“Good afternoon,” Bridgette murmured, finding it very difficult to say anything more. The thought of the lady succumbing to her injuries, of dying within Bridgette’s own house was almost more than she could bear. The doctor left without another word, and whilst the butler inquired as to whether or not Bridgette wanted anything, she sent him away without any particular response.
Walking towards the bed, she looked down at the young lady. ‘Sarah’, if that was her real name, was lying in bed with her eyes closed and dark purple circles underneath her eyes. Here and there, her rouge and her eyeshadow was smudged, speaking of a young lady who had run away from Madam Bereford’s house without much consideration. Perhaps she had seized
the only moment she had, hurrying away without even thinking about what she might do or where she might go.
“Lady Callander?”
She looked up swiftly from where she stood at Sarah’s bedside. “You have returned, then,” she murmured, as Lord Millerton came closer to her, his eyes fixed to the lady in the bed. “The doctor has only just left.”
“Yes , indeed,” he answered, quietly. “He informed me of Sarah’s condition.”
Bridgette let out a long breath, her eyes downcast and her shoulders heavy as they slumped down over her shoulders.
“Let us hope she recovers,” he continued, coming nearer to Bridgette and pressing her hand with his warm one. “I do not know why she came to me, why she was waiting in my carriage, but she said to my tiger that it was a matter of great urgency.”
“And someone did not want her to speak of what she knew,” Bridgette murmured, as Lord Millerton nodded gravely. “They must have followed her. You — ” She bit her lip hard as her eyes fixed to his, widening with a sudden horror. “What if the perpetrator now wants to ensure that Sarah can never speak a single word again? What if he comes into this house?”
Lord Millerton frowned heavily, his brow furrowed. “You are quite correct,” he said, slowly. “There is now an increased danger in this house.”
“And to you,” she told him, quickly, her fingers lacing with his. “The person would surely know that you were in the carriage with her, that you were the one who spoke to her earlier today.” She watched Lord Millerton closely, seeing how his gaze drifted from hers for a moment or two, considering. Then, he let out a long breath, sighing and nodding in agreement.
“I suppose that would be a wise consideration,” he admitted, softly. “I shall have to be all the more on my guard.” His brow furrowed. “What shall you do, Lady Callander? You cannot stay here alone.”
She drew herself up. “I am well able to remain secure in this house,” she told him. “The staff are very protective and I shall ensure that — ”
“I will have gentlemen from the League come to stand guard,” he interrupted, before she could say anything more. “You cannot be permitted to stay here with only your staff, even though they might do all they can to look after you.” He sighed and closed his eyes, his jaw working hard. “I cannot understand who it is that has tried to end Sarah’s life, but I am sure that they will try again if they discover that she still lives.”
A shudder passed over Bridgette’s frame but she did not allow herself to look anywhere other than Lord Millerton’s face. When he smiled quietly at her, clearly trying to reassure and encourage her, she could not help but return it. A long heavy sigh caught her and she let out her breath slowly, dropping her head for a moment and taking in a deep breath so as to steady herself.
“The poor girl,” she said, softly. “I wonder how she knew you would be attending here.”
Lord Millerton looked a little embarrassed. “I might have made mention of it during our visit,” he said, as she looked up at him in surprise. “I did not imagine that anyone would use such a thing to their own advantage. When she sat in the carriage, she was so eager to speak to me but I did not have the opportunity to hear more until….”
Bridgette shook her head, her lips pressed together. “I shall pray,” she said, simply. “I shall pray that she recovers and that she is able to tell you whatever it was that she wanted.”
“She was afraid.” Lord Millerton’s eyes were hard, his expression one of anger as he looked down at the lady in the bed. “She did not have the chance to tell me what she was afraid of, however.”
“Perhaps she was afraid for herself, given that she had just run away from Madame Bereford,” Bridgette suggested, as Lord Millerton looked up at her. “That must have taken a good deal of courage.”
Lord Millerton sighed heavily and rubbed one hand over his eyes. “What makes it all the worse is that, when I saw her with Madame Bereford, I had the distinct impression that Sarah could do nothing nor say anything that would be contradicted by Madame Bereford,” he said, shaking his head. “She appeared to be quite afraid of her.”
Bridgette felt her heart surge with sympathy. So many considered these ladies to be victims of their own poor choices but there were some who had no choice in the matter. Was that the case for Miss Sarah? Bridgette let her eyes rove over the lady’s painted face. Frowning, Bridgette turned to pick up a damp cloth — one that had been used to wipe away the blood from the lady’s chest and shoulder and then thoroughly rinsed — and used it to wipe the lady’s face. There were some splatterings of blood on her cheeks, the rouge and the dark marks around her eyes slowly being pulled away by the water in the cloth.
She gasped.
Lord Millerton frowned. “What is it?”
“The poor creature has been beaten,” Bridgette whispered, pointing to the dark purple and blue bruise that had emerged from whatever had been painted over the top of it, hiding it away from prying eyes. “And it looks to be very recent indeed.”
His jaw working furiously, Lord Millerton narrowed his gaze, his hands gripping the side of the bed. “We cannot know who did such a thing,” he told her, as calmly as he could. “It might have been one of the gentlemen who attend such a place.”
“It might have been Madame Bereford,” Bridgette suggested, as Lord Millerton’s eyes darkened all the more. “Perhaps that was whom Sarah was running from. What she meant when she spoke of being afraid.”
Lord Millerton nodded, his color rising. “Either way, we can do nothing other than wait,” he said, softly. “Wait until she is pulled towards death or life.”
“Let us hope it is life,” Bridgette replied, just as a maid came in, a tea tray in her hands.
“My lady?”