Page 24 of The Scholar’s Spy

Abigail locked eyes with him, and nodded in agreement, consenting to let him carry her.

With his free arm, Robert maneuvered it further and securely beneath her legs, right under her kneecaps, so he could carry her up more easily.

Abigail put her arms around his neck. Her grip was tight. The warmth of her body flush against his.

A small warning at the sight they would present flashed through his mind, but Robert dismissed it entirely. What did he care? What did gossip matter when her life had been at stake? Surely, the town should simply be relieved and not train its sites on her reputation and such nonsense.

“This way, this way. It’s a smoother route,” Mr. Grose called.

Following the suggested steps ahead of him, Robert started to walk over the stones and back toward the pebbled beach.

When he reached the sandy pebbles, a nearby group of watchers let out cheers, their laughter and goodwill bouncing off the landslide, the rescuers and Abigail as well.

Happy talk broke out amongst the well-wishers as it was discovered that the young lad feared trapped in amongst the rockslide had in fact been caught dozing in a nearby field, and was therefore declared safe, as well as lucky.

Gaiety and jubilance bounded around as the group of rescuers made their way forward. There was talk of another party, although there seemed to be an acknowledgment within the people that neither Abigail nor Mr. Grose’s nephew would really enjoy such an event.

Unbidden, Robert found himself smiling as he walked back toward the pathway with Abigail still cradled in his arms. Her grip was tight enough to reassure him as he found his way on to the path. Several more men slapped his back. Robert wondered if he were about to be welcomed into the town properly now.

Now the heady sunshine that poured in and around them seemed suitable. Right. There was an almost festive feeling in the ebb and flow around the group, although neither Abigail nor Robert spoke to the celebrating parties.

In the distance, Lyme Regis came more blurrily into view, the outcrop of buildings and houses, their colors bright and welcoming. And if Robert was much mistaken, he could see the figure, running and waving, of the older Miss Fossey as she tore toward the group. Mr. Costigan must have found her and told her what had happened. That meant he would need to lower Abigail to the ground, to the approaching stretcher and let the doctor take over.

As Miss Fossey drew nearer, Robert felt reluctance swell in his body. He did not truly wish to ‘give over’ Miss Abigail, even if it was to the tender care of her sister and the physician. She had been rescued by him. Was there not some medieval claim he might be able to exert now so he could carry on holding her?

She felt like his.

The older Miss Fossey reached them, stretching her hand out and touching Abigail’s cheek. Her expression grew wild and fearful as her eyes met Robert’s. He tried to smile, to offer her some kind of reassurance, and Miss Fossey sucked in a breath as Abigail turned to look at her older sister. Abigail loosened her hold on Robert’s neck and the two sisters interlocked fingers.

The oldest Miss Fossey turned back toward the doctor and the waiting stretcher, and said with uttermost authority, “Doctor Owlery, we can transfer my sister now from Mr. O’Sullivan. It will be far more comfortable for her, and I am sure that the gentleman is tired having carried her so far.”

Abigail turned sideways to look up at him, staring at Robert with an intensity he felt through his entire body, and when he started to step away from her, he heard Abigail whisper, “I heard you call for me. I heard you through the dark, calling for me.”

Chapter Nine

All around her, there was kerfuffle and talk. Movement and chatter. Hours had ticked by, but it felt far more like mere minutes for the tortuous amount of time it was all taking. Now the soft light of early dusk was falling, and Abigail could not believe that such a day could last as long as it had. Every time she closed her eyes, she recalled in vivid, unpleasant detail the sensation of the darkness all around her, oppressive and complete. She had been sure she would die, and then through her fears she had heard his sweetly accented voice calling her name, and it meant she could force herself not to panic.

Abigail doubted she could ever forget the sound of her name on his lips. Needful, strong and eager for her, that musical lilt of a warrior’s cry, telling her to not give up. It would stay with her forever, as would the feel of his hand closing over her fingers and pulling her free.

His shout of her name in the dark was a claim and it beat through her now.

A soft, feminine touch brought her back to the parlor, alongside the kindly offer of tea or toast. Or both, should she want it. Her pillows had been fluffed. A prettily patterned Indian shawl that Sophia had left behind was fetched and draped over her legs. Her position on the settee downstairs was discussed before being arranged again and again, until Abigail wanted to scream at both Miss Schillers and Judith, who could not stop with their fussing and talking.

Milton, his purring a reassuringly normal noise, was in fact the only creature Abigail was grateful for. The cat had curled up on her feet and had promptly fallen asleep, oblivious to the drama of the day. Abigail gained a great deal of comfort from the solid, peat-colored shape of the slowly rising and falling ball of fur that was Milton’s reclined shape.

Her injuries had been accessed by Doctor Owlery. “Very lucky,” he’d declared to the wider room, seeming to address all of the furniture as well as the four other occupants.

Abigail doubted the truth of the doctor’s words. After all, she was bruised and sore, confused and scared, and she tended to start shaking if she dwelt too long this morning. She was not lucky. To be truly lucky, she would have never been caught in that landslide, would never have—

“Are you certain, doctor?” Judith asked.

“I have checked her twice over, Miss Fossey, and aside from what appears to be a bad bruise on her ribcage, in her hairline and shoulder, and perhaps a mildly sprained wrist, she is miraculously unhurt. She is lucky not to have a fractured head. Praise God. It is quite extraordinary, but then again you have always had the luck of the devil, or perhaps we should say the luck of the Irish.” Doctor Owlery added the former with a little chuckle. “A little bedrest for the next few days, and I would imagine she will be well again by the weekend.”

“There is no need to send for my mother?”

“Not unless you believe Mrs. Fossey would wish to be here.”

Abigail knew all too well that her mother would probably greatly enjoy the attention, the fuss and novelty of Abigail being looked at in such a manner. Whether her mother would be actually useful, Abigail had her doubts. Mrs. Fossey had never been useful in her life. But then again, that was not precisely what Judith was asking. The expense of having Mrs. Fossey travel to and from Bath would be more than Judith wished to spend, so such a response would please her oldest sister a great deal.