Page 19 of Kidnapped (The Browns of Butcher’s Hill #1)

P hillip looked at Virginia Wiest through the slit of his left eye. His right eye was completely closed. She was standing ankle-deep in mud and slush, her long cloak swirling but not closed over the stained satin gown she wore. Her hair was wild around her head, and her face was covered with dirt. She looked as if she were an avenging queen who’d led her ragtag army to victory. His lip was split open, and he could feel several loose teeth, but he smiled, although it may have appeared as a grimace.

Mr. Turnbull took her by the arm, and Willis put his arm around Phillip’s waist, leading him down the alleyway to the carriage. Once seated, she opened the slot.

“Go directly to Wolfe Street, Mr. Turnbull. And I’ll need you to get a message to the doctor—I think his name is Prosperi—and also to my father, who is likely frantic.”

“I’ll go for the doctor, miss,” Willis said. “I’m Willis Shoeman, Mr. Brown’s neighbor.”

“I think I met your little boy, Darius, a few weeks ago,” she said.

“You did, miss. He’s told us time and again about your carriage.”

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help this evening, Mr. Shoeman. And you as well, Mr. Turnbull. You’ll take care of telling Mr. Wiest I am safe? I’ll be at the Browns’ until Mr. Brown is seen by the doctor and settled.”

“Of course, miss. I’ll let him know straightaway. I’ll have Crimlock return for you with fresh horses.” Virginia sat back against the seat after pulling a blanket from under the carriage seat and covering herself.

“You’re a bossy woman,” Phillip mumbled, blowing bubbles of blood through his lips.

“Save your breath, Mr. Brown. You’ll need it when the doctor produces his needle and thread.”

Phillip would have laughed at her haughtiness if he wasn’t in so much pain. He hadn’t even begun to assess all the areas of his body that were bleeding or broken and leaned back in his seat, glad to be sitting. He could only take shallow breaths by the time they pulled onto Wolfe Street.

Turnbull climbed down from his seat to help him and Virginia into the house. “Do you want to wait and see the doctor for that cut on your mouth and your eye?” Virginia asked the coachman.

He shook his head. “No, miss. I’ll just be getting back to Shellington once Mr. Shoeman is on his way.”

The front door opened, and Sarah ran out to him, tears in her eyes when she saw him. “Come along now, Phillip. What has happened?”

“Your brother rescued me from a brothel called the Ellipse. He was the victim of a vicious attack. Mr. Shoeman has gone for the doctor.”

“House,” Phillip said, bent over, his hands on his knees.

Sarah and Virginia both took an arm and gently led him inside and directly up the stairs. Uncle Patrick came through the hallway from the kitchen as they climbed the steps.

“Good Lord, boy. What have they done to you?”

Phillip kept climbing, nearly faltering near the top.

“I’ll get him in bed, girls,” Patrick said. “Go tell Eliza to start a beef broth.”

Phillip could have cried when his head finally met his pillow while Uncle Patrick pulled off his boots and pants. He heard chatter below, and it was not long before Prosperi was in the room, surveying him from head to toe.

“Looks like you really did it this time,” he said as he opened his bag and took out a length of thread. “I’ll need hot water and towels. Let’s get that lip sewn back together.”

Phillip’s stomach nearly revolted, but Prosperi’s needle was too quick, and all Phillip could concentrate on was the slip of the needle through his skin.

Virginia and Sarah waited for the doctor to come down the steps after Virginia had put on borrowed clothes, a little too large, and washed herself as best as she could. She longed for a hot soaking bath, and Crimlock was waiting, but she would not leave until she knew the extent of Phillip’s injuries.

“What can you tell us, Doctor?” she asked.

Prosperi dropped his bag on the floor and shook his head. “I don’t know how he does it. I really don’t. He’s going to be bruised, swollen, and so sore he can’t move from his bed for a month or more, but I don’t think there’ll be any permanent damage.”

Virginia let out a held breath, and Sarah began to cry. The doctor was holding her against his chest, stroking her hair and talking softly to her. It was enough to make tears well in Virginia’s eyes, enough to make her envious of whatever connection the two of them had, a connection she thought she might never have. Until now.

There was a sudden and loud pounding at the door, bringing Phillip’s uncle clattering down the steps. He pulled a shotgun from behind a cupboard in the sitting room where she, Sarah, and the doctor stood.

“Who’s there?” his uncle shouted.

“Alistair Wiest! Is my daughter here? Ginny? Are you there?”

“Father!” she shouted and hurried to the door as Phillip’s uncle lifted the bar, suddenly desperate for arms that would keep her safe.

Her father hurried through the doorway, red-faced, reaching for her and pulling her against him. She gratefully went there, her head on his heaving chest, his arms tight bands around her, swaying on his feet.

“My dearest girl! I love you so very much. I . . . I couldn’t imagine a life without you,”

he whispered in her hair.

“I am here, Father. Safe. Let us get the door closed. The wind is cold.”

Sarah touched his arm. “Won’t you come into the sitting room?”

He wiped at his eyes, his arm firmly around her shoulders. “Introduce me to your friends, won’t you, Ginny?”

