Damsel In Distress?. Kristina O'Grady
“What are you looking at now, dear wife?” Mrs Hillary Barrett’s fingers twitched the curtains of her parlour closed before she turned to her husband of twenty years. He knew her too well for her to pretend she was bird watching. Although in a way, she was. He stood in the doorway fully clothed and ready for the day. He was always up this early, although she never understood why.
“Lord Eaglestone is at it again! This time he’s bringing one of his paramours into his sister’s house! I for one refuse to put up with such blatant disregard to proper behaviour. First thing this afternoon, I will call on Lady Cressanda to offer her my support in this time of what is surely a trial. Imagine, having that woman in your house. Being flaunted right in front of your nose. Shocking, that’s what it is.” Hillary paused a moment and when her husband refrained from commenting, she turned in his direction. He had sat down in his favourite chair and picked up a newspaper. A paper! When she was in the middle of telling him something very important, “Albert, are you listening to me?”
“Yes, dear.” His eyes didn’t leave the newspaper but he raised his eyebrows and Hillary was once again assured of his attention.
“I must go and tell cook to prepare some nice biscuits I can take as an offering.” Hillary bustled out the door, not seeing her husband roll his eyes before returning to his paper.
Harriet took in her surroundings. The house was elegant, with exquisite furnishings. Neither the décor nor the house made her uncomfortable or made her feel out of place, so she could only assume she, too, was accustomed to this sort of luxury. She couldn’t remember. She had hoped on the way to Lord Eaglestone’s residence that a memory would be jogged and she would know who she was, but nothing. It was as though there was a gaping black hole in her head…at least it wasn’t a bullet hole. Where had that thought come from? Why would she think about bullets? She could see the shape in her mind and an image of a gun, black and sleek, flashed in her memory, the smell of gunpowder in the air so real, she scanned the room for the source.
She shook her head slightly to clear it…or fill it up, she wasn’t quite sure which. She found the sights and sounds of London slightly familiar, as though she had been here before, but she had the impression something wasn’t quite as it should be. She wasn’t familiar with the area Lord Eaglestone lived in, but she wasn’t sure if that was because she couldn’t remember or, worse yet, she wasn’t from here. If she wasn’t from the area, how was she supposed to find her way back to where she had come from?
***
Philip looked at the lady propped on the blue patterned chaise longue in his sister’s drawing room. The lady insisted she would be fine sitting, but the colour was completely drained from her face; little wonder, as her blood was still oozing from her head. Her eyelids looked heavy as though she was trying hard to keep them open and he had a sudden compulsion to keep her awake. He was scared if she closed her eyes she would never open them again. He ignored the sudden clenching in his chest at the thought and forced himself to speak casually as though all was well.
“I’m sure my sister will be down directly. She wouldn’t have missed the commotion when we arrived.”
“Hmm?” Her eyes flickered closed.
Philip hastened to the chaise and sat beside her, indecently so; the cushions dipped where he sat and her body sagged towards him. Their thighs touched, sending heat straight to his groin, surprising him that he could have lustful thoughts about a half-dead lady with blood running down her face. He was immediately disgusted at himself and shifted his body away from her. It was no good, the weight of him far outmatched hers and her body followed his into the crevasse he created on the couch.
“Are you able to remember anything yet, my dear?” Philip turned his head to speak to her. He ended up talking into her hair, as she let her head fall upon his shoulder.
She opened her eyes, or at least the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut, and blinked at him in confusion. Her mouth opened but no words came out, so he repeated his question.
“No, I don’t know who I am.” She dropped her head back onto his shoulder and her good eye shut once more.
“Please stay awake,” he begged quietly, touching her face gently with his fingers.
The words had scarcely left his lips when his sister swept into the room in one of her best morning dresses; she was obviously here to make a point. Philip groaned.
“What is the meaning of this, Philip? How dare you bring one of your doxies into my house! You’re in my drawing room, for heaven’s sake…with the door closed!”
“Cres…Cressandra, let me explain.” Philip shouldn’t have been surprised at his sister’s reaction, but he was.
“Don’t you dare even try. Get her out of here this instant and you, dear brother, can go as well. I’ll have Charles pack your things and send them to wherever you find yourself. You have caused enough damage to our family this year without visiting this kind of scandal upon it as well.”
Before Philip had a chance to redeem himself, Charles knocked on the door, “Dr Brown is here, my lord, should I send him in?”
“Of course, Charles, see him through immediately, she’s not looking too well and she won’t open her eyes.” Philip shook the woman gently but her head just lolled on her neck. Her eyes stayed closed. “Please hurry,” he whispered.
At the startled sound that came from beside the door, Philip looked up in time to see his sister become aware of the state the woman in his arms was in. Her indignation deflated before his eyes.
“What’s happened?” She took a few steps towards them but seemed unsure what to do and stopped halfway across the room.
“She fell.” Before Cressandra could ask any more questions, a man strode purposefully into the room, Charles following at his heels. Philip knew Charles would be mortified the doctor entered the room without being properly announced, but Philip didn’t have time to care about the aging butler’s sensibilities.
“Where’s the patient?” Dr Brown was a tall man with a bushy moustache and a large smile. If he happened to have a beard as well and dressed in red, one would be forgiven for thinking he was none other than Father Christmas. The only problem with that being was he was actually fairly young, mid-thirties perhaps, and possessed not a single grey hair. But his cheeks were rosy and his belly protruded merrily beneath his clothing.
“What has happened to the poor dear?” Cressandra asked again. “Why is she covered in blood? Is she dead?” She took another tentative step closer.
Philip ignored his sister and addressed the doctor. “I would prefer for you to hear the whole story in order to help her as best you can, but before I start, you should begin examining her. She had a very nasty fall off a horse and a blow to the head. She was unconscious when I reached her, but woke up fairly quickly. It is only now she has fallen back to sleep.”
“And when did this occur?” Dr Brown asked while he felt for a pulse on her wrist.
“I was on my way home just before daylight when I came upon them.”
“Them?” Dr Brown looked up from his patient.
“There were three others. They caused this.” Philip waved his hand at the woman, indicating the injuries she had received.
“Where are they now?”
Philip shrugged.
The doctor quickly undid the buttons of her pelisse and eased it off her shoulders and down her arms. “Do you know her name?” Brown asked, not looking up from his task.
Philip shook his head. “Only that her Christian name is Harriet. She was unable to recall the others.”
Dr Brown paused in his ministrations and examined her dress. “This is most odd. Miss, come closer please,” he called