Page 3 of Rescuing Lord Inglewood

He looked up to see Lady Sparton, still a sickly shade, staring at him in horror.

“Make certain the doctor knows where to come,” he said, unwilling to admit he wasn’t actually certain what had occurred. She nodded and started to withdraw. “And send a maid in—and her friend from the street.”

“Of course, Lord Inglewood.” She disappeared to do his bidding, no further questions asked.

Silas found a cushion for the woman’s head and attempted to reposition her on her side, keeping the injured place free of pressure. He pulled the pins out of her bonnet, allowing it to fall to the floor. Then he inspected the wound himself, which was somewhat difficult given the abundance of brown curls in his way. Why did women wear their hair in such ridiculous twists upon their heads?

He glanced at her face, the pert nose and well-structured jawline. He knew her. But how?

The sound of sobbing reached his ears, growing louder. A woman, the same who had been wailing outside, came into the room. Two other girls, dressed in the plainer clothing of servants, appeared directly behind her, clutching each other’s hands.

Silas stood, but did not move from the unconscious woman’s side. “Miss, is this woman your friend? Do you know her?”

The weeping girl nodded, raising her hands to cover her mouth, completely overcome with her distress. Silas turned to the maids, fixing them with a stern glare.

“Who is this woman?” he demanded, pointing to her inert figure. Though he already knew, it must be confirmed.

One of the maids stepped forward and bobbed a curtsy, as though maintaining proper forms was important, and she spoke in a near-whisper. “If you please, sir, she’s my mistress. Miss Fox. Sister of Sir Isaac Fox. She must’ve seen the statue and she tried to help you….”

The rest of the maid’s words were unimportant. Silas stopped listening and turned to Esther Fox, the younger sister of one of his oldest friends.

How many times had he seen little Essie trailing along behind Isaac, pleading to be included in their games? When was the last time he had seen her? Five years ago, perhaps. She hadn’t been out yet. He hadn’t paid her any attention, not serious attention.

Yet, she had saved him from a falling statue.

“I found a doctor right on the street,” a man said, pulling Silas from his thoughts. It was the same man from before, holding a cap and strangling it, staring at Esther.

The doctor, a gentleman with gray hair and a narrow face, came inside with all haste. He knelt beside the couch, completely ignoring Silas except to ask, “How long since the accident?”

Silas did not know. Everything had happened too quickly, had been too confusing.

“Not more’n a few minutes, sir,” the laborer said.

It felt like longer. Isaac would kill him if something terrible happened to his little sister because Silas had been lost in his thoughts, distracted by a pamphlet printed by some idiot peer.

Silas turned his attention to the doctor, then to the gathering in the room. He hated everyone standing about, gaping, intruding upon Esther’s privacy. He opened his arms and waved, as though herding geese, to move everyone toward the door.

“Come, out into the hall. We must let the doctor work, and I have questions.”

The sniffling young lady was the first to move away, then the maids, then the man from the walk. Lady Sparton joined them in the entryway, wringing her hands. Several of her servants stood about as well, though one did slip inside the room Silas had just exited, holding a bucket and a stack of towels.

Good. Any indication of someone using their head in this situation could only be appreciated.

“I want to know exactly what happened,” Silas said, searching each of the faces before him. He let his gaze rest upon the man strangling his cap. “Why did that statue fall?”

The man shook his head, the lines of his face deep with worry. “We checked the ropes, sir—”

“Lord Inglewood,” the woman of the house snapped.

Silas cast her a baleful glare. “Niceties are less important than this story, madam.”

She turned red and crossed her arms over her dressing gown.

“We checked the ropes, my lord, and I thought one of them didn’t look right. Mr. Lampton, he’s the one in charge, said it would hold and we ought to use it. We didn’t bring more rope and he didn’t want no more delays.”

“The statue ought to have been delivered last week,” Lady Sparton added. Silas gave her another warning glance and she bit her lip.

“The sun was in our eyes, my lord. We didn’t see the rope had frayed past saving or we would’ve lowered it carefully.” He shuddered. “That lady—I’m sorry for it. I truly am.”