“This is Mr. Brown’s uncle, Mr. Patrick Brown, and his sister, Miss Sarah Brown. This is Dr. Prosperi, their family doctor who was just with Mr. Brown, attending to his injuries.”

“I’d like to see Brown, if he’s still awake and if the doctor allows.”

“Brown is conscious and refused the laudanum I prescribed so he could sleep. He may be hard to understand as I put twelve stiches in his lip alone.”

“Good Lord!” her father said.

“Come along, then,” his uncle said. “I’ll take you up.”

Virginia followed her father up the steps without asking anyone’s permission. She needed to see Phillip before she could leave this house and return to Shellington and get the rest she knew her body desperately needed. Her father went to Phillip’s bedside and picked up his hand, wrapped in tight bandages, showing spots of blood.

“Mr. Brown, I can never ever thank you for all you have done,” her father said in a quiet voice. “Mr. Turnbull and Mr. Crimlock have told me all that happened, especially your heroic rescue of my Ginny. You rest now, and when you are ready to be back at the cannery, you and I shall have a talk about your future. In the interim, you shall continue to receive your salary while you recover. No matter how long it takes.”

She could see the eye of Phillip’s that was open watching her father’s face. He nodded once and glanced at her where she stood in the doorway. She moved to the other side of the bed, her eyes never leaving his. She combed his hair back from his face when she was beside him.

“Oh, Mr. Brown. I will apologize to you fully when you are well enough to berate me for my impulsiveness. Please allow your family and the doctor to care for you. Do not be stubborn.” His hand reached for hers, and he kissed her fingers. Her cheeks heated, but she smiled broadly and blinked back tears as he smiled back at her as much as his stitches allowed. This man, who was so dear to her, had risked everything, his very life, to save her. There would never be another man for her, even if she never saw him even one more time on this earth.

She looked up to see her father and Phillip’s uncle and sister watching them as she leaned over the bed near his battered and bruised face. “Well,” she said, “I believe the patient should get some rest.”

Phillip sat up in bed eating a hot roll slathered in butter and honey while he let his soup cool on the tray on his lap. He was still uncomfortably sore, and Prosperi had said he must remain in bed for longer still, although in all truth, he enjoyed the luxury of being waited on and cossetted. It was a completely new experience for him, but he could feel himself growing stronger now, eleven days after the trip to the Ellipse, and bored and restless as well. He heard the front door open and hoped he had a visitor. Maybe Virginia.

“How’s our patient?”

Phillip recognized the booming voice of Timothy Sweitzinger and Sarah’s returning laughter. His bedroom door opened, admitting them both.

“Keep him company, Tim. You can take him to the privy after his lunch” Sarah laughed, smiling up at his friend.

“I might have to hurry back to the station house,” Timothy teased. “Don’t forget what I said about the dance at the fire station. I’ll ask again next week.”

Sarah walked to the door. “Ask as often as your pride permits.”

Phillip laughed as they listened to her steps on the stairs. “She has always liked making sport of you when she can.”

Timothy turned to the bed and sat down on the ladder-back chair beside it. “I kind of like it when she does.” He shrugged.

Phillip stared at his friend, who had picked up one of Eliza’s rolls from his tray. “Did you find anything out?” he asked.

Sweitzinger nodded. “Greta is legally married to Bucciarelli.”

“What?”

“I talked to him in his cell. I think he honestly cares about her. Bucciarelli’s lieutenant was supposed to take the baby to his sister. Bucciarelli had heard she’d stepped out with the fellow from Durmand’s office, Finkle, wasn’t it and wasn’t pleased. He also said Greta had threatened to leave Baltimore and take his son with him, and he intended to stop her. I told him about the condition his boy was living in when Miss Wiest found him,” Timothy said and chuckled. “There’s going to be a few of his gang members at the bottom of the bay before long. He didn’t say it outright, but I think one of them was making a grab for his territory and thought they’d leverage him by threatening his wife and hiding his son.

“And then along comes Campbell, figuring he can get an inside on that property he and Bucciarelli are vying for, so he dumps Greta on your doorstep when she starts making demands to retrieve her son from Bucciarelli,” Timothy added.

“And muddy the waters.”

Timothy nodded. “Have you heard from Greta?”

“She never did tell us the whole story and shaded the truth on occasion. Where is she? Do you know? She sent a note to Sarah thanking her and the rest of us too.”

“She’s living in Bucciarelli’s house with her boy and plenty of spending money. She’s visited him in his rather lavish cell several times,” Timothy said with a wry smile. “I think they’ve come to terms, if you know what I mean.”

“What about Finkle? Did she say? She told us he was just good for an evening out.”

“She was using Finkle to get information and a dinner now and again. That’s all.”

“I’m never getting married,” Phillip said.

Timothy leaned back in his chair, propped his booted feet on the bed, and locked his fingers behind his head. “Never say never, my friend. I think one of these days we’ll both succumb.”

Phillip stared out his lone window to the winter sky, deep blue, like a woman’s eyes, and thought about the only one who had ever tempted him.