Hard and fast knocks on her door made Mary hurry from the bed. It was dark outside, the sun barely peeking past the horizon from the feeble light that came through the window.
“Mary,” Lottie said, opening the door. “Come, hurry.”
“What is it,” Mary asked, as she grabbed a robe, jammed her arms through the sleeves, and tied the sash around her waist. Together they hurried down the corridor to the rooms where the others slept.
“Keep quiet, we don’t wish to waken Mr. and Mrs. Yarnsby,” Lottie whispered. “This is dreadful.”
Puzzled when they went to a door and Lottie pushed it open, Mary looked to the maid. “Whose room is this? Please explain to me what is happening?”
Moira took her hand and pulled her into the room. “Thomas is dying. Harold found him in the stables this morning.”
At the words, her stomach sank, and her chest constricted. “Was he stomped by a horse?”
She went to the bed only to recoil at the sight. Thomas was unrecognizable. His entire face was bloodied and swollen. Both eyes were swollen shut. He lay shirtless atop a bed, his bloodied hands down on his sides.
“Go get the water,” Moira said to Lottie. “Mary, help me tear these sheets into strips.”
Lottie raced from the room and returned, lugging a pot of water. She poured it into a basin. “I will put more water to boil.”
“I knew they’d return, but didn’t think it would be so soon,” Harold said. “They must be found and charged.”
As much as she wanted to understand what happened, Mary kept quiet. It was more important to concentrate on doing what she could for Thomas.
She approached the bed and studied him calmly, although her hands trembled when she felt his sides. “A broken rib or two,” she said methodically. “His jaw may be broken as well.” She ran her hands down the sides of his face pausing at his throat to feel a pulse. “His heart is beating, not strongly, but steady.”
She then felt his stomach. He was cool to the touch. Although she’d been taught the basics of caring for injuries, as her mother had been a midwife, she’d never seen someone so battered and bruised.
“They left him for dead,” Harold said as Moira neared and began cleaning his face. “I’m riding to town to alert the constable.”
“One of us should inform Mr. Yarnsby,” Lottie said. “He needs to know.”
‘Once I finish cleaning his wounds and get a good idea of how badly he is, I will do it,” Mary assured her.
Bowls of bloodied water and cloths were taken only to be filled again as they cleaned away blood and bandaged what they could. Thomas finally came to just as the sun rose, moaning but not able to speak.
Mary had wrapped his head, a bandage keeping his mouth closed. They were going to have to help him drink until his jaw healed.
Just as they began to bandage his tattered hands, he lost consciousness once again.
“I will go speak to Mr. Yarnsby,” she said looking to the others. “Is there anything I should say happened?”
“He was beaten by two men,” Harold said. “I am sure of it. They came looking for him yesterday.”
As soon as Mr. Yarnsby opened the door to his bedchamber and saw her expression, he seemed to know what happened. “Is it Thomas?”
“Yes Sir, he’s been beaten badly.”
The man hurried down to the room where they’d placed Thomas. He entered and immediately dispatched Harold to the village to seek a doctor and the constable. He then asked that Clark, a young man, who worked as gardener be sent to Lark’s Song, his friend’s estate to inform them he would not be going there that day.
In the meanwhile, he went to Thomas’s bedside and took inventory of the beaten man. “They took no mercy,” he said quietly.
“No, they did not,” Moira replied wiping a tear. “The poor man. How could someone do this?”
“I will inform Vivian and will try to keep her from coming here.” He looked to Mary. “Will you come with me?”
As they made their way back to his bedchamber, Mary had to ask. “Do you know who did this and why?”
“I do. He spoke to me yesterday about it. Neither he nor I considered it would happen so soon. It is nothing to worry about as far as anyone else’s safety. The attackers had only Thomas in mind.”
As she expected as soon as Vivian was dressed, she hurried to help with Thomas. They took turns keeping cool cloths on his forehead because a fever took over and he vacillated between being drenched in sweat and shivering from being cold.
“I have never seen someone injured so horribly,” Vivian said to Mary when they’d been left alone with Thomas. Moira and Lottie had gone off to cook a meal for the family.
None of them had much of an appetite, especially with the constant smell of blood that filled the room.
It was several hours later, that not only the doctor and the constable arrived, but also Father Matthews.
The priest hurried into the room with the doctor. “I should administer last rights,” he said with a sad expression. “I will come and fetch you when I am done,” he continued, sending Mary and Vivian out.
