Page 8 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

Fate plays its hand.

With chagrin, Anne had to acknowledge that Captain Dearborn’s concerns had been justified. As the day grew hotter, the young men attending the fair got thirstier. The more they drank, the rowdier they got, and whilst most of them were good natured in their jollity, one or two were not.

Mr Cogger had been serving the ale, but as the young man who was currently demanding more drink was of a higher class than himself—and utterly soused—he found it difficult to put his foot down and refuse him service.

Anne, who had returned to the hotel for a rest after a hectic morning and lunch period, returned in the early evening to discover Mr Cogger red-faced and frustrated.

“Damn you, you jumped up chaw bacon! If I want an ale, I’ll bloody well have one. Now hand it over,” the deeply inebriated young man said, his face flushed with the heat and anger and too much drink. He threw a handful of coins at Mr Cogger, most of which rolled off the table and into the grass.

Mr Cogger, who was not a young man, had obviously reached the limit of his tolerance, however, and pushed up his shirt sleeves.

Alarmed, Anne hurried over, pushing between the two men who were sizing each other up.

“Now, now, gentlemen, there’s no need for that. I’m sure we can come to an arrangement,” she said, her voice cool and authoritative.

The young man’s eyes lit up at the sight of Anne, and his swagger increased. “Well, that’s more like it,” he said, swaying gently as he looked her up and down with appreciation. “I’d much rather have my drink poured by a fine-looking wench than that sour faced old hobnail anyhow.”

“Perhaps I ought to fetch Captain—” Mr Cogger said in an undertone, but Anne ignored him, stiff with indignation.

She addressed the lout with icy formality, though she kept her voice calm.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but this is a village gathering for families, and not a place for overindulging and losing one’s wits.

The Dog and Duck is only a short walk away, however, and I feel sure they would welcome you.

I would be happy to give you instructions on how to find it, if you wish to carry on drinking. ”

“But Jerry and I don’t want to go. We want to have a drink with you,” the fellow insisted, a wheedling note to his voice that made him sound like a sulky child.

Jerry, who was made like a brick outhouse and looked about as intelligent, had been silent until now, his entire focus given over to the task of standing up.

At this comment, however, he belched loudly.

“There, see? Told you so,” the insufferable young fool said with a bark of laughter.

“I will not be drinking with you, and we will not be serving you any more ale,” Anne said firmly. She turned away, hoping they would give up, only to feel hard fingers digging into her arm and yanking her back.

Anne gasped, finding the young man no longer looked drunk and idiotic, but angry and belligerent.

“Look here, you stupid bitch,” he snarled, pulling her roughly against him.

Anne did not have time to hear what it was he would say next, for he was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. The lout turned, his attention divided enough that Anne tugged her arm free.

“What the devil—” the fellow said, as he looked up into the furious eyes of Lord Stonehaven.

“The devil is right, you ignorant puppy, and you’ll find out why if you don’t both leave this instant. Do us all a kindness and inflict your objectionable presence on those at the Dog and Duck. With a bit of luck, the local smugglers will dislike you as much as I do.”

“I don’t take orders from you,” the boy sneered, rocking back on his heels and delivering a clumsy blow to Stonehaven’s middle that barely made him blink. The fellow looked down at his wrist in confusion, wriggling his fingers as if to check they were whole.

Stonehaven sighed heavily, then hit the fool square on the chin.

Anne knew nothing about boxing, but the blow looked to be little more than a gentle tap, certainly Stonehaven had put no effort into it whatsoever. Still, the fellow’s eyes rolled up, and he fell like a sack of coal.

Stonehaven shook his head at the corpse-like body crumpled at his feet. “Idiot,” he said succinctly.

Anne was about to thank him for his timely intervention, when she looked up from the unconscious young man and discovered Jerry had taken umbrage at his treatment.

At the moment her attention had been diverted, he had picked up a small, unopened cask of ale from the stall and hefted it over his head.

Anne saw in an instant his intention and her blood ran cold. A scream rose in her throat, a warning, but too late. Stonehaven frowned and turned, but Jerry brought the cask down upon his head and Stonehaven fell.

At first, Bea could not make head nor tail of the commotion.

Occupied with helping George and Izzy pack up the last of his plants so he could transport them home, the sound did not penetrate.

