Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 1. Louise Allen

was still hesitating when a rumble of wheels announced John and the old carriage.

      ‘Arthur, will you come back with us?’

      Mr Brigham finished helping Nick into the coach and turned to offer his hand to Katherine. ‘If I may. I hope I will be of some assistance, and I confess I cannot conceal my curiosity about how you pulled off this miracle.’

      Katherine settled opposite Nick and watched him for a moment before answering. His eyes were closed, but he was responding to the shifting movements of the carriage, so he was conscious. She had a strong suspicion that he would react somewhat strongly to her story and she wanted him rested before he heard it.

      ‘Yes, of course, I will tell you later, Arthur. But where is Philip? Was he not with you?’

      There was an awkward silence. Katherine’s heart sank—oh, no, not drunk again.

      ‘Yes, where is my esteemed brother-in-law?’ Nick enquired in a voice like a rusty saw. He had opened his eyes and was regarding Arthur’s embarrassed face with sardonic interest.

      ‘France.’

       ‘France?’

      ‘Well, he won’t be there yet, I expect, but that’s where he said he was going. He left the day before yesterday. I tried to stop him,’ Arthur protested as she stared at him, appalled. ‘I did try, Katherine, but he said he had had enough and couldn’t stand it any longer.’

      ‘He had had enough?’ Katherine bit her lip to stop the angry words and tried to breathe deeply and calmly. ‘How could he afford to travel?’

      ‘He pawned some things,’ Arthur said reluctantly. ‘I said I would lend him the money, but he said he didn’t want to be indebted to a friend.’

      ‘Which things?’ Katherine asked, suddenly all too afraid she knew what they were. ‘The only things left of the slightest value are Grandmother Harrison’s ormolu mantel clock and Mama’s pearl ear-bobs.’

      ‘There was a clock,’ Arthur confirmed. ‘And a small jewellery box.’

      Katherine wrestled with hurt and anger. They are only things, she reasoned miserably. You do not need them to remember the people who left them to you.

      ‘It appears Mr Cunningham has scruples about borrowing from his friends, but not stealing from his sister,’ Nick rasped and Katherine wondered at how good that flash of anger on her behalf felt. ‘Do you know which pawnbroker he used?’ Arthur nodded. ‘Do you have the tickets?’

      ‘He left them in the study, I think.’

      ‘Then will you redeem them for Katherine? You will be repaid.’

      ‘Yes, of course,’ Arthur said eagerly.

      The exchange appeared to have exhausted Nick, for he fell back against the squabs, eyes closed again. Katherine sat watching him anxiously until at last they drew up in front of the house in Clifford Street.

      Between them John and Arthur got the tall, unsteady figure out of the coach and up the steps to where Jenny was waiting. ‘Jenny, run and set water to heat. When John has helped Mr Lydgate up to Mr Philip’s room, he can carry the bath tub for you.’

      The two women hovered anxiously outside the bedroom until first Arthur came out grinning, followed by John with a bundle of clothes held at arm’s length. ‘These need burning, Miss Katherine. Mr Lydgate says, begging your pardon, ma’am, that he isn’t a bl—er, perishing child and can wash himself without the pair of us helping him. And do we have a back-brush?’

      Katherine smiled, relieved. At least if Nick was capable of throwing out his would-be helpers he could not be feeling too dreadful. ‘Fetch my back-brush, please, Jenny. John, what are we going to do about a nightshirt? Philip’s will never fit, he is far too broad in the shoulder.’

      ‘I’ll get one of mine.’ John turned to go downstairs, then looked back. ‘Mind, I don’t think he has any intention of going to bed.’

      ‘As we’ve removed all his clothes, he had better,’ Katherine said firmly. ‘Especially as I intend to go in and bandage his neck and wrists.’ She took the nightshirt when John returned with it and thrust both it and the back-brush into Arthur’s hands. ‘In you go, and make it quite clear he is to get into bed.’

      Arthur grimaced, knocked and went into the bedchamber. No sound reached the listeners on the landing until eventually Arthur appeared, looking more than a little damp.

      ‘What on earth have you been doing?’ Katherine demanded.

      ‘He threw the sponge at my head when I refused to bring him any clothes. I suppose it could have been the back-brush.’

      ‘Has he gone to bed?’

      ‘Yes, but only when I told him that if he did not, you would come in with your salves and bandages anyway.’

      With some apprehension she tapped on the door and entered. The tub stood surrounded by sodden towels and Nick was sitting up in bed, looking pale and decidedly mutinous.

      ‘Will you please ask John to lend me some clothes?’ he croaked.

      ‘Not until tomorrow,’ Katherine responded calmly, setting her tray down beside the bed. ‘You need sleep and quiet and rest. Tomorrow I will see. If you are not better, I will call Dr Wilkes; if you are better, then you may get up.’

      ‘You are a very managing woman.’ He broke off to cough and Katherine tried to keep the anxiety off her face.

      ‘I have had to learn to be, certainly. Now, if you will just sit forward and let me fold your collar down—’ She broke off at the sight of the empurpled flesh and swallowed. ‘Is your neck very sore?’

      Nick nodded and winced. ‘Inside and out.’

      ‘Then try not to talk. This may sting a little.’ She smoothed the salve over the torn skin with as gentle a touch as possible, resolutely ignoring the indrawn breath that hissed through his teeth. ‘There, I will just put a soft bandage round to keep it in contact with your skin. Now, let me see your wrists.’

      Obediently he held them out, then, as she reached for them, caught her hands in his. ‘Tell me what happened.’

      ‘When you have rested.’ She looked down at their joined hands and told herself that it would be undignified to start struggling. ‘Let me go, please, Nick.’ His pulse was strong where her thumb rested against his wrist and his hands were warm.

      Slowly he freed her and she reached for the salve and bandages. ‘These are much better than they were a few days ago. Did you manage to keep the bandages on under your manacles?’

      Nick nodded as she tied the last knot, then recaptured her hands. ‘Tell me now, Kat. Why am I not dead?’

      Katherine met his eyes and read in them a will that was stronger than anything she could summon up. If she did not tell him now, he was quite capable of getting up and finding John or Jenny to ask.

      ‘Very well, if you promise me you will stay in bed until tomorrow if I do. I went to Hemel Hempstead, found the magistrate who had you arrested—Mr Highson, he was with us today—and convinced him he had mistaken his man. Naturally, once he realised the truth he determined to have you released as soon as possible. We were travelling back yesterday and the wheel came off. Poor Mr Highson was knocked unconscious and put his shoulder right out of its socket and Jenny was badly shaken up.’

      ‘And you?’ Nick reached up and touched the bruise on her forehead. ‘That gave you a headache. Are you hurt anywhere else?’

      ‘No, just a few more bruises. I landed on Mr Highson. How did you know I had a headache?’

      ‘Because I had one too,’ he said simply.

      For some reason Katherine was feeling quite flustered. ‘Anyway, that was why we were so late. Mr Highson’s carriage was badly damaged and