They went to the foyer just as Mr. Yarnsby and Harold went into the study with the constable. Vivian looked to Mary. “Do you know anything?”
“Only that your husband was aware that someone was looking for Thomas and that we should not worry about our safety.”
Both looked to the closed door. Vivian blew out an exasperated breath. “We should ask Moira what she knows. Harold did speak to those awful men.”
As soon as they entered, Moira shuffled over with bowls of steaming food, motioning for them to sit. “This is horrible,” she said and wiped away a tear with the hem of her apron. “Just horrible. That poor boy.”
“Who are the men who harmed Thomas?” Vivian asked.
Moira looked to the doorway, as if expecting to be overheard. “They are from the town where Thomas grew up. He told Harold that a woman he’d been involved with died, and he is blamed for her death. Apparently, she drowned herself.”
“Scorned,” Vivian said. “Goodness. I cannot imagine anyone wishing to die over a broken heart. But I suppose it happens.”
Mary frowned. “These men, who blame Thomas and came to seek revenge. Am I right to assume they are the woman’s relatives?”
“Yes,” Moira said. “Brothers. This is why Thomas has been meeting with Father Matthews and considering the priesthood. To atone for what he considers a horrible sin.”
“That is absolutely ridiculous, and I will inform him so once he recovers,” Vivian said. “One cannot just choose to become a priest. The priesthood is a calling.”
“I agree,” Moira said. “But the boy feels horrible about it.”
“And he should,” Mary interjected. “Men come and go as they please, ruining women without a second thought. Episodes like this happen because of it. I do not agree with what the woman or her brothers did, but I think it should serve as a warning for roguish men.”
At both the women being struck silent, she released a breath. “That said. I feel badly for Thomas and plan to care for him until he recovers.”
“Thank you, Mary,” Vivian said. “I am sure your presence will give him incentive to heal faster.” At Vivian’s smirk, Mary gave her a droll look. “The man is barely conscious, and you think he would give care to who is in the room?”
“I do.”
The sounds of voices were followed by Vivian’s sister Clara rushing into the room. “William is with Alex and the constable,” she informed them referring to her husband. “I had to come and ensure you are well and to help.”
The Humphries were like family to Mary. She’d been with them since very young, hired as a companion for the quietest of the three sisters when she was fifteen and Vivian just ten. Now almost eleven years later, she could not fathom life without them.
Clara hugged her sister and then rushed to Mary and did the same. “How is he?”
“Very badly hurt. In and out of consciousness,” Vivian said. “He is unrecognizable.”
“Oh dear.”
Mary and the sisters went to the sitting room to wait for the doctor to emerge.
Father Matthews finally appeared and told them the doctor would only allow Lottie in the room since Thomas was bereft of clothing.
Lottie traveled back and forth between Thomas’s room and the kitchen doing the doctor’s bidding, her expression glum. Meanwhile, Moira boiled water and emptied the basins as needed.
While Vivian told Clara what she knew, Mary fetched tea for them and poured. Time passed slowly, with Lottie giving them updates of what she understood went on in the room.
When Thomas regained consciousness, the constable was hurried into the room. But he came out soon after because Thomas once again fell unconscious.
It was late in the day that they all sat down for a meal, the priest remaining in the room with Thomas.
As they ate, Mr. Yarnsby insisted the doctor tell everyone about Thomas’ status. The man explained what Mary already knew. Thomas had broken ribs and a broken jaw. He’d acquired quite a few injuries to his back and stomach, which worried the doctor. Both the doctor and the priest would remain for the night. The constable, on the other hand left so he could gather men and search for the attackers.
That night, Mary went into Thomas’ room to ensure he was still alive. Each time he slept or was unconscious. Honestly, she couldn’t tell the difference.
What she did know was that he was not doing well and hung on to life by a thread. The doctor entered behind her, his concerned gaze going to Thomas. “I will stay here tonight. Get some rest Miss.”
In truth, she was afraid to leave. Terrified that sometime in the middle of the night Thomas would pass away and she’d never see him again. It was strange that after living there for just a short time, she’d only had two short conversations with him, but had somehow felt a connection of some sort with him.
It could be that Vivian’s notion that Thomas found her attractive had given her illusions, or that he was so very handsome. Either way, it felt as if what transpired between them was only a beginning.