The fair had become noisier and rowdier in the past hour, and her father had advised her and Izzy that it was time to go home.

Lord Beaumarsh had already escorted her sister back to the vicarage and would return for them shortly.

But then the screaming had become more distinct, a horrifying sound coming from far end of the field, close to the gate.

The surge of people rushing in that direction confirmed something dramatic had happened, though whether they were fleeing or eager to view whatever it was, Bea could not say.

“Stay here, miss,” George said as he lifted the last crate of plants onto his cart. “I’ll see what all the fuss is about.”

Bea nodded, taking Izzy’s arm and tugging her back so that the wall of the church was behind them.

“Do you think someone is hurt?” Izzy asked quietly.

Bea nodded. The screaming had made a chill of fear run down her spine, a sense of foreboding that made her skin prickle with alarm.

“Look, there’s George,” Izzy exclaimed, tugging free of Bea’s grasp and hurrying to meet him.

“This way,” George said urgently, ushering them in the opposite direction. “Your father wants you at the vicarage at once. A man has been injured. They’re taking him there.”

Though she could not say why or how, Bea knew immediately who had been hurt. She felt the sensation in her chest, her heart suddenly raw and exposed, and yet she still gasped with horror.

“Who?” Izzy asked.

“Lord Stonehaven,” George replied. “Some drunken devil brought a full cask of ale down on his head. Damn thing splintered and there’s blood and beer everywhere. He’s out cold.”

She ran, because George was ushering them both on, and Izzy held her hand, demanding she hurry. Yet her feet felt as if they were moving through treacle, everything slow and sluggish despite her need to be at the vicarage now, this instant, preparing for Stonehaven’s arrival.

“We’ll need clean cloths for bandages, and hot water.

We’ll put him in the honeysuckle room at the back of the house.

It’s a lovely bright room with that pretty wall hanging, but quieter during the day, and it gets that lovely sea breeze in the morning.

Has the Dr been summoned?” Bea said, talking to herself as much as Izzy, who knew as well as she did what was required.

Speaking aloud and planning what was to be done gave her something to focus on, though, and she knew she must concentrate, or her knees might just buckle.

“Will he be all right?” Izzy asked, a tremble in her voice. She too liked Lord Stonehaven, just as they all did, for he was charismatic and charming and had a way about him that made him impossible to dislike.

“Of course he will,” Bea snapped, unable to consider any other outcome.

Izzy looked at her in startled surprise before turning to George for confirmation. George glanced at Bea and looked away again. “I couldn’t say, miss. I ain’t no Dr.”

The door to the vicarage was open when they got there, and Mrs Adie was issuing instructions. “Oh, Miss Bea! Miss Izzy! The poor man. What wickedness there is in the world when a fellow can’t be safe in such a town as this. I never thought I’d live to see the day and—”

“Mrs Adie, is the yellow room ready?” Bea said, forcing herself to be calm when she wanted to give the poor woman a hard shake.

Brought back to her senses, Mrs Adie at once became businesslike.

“It is. I’ve turned down the bed and I’ve set water to boil.

I sent Polly for clean bandages. If you remember, we tore that old bedsheet into strips last autumn, and a good thing, what but I never expected it to be used for anything more than Caspar’s scrapes and bruises. ”

“They’re coming,” George called from the front garden, hurrying to open the gate.

“Come out the way now, girls. You too, Mrs Adie,” Mrs Mabbs counselled, ushering them all to the far end of the corridor. They’ll need space to get him up the stairs and the poor man won’t want you gawking at him in such a state. Gentlemen are proud creatures, remember.”

“Quite right, Mrs Mabbs,” Clementine agreed, her no-nonsense presence reassuring as she slipped an arm around Bea’s waist. Lowering her voice, she turned to Bea, her eyes filled with sympathy.

“Beaumarsh says he’s got the hardest head he’s ever known and won’t be felled so easily. He’ll be well again. Have faith, love.”

Bea nodded, holding fast to her sister's words, and though she wanted nothing more than to stay and assure herself the damage was not so great as she feared, she allowed Mrs Mabbs to corral them in the back parlour. She and Izzy exchanged glances as they heard the men grunting and cursing with effort as they carried Stonehaven’s considerable weight up the stairs.