by Eva Shepherd
Mr Lockhart looked down at her, a grim smile on his face. ‘If nothing else, that altercation got you out of that noisy tavern to somewhere quieter where we can talk.’
Nellie’s relief was short-lived. Oh, that. She’d momentarily forgotten that he was here to tell her off.
She gestured towards the door behind them. ‘I could have looked after myself, you know. I’ve been dealing with men like Patrick Kelly all my life. I know how to handle myself.’ She did not want him to think she was beholden to him in any way, or that his behaviour gave him the right to admonish her further.
‘Perhaps, but you shouldn’t have to.’
Nellie shrugged. She couldn’t argue with him there. But that was the way of the world. Women like Nellie had to be able to defend themselves. They weren’t like Lady Cecily who lived in a protected world, a world where they could always behave in a demure and ladylike manner. Nellie had grown up knowing she had to be tough to survive.
‘Anyway, allow me to escort you home. It will finally enable me to talk to you.’
Nellie bristled. She did not want him to think that just because he had defended her so-called honour that it gave him the right to tell her off. But they did need to get away from the public house and those enraged men.
They walked along the narrow footpath, bordered by closed shops and rows of brick terraced houses. The neighbourhood changed at night, after the well-heeled shoppers departed and only the people who lived and worked in the area remained.
It wasn’t far to Nellie’s business premises, where she had rooms above the shop. Thankfully, with only a few yards to travel he wouldn’t have much time to give her a telling off. She’d just have to endure a quick reprimand, try not to prolong it by arguing with him, then she could escape back to her sanctuary.
‘Miss Regan,’ he said and Nellie braced herself. ‘I want to ask you if you would be kind enough to do my sister’s hair for a ball I’m hosting at Lockhart Estate next month. She was very taken with the style worn by the Duchess of Somerfeld and wondered if you could do her hair in a similar style.’
Nellie nearly stumbled over the cobblestones and stopped mid-step. She looked up at him. There was no anger in his expression. He was merely waiting politely for her answer.
She covered her mouth with both hands, but she couldn’t stop a small giggle from escaping.
He furrowed his brow and frowned slightly. ‘You find that funny?’
‘No, no, not at all,’ Nellie said, still laughing as she lowered her hands. ‘Was that what you wanted to ask me when you came down to the servants’ hall at the Ashmores’ home?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that was the reason why you came down to London, came to my shop and followed me to The Hanged Man?’
He nodded.
Nellie laughed again. ‘I thought you wanted to tell me off for...well, you know, that act I put on in the servants’ hall.’
The furrows on his forehead grew deeper. ‘You thought I pursued you to London, followed you to that drinking establishment, all because I wanted to tell you off?’
‘Well, yes.’
He continued to stare down at her as if she was a curiosity and a burning blush exploded on her cheeks. Whether that was because she was embarrassed at her foolish behaviour or because looking up into those midnight-dark eyes had such an unsettling effect, she couldn’t say. All she knew was her heart was performing a strange fluttering motion in her chest and the cool night air seemed to have suddenly become very warm.
‘You must think I’m very vindictive, or I have nothing better to do with my time,’ he said.
Nellie shrugged and began walking again. That was exactly what she had thought of him. That was what she thought of most men from his class. But it seemed, in his case, she had misjudged him.
They rounded the corner and their progress was halted by Patrick Kelly and a group of his friends. They were panting loudly, either with rage or, more likely, because they had taken the back streets and run ahead so they could cut them off. But there was no doubting the fury they still harboured over what had happened in the public house. Each man had adopted a fighter’s stance, his fists clenched, his body taut and face rigid.
‘Patrick, there’s no need for this. No harm was done,’ Nellie struggled to say, her throat so constricted her voice came out as a squeak. She took hold of Dominic’s arm, pulling him backwards, hoping he’d have the sense to make a run for it. But his stance was just as belligerent as his assailants, his lips a thin hard line, his cold black eyes fierce and implacable.
