Once the races were over, they made their way toward the exit with the rest of the crowd.
Amelia’s gaze caught on the tall lean form of a man a short distance away whose gait was all too familiar and caused her heart to speed. “Christopher?” she whispered, hardly able to believe her eyes.
“Do you know him?” her mother asked. “He’s a handsome one.”
“That’s Viscount Beaumont, my employer.”
“He enjoys the races?”
“I suppose he does,” she said as he disappeared into the betting enclosure.
His entrance into that area suggested he’d placed a wager. Odd, considering the warnings included in the Seven Curses book he’d been reading.
“Are you going to say hello and introduce me?” her mother asked with a hopeful smile.
“Yes,” Amelia agreed after a moment’s hesitation. Her two worlds were colliding whether or not she liked it. But if she wanted to be honest with Christopher, this was where it began. “We’ll wait until he comes out. Surely he’ll walk past on his way out.” Already most of the racegoers had departed, leaving only a few workers in the area.
Amelia watched until he emerged, looking less than pleased. Had he lost a wager? She raised her hand to catch his notice, but he turned toward the deserted stables and was too far away to call out to.
“Let’s hurry to catch him,” Amelia said with a glance at her mother.
They quickened their pace across the grass, only to slow at the sight of two rough-looking men hurrying after Christopher.
“Who are they?”
“I have no idea,” Amelia said. The pair looked like they were up to no good the way they glanced around as if to make certain no one watched. “What on earth could they be about?”
The men approached Christopher from either side. One struck him in the face. Then both grabbed his arms and dragged him through the open door they were near, kicking it shut behind them. Amelia gasped in shock even as she ran toward them, her mother following.
“Help!” But a quick glance showed no one else was in the area.
“Amelia,” her mother said with some alarm. “What do you intend to do?”
“Stop those men.” How, she didn’t know. But she had to do all she could to aid Christopher.
~*~
Christopher shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts from the fog of pain. He wrenched free from one of his assailants but the other held him firmly. A sharp punch with his free hand won his release, but by the determined look on their faces, he feared it wouldn’t last.
He raised both fists to make it clear he wasn’t intimidated despite the odds, his gaze darting between the men. “Why don’t you blokes tell me what this is about?”
“Ye know well enough,” insisted the larger man, who blocked the door of the small storage room. “Ye’ve been stickin’ yer nose where it don’t belong.”
“According to who?”
“We ain’t tellin’ ye nothin’.” The other man was smaller but based on the jut of his jaw, even more determined. “Except to mind yer own business. Ain’t that right, Shaw?” He glanced at his companion for confirmation.
“How can I do that when I don’t know who I offended?” Christopher kept his tone even, hoping to prod one of the men into telling him who was behind this. He’d obviously struck a nerve with someone with his questions. Only one person came to mind—the man selling advice. A bookmaker had shared the man’s name, Malcolm Connolly.
“Stay out of places ye don’t belong. That should be simple enough.” Shaw pulled a knife from his pocket, changing the odds of the battle with the flash of his blade. “We’re to make certain ye heard the message.”
Fear settled into the pit of Christopher’s stomach. Exchanging a few punches was one thing, but a knife fight took the confrontation to a higher level. His fighting skills were too rusty to enter into the fray with confidence. Yet what choice did he have? Rutland had warned him to proceed with caution, but Christopher hadn’t expected this.
“What places?” Christopher wanted to know who’d sent them. He needed to keep them talking with the hope they’d provide enough clues to give him a name.
The two glanced at each other, as if uncertain how to answer.
“Newmarket,” the smaller one said.
“If you tell me who sent you, I’d be sure to stay out of their way.”
Shaw eased closer, and Christopher realized the time for talking had ended. A glance around him showed very little to work with, but he grabbed a bucket and threw it at the knife. Then he lunged for the smaller man, delivering a blow to his jaw. The man’s head snapped back but the rest of his body remained in place.
Before Christopher had time to do more than shift his balance, Shaw ran forward, the knife still in his hand. Christopher blocked the thrust with his forearm then punched his opponent’s stomach. The man staggered but shoved Christopher off balance.
The smaller man joined in. Christopher swung his fists, landing several blows before feeling an odd prick along his ribs. Then another.
Then a fist struck him, sending him backward, and he knew nothing more.
Chapter Twelve
“Pawn, beg, borrow—anything, only don’t let the chance slip.”
~The Seven Curses of London
Amelia tried the door, but something blocked it. She pounded on the rough surface, hoping to interrupt whatever nefarious deeds were going on inside. “Open this at once.” She used the best governess tone she had—one that demanded immediate compliance.
The muffled thumps coming from the other side of the door paused then the door flew open. One of the ruffians stood on the threshold, towering over her as his gaze swept over her in disbelief.
Amelia’s heart pounded with fear even as her mother let out a squeak of fright. Too late, she realized she should’ve left her mother somewhere safe rather than placing her in harm’s way.
“I insist you stop immediately. The authorities are on their way.” Before she could say anything further, he brushed past her, his companion following closely behind. The pair hurried away, leaving her knees weak with relief.
“Amelia, what was that about?” her mother asked as she stared after them.
