Finally, Thrushborne straightened, flourishing his forceps. “Got it!” He beamed, then, dropping the forceps in a basin, gave his attention to staunching the blood, flowing freely again.
By the time Kit was bandaged and dosed with laudanum, Jack felt dizzy and weak.
About to leave, Thrushborne turned to him. “I take it I haven’t seen anything at all of Miss Kathryn?”
Gathering his wits, Jack shook his head. “No. You were called to see Spencer.”
The doctor frowned. “My housekeeper saw your servant come for me—why was that?”
“I was here when Spencer was taken badly and sent Matthew, rather than one of the Cranmer staff.”
Thrushborne nodded briskly. “I’ll call again in the morning—to see Spencer.”
With a weary but grateful half smile, Jack shook hands. Thrushborne departed; Elmina followed, taking the bloody rags to be burned. Alone with Kit, Jack stretched, easing his aching back. He’d have to see Spencer and make sure the servants, both here and at Castle Hendon, understood their story sufficiently well to play their parts. He didn’t doubt they’d do it. The Hendons and Cranmers were served by locals whose families lived and worked on the estates; all would rally to the cause. Tonkin was thoroughly disliked by all who knew him; the Revenue in general were favorites with no one. With care and forethought, all would be well. With a long-drawn sigh, Jack turned to the bed.
Kit lay stretched out primly, not wantonly asprawl as he was used to seeing her. It would be some time before he saw her like that again. How long? Three weeks, maybe four? Jack contemplated the wait, by dint of sheer determination holding back the thought that he might never see her like that again. She would live—she had to. He couldn’t live without her. The space beside her looked inviting, but Spencer was waiting, and Elmina would soon be back. With a wrenching sigh, Jack gazed down at the silent beauty. Her chest rose and fell beneath the sheet, her breathing shallow but steady. Jack put out a hand to brush a silky curl from her smooth brow, then bent to gently kiss her pale lips.
He dragged himself away. Elmina had said she’d watch Kit for what was left of the night, and Spencer was still waiting.
“Sergeant Tonkin, my lord.” Jenkins held the library door wide, an expression of supercilious condescension on his face.
Stepping over the threshold, Sergeant Tonkin hesitated, his regulation hat clutched in his hands. Spying Spencer behind the desk, Tonkin headed in that direction, his stride firmly confident.
Spencer watched him approach, an expression of calm boredom on his aristocratic features. From an armchair halfway down the long room, Jack studied Tonkin’s face. The sergeant hadn’t seen him, so focused was he on his goal. An air of smug belligerence hung about Tonkin as he halted on the rug before the desk and saluted.
“My lord,” Tonkin began. “I was a-wondering if I might have a word with Miss Cranmer, sir.”
Spencer’s shaggy brows lowered. “With my granddaughter? What for?”
The barked question, so direct, made Tonkin blink. He shifted his weight. “We have reason to believe, m’lord, that Miss Cranmer might be able to help us with our investigations.”
“How the devil do you suppose Kathryn could know anything of your business?”
Tonkin stiffened. He shot Spencer a swift glance, then puffed out his chest. In a portentious tone, he stated: “Some of my men were chasing a smugglers’ leader last night. The man…that is, this leader…was shot. I found the fellow—the leader—in the quarries.”
“So?” Spencer’s gaze turned impatient. “If you’ve got the man, what’s the problem?”
Tonkin colored. With one finger, he tugged at his collar. “But we haven’t got him—that’s to say, this leader.”
“You haven’t?” Spencer leaned forward. “The man was wounded and you let him get away?”
Watching, Jack sensed the moment when Tonkin’s obsession came to his rescue. Instead of wilting under the heat of Spencer’s glare, his backbone straightened like a poker, his beady eyes suddenly intent. “Before others of the gang knocked me out, I managed to get a good look at the fellow’s—that is…” Gritting his teeth, Tonkin drew a deep breath then continued: “I got a good look at the leader’s face. Red curls, my lord,” Tonkin pronounced with relish. “And a pale, delicate-looking face with a small pointy chin.” When Spencer merely looked blank, Tonkin added: “Afemale face, my lord.”
Silence filled the library.
When Spencer frowned, Tonkin nodded decisively. “Exactly, m’lord. If I hadn’t seen it with me own two eyes, I’d have laughed the idea aside, too.”
Spencer’s expression turned openly puzzled. “But I still don’t see, Sergeant, what this has t
o do with my granddaughter. You can’t seriously imagine she’ll be able to help you?”
Tonkin’s face fell; a second later, crafty suspicion gleamed in his small eyes. He opened his mouth.
Jack smoothly intervened. “I really think, Sergeant, that you’ll have to explain why you imagine Miss Cranmer would be more help to you in identifying and locating a Cranmer…connection than Lord Cranmer himself. I must tell you such matters are not normally the province of the ladies.”
Tonkin whirled, his expression, unguarded for an instant, a medley of fury and rampant suspicion. With the next breath, his unlovely mask fell back into place; he drew himself up and saluted. “Good morning, m’lord. Didn’t see you there, sir.” Then the implication of Jack’s words registered. “Connection, m’lord?”
Jack raised a bored brow.