Patrick Kelly stepped forward, his jaw jutting high in the air. ‘No harm’s been done yet, but this posh nob is about to come to some frightful harm. Isn’t he, boys?’
It happened so fast Nellie had no time to do a thing. One moment she felt Mr Lockhart’s hands on her shoulders, pushing her firmly behind him. Then all she heard was the sound of men grunting, of fists smacking skin, of boots connecting with bone.
She heard a woman’s loud, piercing scream, then realised she was the one crying out for the men to stop.
As quickly as it began it was over. Patrick and his friends limped off, blood on their faces, bruising and swelling already starting to appear.
But they had got off easy compared to Mr Lockhart. He was lying immobile on the ground, his face bloodied and bruised, his lip split, his clothes torn.
The ground seemed to move under Nellie’s feet and she collapsed down beside him. This was all her fault. Unlike herself, Mr Lockhart had done nothing wrong. All he had done was try to engage her services for his sister, then defend her from the unwanted attentions of a drunken fool. And the poor man had paid a terrible price for that gallantry.
Chapter Six
‘Are you all right?’ Nellie asked, clambering to her feet.
He looked up at her, one eye already starting to swell shut, as if to say of course he wasn’t all right, far from it.
‘Here, let me help you up. We need to get you off the street.’ She reached down and put her hands under his arms to haul him to his feet. He was now vulnerable. A man as wealthy as him, in his condition, would be easy prey for those who wanted to make some quick money by robbing a defenceless person.
‘Leave me. I am all right,’ he murmured as he pushed her hands away. He tried to stand by himself and fell back, his face contorted with agony.
‘No, you’re not and you’ll be in an even worse condition if I don’t get you off the street.’ Nellie looked around. Thankfully the street was deserted. They were safe for now. ‘Some of the people who live in this neighbourhood are right scavengers. They can smell blood and they’ll be in for the kill, after anything they can get their hands on to pawn for a few shillings, even the clothes off your back.’
She crouched down lower, edged her shoulder under his arm and levered him to his feet. He emitted a low groan, causing Nellie to wince, but there was nothing she could do to ease his pain now. She had to concentrate on getting him off the street as quickly as possible.
‘Just don’t pass out on me, will you?’ She started to move forward, slowly. ‘I can’t carry you, that’s for sure.’
‘I won’t,’ he said, but his staggering gait suggested he was close to doing just that.
Straining under his weight, Nellie made her clumsy, stumbling way down the road. Her progress wasn’t helped by the disconcerting experience of having him so close. With his arm heavy on her shoulder, his warm body pressed against her, it was impossible to ignore the strength of the man, the powerful muscles in his shoulders and arms, and the hard wall that was his chest. Through the metallic smell of blood, she could still detect the clean, fresh scent of sandalwood from his cologne and a deeper, underlying musky scent that was all male.
Was it that scent, or his body warm against her, or the weight of him on her shoulder that was making Nellie weak? Whatever it was, she’d
do well to get over it immediately and keep moving. She had to get him to safety and quickly.
She stumbled a few more steps, then paused to catch her breath, her hand braced against the brick wall as she tried to balance herself. She could not let him fall. She doubted she had the strength to get him to his feet one more time. Taking another deep breath, she forced herself to continue. As they turned the corner, pleasure surged through her at the sight of her home, although for once it wasn’t pride that filled her heart, but the knowledge that they would soon be safe.
The sight of the shop sign giving her renewed strength, she stumbled the last few paces down the street. Wedging him against the wall, she unlocked the door, then foisted him back on to her shoulder and entered the building, locking the door behind her. At the bottom of the stairs she paused and looked up. They stretched out before her like a formidable mountain. They had never looked so high nor so steep. But she had no choice, she had to get him up to her room where he could lie down, even if she broke her back in the process.
‘I can do this,’ he murmured and gripped the banister. His bloodied hand slid off. He staggered back a step, righted himself and paused to drag in a series of strained breaths.