“I have no idea.” Amelia prayed they didn’t return as she opened the door wide and stepped inside.
The dim interior slowly brightened as the tang of horse manure stung her nostrils. “Christopher?”
A low moan sounded from the corner of the room.
“Christopher?” She hurried forward to kneel beside his sprawled form. “Are you hurt?”
Another muffled moan answered her inquiry.
“Oh dear.” Panic rushed through her as she took in the sight of his closed eyes and unmoving body.
“Is he hurt?” her mother asked from the doorway.
“Yes.” The dim room made it difficult to determine exactly what was amiss. She pressed a hand over his chest, grateful to feel the steady beat of his heart. “What did those men do to you?” she whispered, wishing he’d answer.
His breathing seemed shallow—too shallow. She ran her hands gently over the back of his head and found a large bump. She repeated the gesture along his chest only to encounter something damp and sticky. Lifting her hand, she gasped at the dark red staining her fingers.
Fear sat like a heavy, wet blanket over her, smothering any ideas of what she should do for a long moment.
“I’m going to get help.” She started to rise only to feel Christopher’s hand on her arm.
“My carriage isn’t far,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with obvious pain. “Get Charles.”
“Of course.” With jerky strides she left him, squinting as she exited the dim room.
“Is that blood?” Her mother’s eyes went wide as she stared at Amelia’s hand.
“I believe he’s been stabbed. Can you watch over him while I fetch his servants?”
“Of course.” Her mother stared into the room as if Amelia must som
ehow be mistaken.
“Scream your loudest if you see those men.” She hesitated, hating to leave her mother.
“I’ll be fine, Amelia.” She patted Amelia’s arm. “You have to get help. His life may depend on it.”
Amelia nodded jerkily. “I’ll hurry as quickly as I can.” She dashed toward the race entrance, keeping an eye out for the two who’d done this to Christopher, terrified they might return to finish what they’d started.
To her relief, the carriage sat just outside the entrance, one of the few that remained in the area.
Charles, the footman, hopped down from his perch at the sight of her. “Miss Tippin? Whatever are you doing here?”
“The viscount has been injured.” Emotion filled her throat as she lifted her trembling hand to prove her claim.
“Samuel, come.” Charles gestured for the driver to follow them.
Samuel lashed the reins of the horse to a hitching post and quickly caught up with them.
“Where is he, miss?” Charles asked as they hurried through the nearly deserted racecourse.
“Over there.” Amelia pointed toward the stable where her mother stood guard, glancing about nervously.
She visibly relaxed at their arrival.
Amelia led the way into the room and knelt beside Christopher. She reached for his hand and clasped it tightly. “Charles and Samuel are here. We’ll take you to the carriage.”
To her dismay, he didn’t respond.
“Should I find a policeman?” her mother asked.
Amelia shared a look with Charles. She hadn’t seen any the entire time they’d been at the races. The chances of finding one now that almost everyone had left seemed unlikely. “Let us get him to safety. We’ll send for the police once the doctor has seen to him.”
Charles nodded even as he moved toward Christopher’s head. “Where is he injured, miss?”
“He had a welt on the back of his head and was stabbed in his abdomen, I believe.” She unbuttoned his suit coat and eased it aside to reveal his white linen shirt soaked with blood. Her mouth went dry at the sight. “Oh dear. Do one of you have a knife?”
She shifted to her knees and lifted her skirt to reveal her chemise.
“Allow me,” her mother said. She took the knife from Charles and quickly cut the bottom of Amelia’s chemise then tore the fabric into a long strip. “Will this work?”
With the servants’ help, Amelia managed to bind Christopher’s middle, even more concerned when he didn’t rouse during the process. “That will have to do for now. Let’s get him home.”
Samuel moved to his legs while Charles took his shoulders, and the two gently lifted him.
“Be careful.” Amelia bit her lip, unable to hold back her worry. The amount of blood on his shirt concerned her as did his state of unconsciousness.
Her mother held the door until the two men managed to haul Christopher outside.
“Here now. What’s this all about?” A man dressed in a brown tweed suit with an air of authority approached them.
“A man’s been stabbed,” Amelia said as she gestured for Charles and Samuel to keep moving. “We’re taking him to a doctor.”
The man stilled as he studied Christopher’s body as though in disbelief. “The doctor who tends the jockeys has already left.”
“We’ll find our own.” Amelia didn’t pause but looped her arm through mother’s as she followed the men toward the carriage.
“I’ll need to file a report about this,” the man called out.
“Yes,” Amelia said over her shoulder. “Please do. I can identify the men who did this.”
“You’ll need to stay and describe—”
“I’ll return later after we’ve seen to Lord Beaumont.”
“A man has been injured,” her mother added with a tone of disgust. “That takes precedence over any report.”
Amelia nearly smiled at her mother’s sudden boldness. She glanced back once more to see the man’s scowl, but he said nothing further to stop them.
Within a few minutes, Amelia sat in the carriage, cradling Christopher against her while her mother sat on the opposite bench alongside Charles, who helped brace him from that side.
“Go easy in the turns, Samuel,” Charles called out to the driver. He studied Christopher’s face. “He looks a bit pale to me.”
