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“Get away from him!” Frederick knew that voice as well, recognizing that Rose was there.

No, no, no. He’ll kill them.

Frederick yanked his arm free, letting it drop so that the butt of the pistol smashed down on Halfacre’s head. He dropped like a stone, and Frederick collapsed to the floor right along with him.

Everything was a haze of awful pain and blurred surrounding at that point. In some amount of time, Charlotte and Rose were at his side, and Frederick reached up to his wife’s face, the sight of her enough to make him weep.

“Frederick! Frederick, hang on! Help!” Charlotte’s light voice echoed off the walls of the empty building.

He tried. He truly tried to listen to her command, but Frederick’s head lulled to the side, and everything went black.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Horror racked her, making Charlotte’s body tremble from her head to her feet. Red seeped into Frederick’s clothing, and more was dried to his forehead. The Baron was unconscious on the floor, and the offending weapon was still clutched in his hand.

Oh, God. Please, Frederick. No, this cannot be happening.

Quickly, Charlotte stripped his greatcoat from him and wadded it up, pressing the fabric to Frederick’s side. He groaned low, but his eyes didn’t open.

“What are we to do?” Rose’s voice was weak as she asked, her eyes dripping a steady stream of tears.

“Get help. Go outside near the hell and call for anyone. A physician, a healer. Go!”

Rose tore off, and Charlotte returned her eyes to Frederick. He was a strange color, too pale, and she pushed down onto his wound with everything she had. Long ago, when she was growing up, she had been taught by one of the servants who worked the kitchen that when something was bleeding, you should put extreme pressure on it.

Charlotte did her best to heed that, even as she shook, as her heart screamed at her, as her mind splintered into terrifying what-if questions that made the tears come harder.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, only that she felt like it had been eons with her on the dingy floor, kneeling at Frederick’s side and doing her best to keep him alive.

“Don’t you dare die on me. I came all the way down here to find you, to tell you how stupid you were being. And I swear if you do not wake up, if you do not survive this, I will never forgive you.”

The pounding of footsteps drew Charlotte’s attention to the door. It flung open, sending in a beam of light that forced her to squint.

“Charlotte!” Rose shouted. “I’ve found a physician!”

“Oh, thank God.”

Frederick was still breathing, but that sallow color to his skin was still so omnipresent, and as the physician ran with hersister-in-law to the scene, he scanned his eyes over Frederick’s prostrate form.

“You have likely saved his life by applying pressure. Well done.”

Charlotte took the little comfort of his words that she could, unwilling to relax or remove her hands from him. The man before her, older with white hair and a trim white beard, pulled Frederick’s coat away, inspecting the wound.

“Oh dear. Yes, it will have to be mended with sutures. I need to get him back to my office, to my supplies. We must hurry.”

More voices and boots pounding against the ground sounded at the door, and a throng of constables appeared.

“I called for them as well.” Rose touched Charlotte’s hand. “I told them about what the Baron had done.”

Charlotte forced herself to swallow. Several of the constables flocked to Halfacre, scooping him up off the ground just as he was beginning to regain consciousness. They hauled him off, no doubt to their carriage, while still more hurried to the three of them gathered around Frederick.

“Is this the body?”

“He isn’t dead!” Charlotte snapped, glaring at the man who’d dared to speak with fire in her heart.

The authorities pulled back some from her, and the physician looked up to them, gesturing down toward Frederick.

“He is my patient now, and I shall require assistance getting him to my carriage. Come now. Get a move on.”