‘No, you can’t. Now do as you’re told and put your weight on me.’
‘I can do this. Just give me some time,’ he mumbled, grabbing the banister again.
She glared back at him, her hands on her hips. ‘If you don’t do as you’re told, you’ll fall and I won’t be able to move you. Now stop being a fool and put your weight back on me.’
He drew in a deep breath, coughed and winced with pain.
‘Well? Are you going to do as you’re told?’
He nodded and put his arm around her shoulder. ‘You’re very bossy, you know,’ he mumbled.
Despite their predicament Nellie smiled. Bossy, he’d called her. He didn’t know the half of it. In fits and jerks, they made their way slowly upwards, their feet scuffing on the bare wooden stairs. Nellie was forced to pause at each step to get her breath and, after what felt like an interminable amount of time, they made it to the landing. Now they were on a flat area it felt slightly easier, but his weight was still pressed down on her, causing her to crouch lower and lower. Stumbling the last few steps, they made it to the bed. She lowered him on to the edge, certain that she was incapable of taking one more step.
‘Right, now let’s get you settled.’ She helped him lie down, then, still puffing from her exertions, undid his leather boots and with a thump dropped them to the wooden floor. She rushed to light the oil lamp and closed the curtains, shutting out the pale white moonlight that had streamed across the room.
They had made it. He was safe. Now she could relax. Her hands on the small of her back, she arched it to try to bring some relief from the strain. Closing her eyes, she rolled her aching shoulders and released a small moan of fatigue.
Her moans were drowned out by a loud groan of agony from the bed. Her eyes flew open and she rushed to his side. He was obviously in a great deal of pain. Her own sore back and shoulders were nothing compared to the injuries this poor man had suffered, all because she wanted to play a trick on him and make him feel like a fool. She was a terrible, terrible woman.
His hands gripping the edge of the bed, he attempted to sit up, but Nellie was not having that. He needed to rest. He needed to recover. She leant over the bed, put her hands on his shoulders and as gently as possible pushed him back down, her hands lingering for a moment more than necessary. He looked up at her through bloodshot eyes and she quickly stood up and brushed down the front of her already straight skirt.
‘Now, do as you’re told and stay where you are,’ she said. ‘Patrick Kelly and his gang have given you a fair old beating and you don’t know how bad your injuries are. Best if you stay where you are while I fetch the doctor.’
He tried to say something through his swollen lips, then gave up and closed his eyes.
‘And don’t fall asleep until the doctor’s had a chance to look at you. I’ll be back soon.’ Nellie bit her lower lip. She was reluctant to leave him. Should a man injured as badly as he be left alone? What if he fell asleep and never woke up? But she had no choice. He needed to be seen by a doctor.
She rushed out of the room, ran down the stairs and out on to the street.
Doctor Larkin lived in one room above the corner shop. Everyone in the neighbourhood still called him doctor, but, due to drink and indulging too much in other substances, he had lost his medical licence many years ago. However, he was a godsend for the local people who could never afford the services of a regular doctor.
She pounded on his door and he instantly appeared, looking as dishevelled as she expected, but thankfully he wasn’t yet the worse for drink, not completely. She told him her plight and promised him the price of a bottle of gin if he would come immediately.
They rushed back to her rooms and hurried up the stairs, only to find Mr Lockhart collapsed in a heap on the floor, his breathing laboured, his face contorted with pain, as he clutched at the side of his chest. The foolish man had obviously tried to leave while she was away. It was a blessing in disguise that he had only made it across the room—who knew what might have happened to him if he had gone out on to the street in this condition?
With the doctor’s help they returned him to Nellie’s bed.
‘You’ve been in the wars, haven’t you, my son?’ the doctor said as he opened Mr Lockhart’s jacket and shirt and pressed his palms on his chest and stomach.
