Matilda knew damn well she ought not follow, but her reputation was likely past saving, and she cared little for it in this moment. Lucian was all that mattered. She followed Phoebe in, watching as the girl threw herself upon the bed, making Lucian suck in a sharp breath.

“Uncle!” she cried as Lucian held out the arm on his uninjured side.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” he said, though he looked horribly pale and sounded exhausted. “Don’t fret. Pippin is taking excellent care of me.”

“B-But what happened? What is that bandage for?”

“I fought a duel,” Lucian said solemnly, watching with amusement as Phoebe’s expression lit up with awe.

“With pistols?” she asked, frowning.

Lucian shook his head. “A sword fight.”

“Then why are you hurt?” she demanded, clearly knowing her uncle’s skill, for her scorn at him being injured in such a way was evident.

“No, love. I won the duel, but the blackguard shot me in the back. Got me in the shoulder.”

“The scoundrel!” Phoebe cried in fury. “But if you knew he was a blackguard, why on earth did you turn your back on him? That was very silly of you!”

Lucian hugged her tighter.

“I know, Phoebe,” he said, his voice catching. “It was. Extremely silly, and I’m sorry for it.”

Matilda looked away, afraid she would cry herself, and instead moved towards Mrs Appleton.

“Will he be all right?”

The woman’s face was set, her voice firm. “The wound is clean, the bullet went straight though and didn’t hit bone, praise be. He’s weary now from the blood loss, but it’s the infection that we’ve to worry about. I’ll give him a tot of laudanum, though he’ll kick up about it, I’ve no doubt. Makes him sick, but he’s in a lot of pain. Not that he’d let you know it.” Mrs Appleton gave her a direct look, full of curiosity. “He’ll need a deal of nursing. Likely you’ll want to get off back home, as he won’t be fit for entertaining guests for some weeks by my reckoning.”

Matilda stiffened, wondering if Mrs Appleton thought to send her packing. Over her dead body. “No. He needs to be taken care of. He needs me and I’m going nowhere,” Matilda said, glaring at her. “Not until he’s well enough to tell me to go himself, at any rate.”