She bent and said something to him before taking his hand. As fast as the child’s legs could move, she rushed toward the door.
“How badly are you hurt, Arthur?” she asked.
“Not bad,” he replied.
Miss Oliver quickly contradicted him. “He cannot stand on his right leg. He twisted his knee or his ankle or both.”
Carrie shot him a frown before turning to the nurse. “Twisted? Not broken?”
“I cannot say for sure, my lady. Without removing his boot, it is impossible to tell, and he wisely has kept it on.”
“Raymond, help me get him into the cart. I have alerted Mr. Hockbridge. He should be at Cothaire by the time we arrive.”
Arthur was not given a chance to protest that if he had a chance to sit quietly, he would be fine. His brother led him to the cart and, with the driver’s help, lifted him in the rear. Everything went black, and his head spun. He would not faint like a simpering girl! He fought until he could see again, and discovered he was lying on his back. He almost cried out when the cart bounced. Had someone climbed in?
“Fine. I am fine,” he muttered when Carrie asked how he fared.
“So I see! If you had any less color, you would be dead.”
He opened his eyes and then closed them when he saw the alarm on his sister’s face as she leaned over the side of the cart. She might tease him, but she could not hide how worried she was. He wanted to reassure her that he would be as good as new in no time, but she would not believe him. He was unsure if he believed it himself. He had not felt such pain since he fell off a stone wall when he was seven and broke his arm.
“Thank you,” he heard Carrie say, a moment before something damp and warm covered his brow. “Keep it there.”
Keep it there? To whom was she talking? A breeze brushed across his face, bringing a hint of jasmine. Miss Oliver! He wanted to ask why she was with him instead of Carrie. Where were the children? He tried to open his eyes, but it was worthless. The damp cloth covered them.
“We will be leaving as soon as the driver assists your sister up,” Miss Oliver whispered.
Many words rushed through his head. Apologies for ruining her outing with the children, gratitude for how she had helped him to the parsonage, questions about how he could repair the damage he had caused by scaring the children. None of them formed on his tongue.
He sank into the darkness as the cart began moving. When he opened his eyes again, light struck them. The cloth had been removed.
“Stay still.” Miss Oliver’s voice was so soft he could barely hear her.
She must have guessed how much his head ached. Had he struck it when he fell?
“Can you sit up, my lord?” He recognized that voice, as well. It belonged to his valet, Goodwin. The young man knelt beside him in the cart. When had Miss Oliver left? Time seemed to be jumping about like a frightened rabbit.
“Yes.” Not needing his valet’s help, Arthur sat. His head spun, and the pain swelled, but he was able to climb down on his own. His valet assisted him through the curious crowd gathered by the front door. Goodwin guided him to the small drawing room where he had talked to Carrie... Could it have been just yesterday afternoon?
Mr. Hockbridge was waiting. His hair was almost white, but the doctor was close to Arthur’s age. He had a placid aura about him as he pointed to the settee. “Place him there.”
Biting back a moan, Arthur lowered himself to the cushions. He was relieved the gawkers had not followed him into the drawing room. His sister stood near the door, her arms folded in front of her and that same worried look in her eyes.
“What happened?” the doctor asked.
“I fell,” Arthur replied. Even those two words rang through his skull as if someone struck it with a sledgehammer. He put his hand to his brow and leaned his head against the settee.
The doctor sighed, then added, “You were with him?”
Arthur raised his head, astounded to see Miss Oliver beside his sister. She looked as uncomfortable as a kitten in a kennel.
She stepped into the room, holding her bonnet in front of her. “Yes, sir, I was with him.”
“What happened?”
With quiet dignity, she explained what had taken place in the cove. He appreciated that she did not embellish the tale in any way. Yes, he had saved the little boy, but he felt more like a clumsy oaf than a hero.
“Thank you, Miss Oliver,” the doctor said when she finished.
She curtsied gracefully and took her leave.
Arthur almost told his sister to call Miss Oliver back, but how could he explain such a request? He did not understand himself why having Miss Oliver near helped. Something about her kind smile offered him comfort, but he could not say how or why. Perhaps it was as simple a thing as when he thought about her, he was not worrying about how an injury would complicate his work as a courier.
Thoughts of the nurse vanished when the doctor ran his hands along Arthur’s right leg. The pain was excruciating by his knee, and he could not silence his yelp when the doctor’s fingers touched his ankle.
With a sigh, Hockbridge straightened. “There is no choice but to cut away the boot, my lord.”
“Do what you must.” His jaw worked as he surrendered himself to the doctor’s ministrations, determined he would not allow pain to halt him from his duties. Too many depended on him, and he refused to let them down.
* * *
Maris opened a cupboard door and peered inside. It was empty. Where was Bertie? It was not like him to sneak away. When the children first arrived, they often had slipped out of the nursery to sleep in Lady Susanna’s room. But it was not the middle of the night.
So where was the little boy?
She glanced at the other children, glad the baby was with Lady Caroline. If Maris asked Lulu and Molly and Gil, she might upset them further. They were on edge after what they had witnessed on the shore. Even Lulu, who usually was the leader in any mischief, was clingy and too quiet.
Bertie had been crying earlier about the loss of his little ship and the scratch he had on his left hand, his sole injury from when Lord Trelawney saved him. He had fallen asleep in a corner about a half hour ago.
Where was the little boy now?
While she searched the day nursery, Maris had sent a maid to do the same upstairs in the night nursery where the children slept. The maid had returned minutes ago without finding the missing child.
“Rachel,” she said to the maid, who usually worked in the kitchen, “I need you to stay here with the children.”
“Yes, Miss Oliver.”
“Do not let them out of your sight.”
“Yes, Miss Oliver.”
“If I am not back before their tea arrives, pour their milk and make sure they eat their meat and cheese before any cakes.”
“Yes, Miss Oliver.” Rachel waved her hands toward the door. “Go. I raised five younger sisters and brothers. I can take care of these three.”
Maris ran out of the nursery. She glanced in both directions along the upper hallway. The day’s last sunshine poured along it, highlighting everything. Even a little boy could not hide there.
She recruited each servant she passed to help in her search. If the Trelawneys learned that Bertie was missing, she might be dismissed, but she could not worry about that. Not when Bertie had vanished.
Horrible thoughts filled her mind. What if the person who had set the children adrift had come to Cothaire and snatched Bertie?