“Indeed, he does.” She kept one arm around Christopher’s shoulders and adjusted his suit coat with the other to make certain the binding remained in place. “Until we get him home, there’s not much more we can do.”
The half-hour ride seemed endless. Amelia watched Christopher, willing him to wake and tell them what had happened and why.
When they finally arrived, Dauber took one look at the viscount and gave a flurry of orders. Christopher was carried upstairs. Maids were sent for hot water and linens. A footman was sent for the doctor. Her mother was settled into the drawing room while tea was prepared.
Much to her surprise, Dauber escorted Amelia to Christopher’s room where a maid assisted her to wash her hands.
“Can you tell us what happened, miss?” Dauber asked as he removed Christopher’s shoes and suit coat with Charles’ help.
“My mother and I were at the races. I happened to see Christopher, rather, Viscount Beaumont in the distance. We followed him so I could introduce my mother. Before we reached him two rough-looking men came alongside him, one struck him and then they dragged him into some sort of storage room in the stables and shut the door.”
Dauber paused in his movements to glance at her in alarm. “And then?”
“We hurried after them. I pounded on the door until they opened it, then they rushed off. His lordship was lying in the corner of the room. When I realized how severely injured he was, I rose to get help. But he told me the carriage was nearby.”
“He spoke?” Charles asked, his eyes full of hope.
“Briefly.” Her gaze shifted to Dauber. “But not since then.” The fact that he hadn’t woken while they’d moved him or during the ride home suggested the injury to his head might be significant.
“I hate to think what might’ve happened if you hadn’t interrupted them.” Dauber held her gaze for a long moment.
“I can’t imagine why they attacked him.” She shook her head as she studied Christopher again.
Dauber’s lips tightened, suggesting he might know the reason. She’d question him when the opportunity presented itself but not in front of the other servants.
Charles adjusted his legs more comfortably onto the bed while Dauber removed Christopher’s waistcoat.
The sight of the large bloodstain on the binding over his shirt causing Amelia to move nearer. “As bad as that looks, I’m even more concerned about the bump on his head.” She’d read an article at the academy about how concerning head injuries in children could be. Surely it was almost as worrisome in adults.
Dauber gently turned Christopher’s head, grimacing at the sight of the bump. “We’ll see what the doctor says about that. It doesn’t seem to be bleeding anymore.”
She dipped the towel in the basin of warm water the maid had brought then wrung it out to clean the blood from his dark hair as best she could.
“Let’s remove his shirt.” Dauber carefully snipped the binding then peeled it and the shirt back as far as he could before the shirt stuck to Christopher’s skin. Dauber held still while she pressed the towel against his bare skin to loosen the shirt until Dauber could remove it without causing further bleeding.
It was nearly impossible for Amelia to keep her gaze from the bare expanse of Christopher’s muscled chest, far more defined than she’d expected. A fine covering of hair spread over much of it, narrowing to a line that trailed into the top of his trousers.
But as Dauber drew back the shirt, her breath caught. Three separate stab wounds were visible.
“I believe the highest one missed his heart,” Dauber murmured as he examined them closely.
“And his lung? His breath see
ms far too shallow.”
“The doctor will have to tell us that. Though that might also be caused by injured ribs making breathing painful.”
Relief filled her at the thought. Surely ribs were easier to heal than lungs.
“We’ll make him as comfortable as possible until the doctor arrives. Doctor Weston is normally quite prompt when we need him.” Dauber glanced at her. “Perhaps you’d like to see to your mother while we finish undressing him?”
“Of course.” Yet she held still for a moment longer, studying Christopher’s pale face. His cheekbone and jaw had swelled and reddened. No doubt further bruising would appear on his body in addition to the knife wounds. She couldn’t help but reach out to touch his hand briefly before handing Dauber the towel and taking her leave.
Thoughts reeling, she went down to the drawing room. To her surprise, Lady Beaumont and Miss Singh were having tea with her mother.
“Miss Tippin, how is my nephew?” Lady Beaumont asked, her expression taut with worry.
“We’ll know more when the doctor arrives. He suffered a blow to his head and has at least three stab wounds.”
“This is terrible. Just terrible.” The older woman looked visibly shaken. “Who would have done such a thing? And why?”
“It’s difficult to understand.” Amelia decided against mentioning Christopher’s activities as she wasn’t certain how much Lady Beaumont knew about them. She sat beside her mother on the settee and murmured her thanks as Lady Beaumont poured her tea.
“Lady Tippin told us that you interrupted the attack,” Lady Beaumont said as she handed her the steaming cup.
“Yes, she did,” her mother confirmed proudly. “Heaven knows what state he might’ve been in if she hadn’t.” She patted Amelia’s arm. “At great peril to her own safety.”
“We can’t thank you enough for that.” Lady Beaumont pressed a hand to her throat and shook her head. “To think he was stabbed in broad daylight.”
Miss Singh reached for the lady’s arm. “Terrible indeed. I had no idea attending horse races could be so dangerous.”
Gambling for the Governess: A Victorian Romance (The Seven Curses of London Book 9) Page 15