“Please send for me if anything happens. I will get up early and come, so you can get some sleep.” Mary neared the bed and took one of Thomas’ bandaged hands in both of hers. She leaned closed to his ear. “Get rest Thomas. I will be back in the morning.”
She then reluctantly left the room, her stomach in knots. At seeing the kitchen alight, she went in. Moira, Harold and Lottie sat around the table with cups in hand.
“Ale?” Moira offered and Mary nodded. She fetched a cup and poured from the pitcher in the center of the table. They sat in companionable silence, none wishing to leave in case something happened, and they’d not be nearby.
“He seemed to have regained some color,” Lottie offered.
“How could one tell?” Moira asked. “His entire face and body is covered in bruises.”
Lottie shrugged. “At least his fever lessoned.”
“It did,” Mary said.
“You do not have to stay here,” Thomas informed her three days later, his words sounding muffled since his jaw remained bandaged. “I can take care of myself.” He was sitting up, his back against the pillows and once again in a bad mood.
Mary ignored him. With bandaged hands and unable to open his mouth properly, he required assistance to eat. He’d refused almost every meal, until Moira threatened to have Harold and the gardener hold him down as she poured soup down his throat.
His face remained bruised and he still had trouble breathing, but at least he felt well enough to argue.
“It’s potato soup,” Mary said as she lifted the bowl and dipped a spoon into it. “Moira ensured it’s creamed so you don’t have to try to chew.” Understandably, he was embarrassed to not be able to feed himself. The stubborn man had tried to feed himself several times and ended up throwing the bowl across the room when he’d dropped the spoon or spilled the food.
She pushed the spoon gently past his lips, feeling self-conscious at the proximity. He kept his gaze away the entire time while taking each spoonful and waiting for the next.
“Father Matthews is to return today. He was reluctant to leave. Seems to have taken quite a liking to you,” Mary said as she fed him another helping. “Otherwise, it will be a quiet day. The Yarnsby have gone to Lark’s Song for the day.”
Thomas swallowed. “Why is Father Matthews returning. I don’t require constant company.”
“Have you always been this disagreeable?”
He looked away to the doorway, obviously considering throwing her out. If not for his bruised ribs and injured ankle, she figured he’d not remain in the room. “I do not mean to be so cross,” Thomas said in a quiet voice.
“You are in pain, not able to eat and trapped in this room. I understand,” Mary told him. “If I were in your shoes, I would probably be unpleasant as well.”
“I apologize.”
“No need. Finish eating. Perhaps we can see if Harold can help you go outside for a bit.”
He met her gaze for a long moment. Despite all his injuries, his eyes were clear. The directness of his look made her insides quiver. The way Thomas made her feel was something she was not used to.
“You look much better,” Father Matthews exclaimed from the door. He gave Mary a warm look. “I am glad you, Moira and Lottie are taking such good care of him.”
For some reason, his comment annoyed Mary. It was as if the vicar took ownership of Thomas. She smiled and stood. “He is getting stronger every day.”
She wanted to add. “And therefore, you do not have to keep returning,” but she didn’t.
Instead, Mary stood and looked down at Thomas for a moment before leaving. At the doorway, she turned to see that the priest had sat down and began praying over Thomas who glared up at the ceiling.
“Is it wrong of me that at times I find Father Matthews a bit irksome?” Mary asked Lottie.
Lottie giggled. “He seems a good sort. Most times, men of the cloth do look down on others, but I suppose they have a right to.”
“No, they do not,” Moira replied. “We are all equal.”
The day went by rather quickly despite Vivian being gone. Father Matthews had left after dinner.
As darkness fell, Harold went to check on Thomas and ensure he was ready for the night. Mary drank ginger tea with Moira and Lottie.
“Its best that we all get some rest,” Moira said with a yawn, we have a busy day tomorrow.
Mary trudged to her bedroom, which was on the same floor as the others, but on the opposite side of the house. Her room was rather lavish compared to most staff. She’d grown accustomed to having nice accommodations since London, where she and Molly, Clara’s companion shared a room much like the Humphries sisters themselves had.
As Mary slipped into bed, she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of conversation transpired between Thomas and the priest.
No one thought Thomas should go into the priesthood. Perhaps it was time to put him through a test. Since he was recovering, Mary had a reason to see about him regularly, and there would be no questioning her being alone with him.
Her lips curved as a plan came to mind.