An Improper Companion

What she was about to say was lost, for through the French windows she saw a sight that put everything else from her mind. Two men were walking across the lawns towards the parlour, one supporting the other, their footsteps uneven and awkward. Jumping to her feet, Elizabeth went to open the French door, for she could see that something was wrong. One of them was either hurt or ill and she sensed that help was imperative.

‘Miss Travers,’ the earl called to her. ‘Thank you for seeing our need. I fear that Mr Elworthy has been shot through the shoulder. I think the wound is not serious, but we must get him to bed and the doctor must attend him immediately.’

‘What is wrong?’ Lady Isadora had followed Elizabeth out to the terrace, and now gave a cry of alarm. ‘Daniel—what happened? You haven’t done anything foolish, I hope?’

‘John was shot at from behind as he rode here to visit me,’ Daniel said. ‘I dare say it was a careless poacher. Fortunately, I returned sooner than I had planned and discovered him lying in the road. He has lost a lot of blood and is barely conscious.’

‘Please ring for the servants, ma’am,’ Elizabeth said to Lady Isadora. She went to the other side of Mr Elworthy and put her arm about his waist, taking some of the weight on to herself and earning a surprised look of gratitude from the earl. ‘Come, sir. We must get you upstairs as easily as we can for your wound has bled and needs attention.’ Glancing over her shoulder at her employer, she added, ‘Please send Amy up to me with linen and salves, for this wound must be bound until the doctor arrives.’

‘Yes…of course.’ Lady Isadora rang the bell hastily. Elizabeth had an unconscious air of command about her, seeming to be completely in control of the situation, whereas she felt that she might faint if Mr Elworthy continued to drip blood on to her parlour floor. ‘Please, do whatever you feel necessary, my dear.’

Elizabeth did not respond. She was concentrating all her efforts on assisting the earl to get Mr Elworthy into the hall, where she saw a young, broad-shouldered footman lingering. He looked at them uncertainly.

‘Please,’ she said. ‘You have more strength than I, sir—help his lordship carry Mr Elworthy up the stairs. I shall go ahead and prepare the bed.’ She passed her share of the burden to the young man and ran on ahead. At the top of the stairs she met the housekeeper about to come down, and asked which bedchamber was available for an invalid.

‘This way, Miss Travers. The room has been cleaned only this morning, and is suitable for a gentleman,’ the woman replied, understanding the problem immediately.

Elizabeth followed her inside the guest bedchamber and together they pulled back the covers so that when the gentlemen entered—the strong, young footman now carrying Mr Elworthy in his arms—they were able to lay him straight onto the clean linen. The injured man gave a sigh and his eyelids fluttered open for a moment, his eyes looking into hers.

Elizabeth bent over him, stroking back a lock of hair from his sweating brow. ‘You are safe now, sir,’ she told him in a gentle voice. ‘I shall bind your wound for you and then you will feel easier until the doctor comes.’ She turned as Amy came in, carrying some linen and salves, followed by another young girl bearing a jug of water. ‘Ah, good,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Did either of you think to bring some scissors?’