‘I’m all right, I just need to—’ Mr Lockhart’s words were cut short. He grimaced as the doctor pressed his hand down on his ribs. Nellie winced along with him as she looked at his poor chest, covered in bruises, although that didn’t stop her eyes from running over the sculptured muscles, the firm stomach and his wide strong shoulders. Nellie swallowed and put her hand over her mouth. What a terrible lass she was. The man was in pain. He was bruised and battered, had taken a terrible beating. How could she possibly be thinking about how magnificent he’d look without his shirt on? How could she be looking at those dark hairs on his chest, or that line of hairs that ran down his stomach like an arrow and disappeared into his trousers? She was shameless, just shameless.
‘There doesn’t seem to be too much damage, although you might have broken a rib,’ the doctor said, still palpitating Dominic’s firm stomach.
Nellie flicked her gaze away from Mr Lockhart’s muscular body and looked at the doctor.
‘Unfortunately, there’s no way to see inside the human body, so we’ll just have to wait to find out what the damage is,’ the doctor said. He fixed his rheumy gaze on Nellie. ‘Don’t let him move for a day or so. If there’s a broken rib, there’s always the danger it could pierce a lung, then he’ll be in real trouble. If there’s no broken ribs, you should know after a few days, once he starts to mend. If there is a broken rib, he’ll have to stay where he is for four or five weeks.’
Four or five weeks.
Mr Lockhart opened his swollen eyes and stared at Nellie, no doubt thinking the same thing. He couldn’t possibly stay here for four or five weeks. But that was a problem for another day.
Nellie looked back at the doctor. ‘But can you do something for him, Doctor? Anything, so that he can—’
‘Not much you can do,’ the doctor interrupted. ‘Not if it’s a broken rib.’ He looked back down at his patient. ‘I’ll bind up your chest, but you’re not to move for a few days until we know for sure.’
He turned back to Nellie. ‘You make sure he stays perfectly still. Hopefully he’ll be right as rain soon. He’s young, healthy and strong. If it’s just bruising, he’ll heal up quickly. You might want to get him some laudanum for the pain, though.’ The doctor looked over at his black medical bag sitting open on the bedside table and frowned. ‘I don’t have any on me at the moment, but you can get some at the pharmacy when it opens i
n the morning.’
Nellie wasn’t surprised. Any laudanum the doctor might have possessed would be used for his own private consumption and was unlikely to ever be dispensed to a patient.
‘But for now, Nellie, help me remove his clothes so I can get these bandages on.’
Nellie rushed forward and slowly and carefully the two of them eased Mr Lockhart out of his jacket and shirt. The bruises were just as bad on his back. It seemed there was no part of his torso that had avoided a pounding from boots and fists.
The doctor wrapped his chest in bandages, then they gently lowered him back to the bed.
‘Just let him rest, that’s the best you can do for him,’ the doctor said. ‘And you might want to clean him up a bit.’ He looked back at the patient. ‘We should be grateful his assailants just used their fists and no knives. The cuts don’t look too deep, so I don’t think he’ll need sutures. The cuts will heal on their own, just keep them clean. Bacteria, you see.’ He looked over at Nellie and thrust out his chest. ‘Do you know about bacteria? They cause disease, you know. Have to keep things clean. Didn’t do that when I was a young doctor, but that’s what we do now. In my day it was a badge of honour to have a bloodstained apron, showed how hard you worked, but these days it’s all cleanliness. They can actually see bacteria down a microscope, you know. Do you know about microscopes?’
‘Yes, good, right, thank you, Doctor. I can take if from here.’ Nellie pulled up her patchwork quilt and tucked it in, as much to cover Mr Lockhart’s chest from her gaze as to make him more comfortable.
The doctor remained standing in the middle of the room, smiling at Nellie. She thought he was going to continue his talk on the wonders of modern medicine, then realised her mistake.
‘Oh, yes, I’ll be right back.’ She rushed through to her small kitchen area, took some money out of the jar she kept at the back of the cupboard and removed enough for a bottle of gin.