The Indebted Earl by Erica Vetsch (best new books to read .TXT) 📗

provided the means, and Charles would employ them to see the girls cared for properly.

He paused to look once more out to sea.

He heard the rocks as they gave way, and he’d turned halfway, to look up, only to catch a rock on the head that sent him tumbling to the sand. Blackness enveloped him as the seashells slipped from his hand.

C

HAPTER

8

“HE’S TOO BIG to carry. Penny, go back toward the house. Try the barn. Or the nearest cottage. See if you can find someone to help us.” Sophie held her monogrammed handkerchief to the cut on the captain’s brow. It was right at his hairline and already swelling. She tried to straighten his limbs while not moving the handkerchief, but it was awkward. Her hands shook.

“How did this happen?” Mamie asked. “It wasn’t one of us climbing the stairs who dislodged the rocks, was it?” Her hands fluttered in distress. “The poor man.”

“No, the rocks came from higher up on the cliff face.” Sophie tried to recall the exact sequence. “It was most unfortunate timing for the captain, standing in that spot when the cliff decided to give way.” She checked the wound, turned the handkerchief, and pressed it to the cut again. There was a lot of blood, but she didn’t know if that meant the wound was severe. Head wounds tended to bleed. She was more concerned with whether the stone had broken Charles’s skull.

What would she do if God took Charles too? That thought brought her up short. It wouldn’t be the same as losing Rich, but she wished Charles no harm.

“Is he dead?” Thea squatted, her arms wrapped around her knees. “He looks dead.”

“Hush, child. He’s not dead. He’s been knocked senseless.” To satisfy her growing dread, Sophie checked to see that he was breathing. His chest rose and fell in a comfortingly even manner.

Betsy bent at the waist and patted his cheek with her chubby palm. “Wake up, Captain Earl. It’s not time for a nap.”

Mamie pulled a small vial from her purse and handed it to Sophie.

Uncapping the silver and glass container, Sophie waved it beneath the captain’s nose. Even from this distance she could smell the sharp sal volatile.

Charles groaned and stirred, his hand coming up, but Sophie grabbed it. “Don’t. You’ve taken a bang to the head. Lie still.” She handed the smelling salts back to Mamie with a grateful smile. Now that the captain was conscious, she felt as if a giant fist had let loose of her ribs.

Footsteps clattered overhead, and Sophie tried to shield the captain from the shower of sand that accompanied the noise. Penny leapt down the last few treads, and a somberly dressed man with wispy white hair followed at a careful-yet-still-fast rate.

“I didn’t have to go all the way to the house,” Penny panted. “This man was coming across the grass toward the cliff.”

“I’m the vicar. Dunhill’s my name. I was making a call upon the new earl, and when I found no one at the house, I thought I’d see if you were at the shore.” He knelt beside Charles. “I’m afraid you’ve found out the hard way how unstable the cliff face is.” Gently he lifted the edge of Sophie’s handkerchief. “If you’d been wearing a hat, it might have cushioned the blow.”

Charles stirred. “Let me up. I feel like a sea turtle lying on his carapace.”

“Are you sure?” Sophie asked. He must be in a great deal of pain. His face was pale, and lines of strain deepened the grooves around his mouth.

“Most definitely.” His lips thinned.

“Then sit up slowly. If you get dizzy, lie down again.” She put her hand beneath his shoulder, feeling again the whipcord strength of his muscles.

Once in a sitting position, he squinted. “I feel like I got hit by a sack of cannonballs.” He touched the swelling on his forehead and winced.

“Do you think you can stand?” the vicar asked. “The tide’s coming in. We need to get you up the stairs, or at the very least to the pier, or you’ll soon be afloat.”

Between Sophie and the vicar, they tugged Charles to his feet. He swayed, and she pressed her hands to his chest to stop him from going over forward. “Do you need to sit on the stairs?”

“No.” He closed his eyes, keeping the handkerchief against his head. “Let’s get moving.”

Thea gathered the scattered seashells, and when she had them tucked into the captain’s hanky, she said, “Now you’re the one who needs to hold someone’s hand.”

Betsy’s lower lip quivered, and two enormous tears spilled over her lower lashes.

“Oh, sweetling, don’t worry. It’s just a bump on the head.” Sophie motioned for the child to come near. “It would take more than a paltry hit with a stone to fell the captain.” She hugged the girl into her side.

“I don’t like blood,” she hiccupped.

“Neither do I.” The captain winced. “Especially my own. But Lady Sophia is right. I’ve been hurt much worse and survived. I suppose it’s a good lesson to all of us to be careful around the cliff.” He bent a look at Thea. “Right?”

She shook the shells in the handkerchief and shrugged. “Right.”

“Where is Miles?” the vicar asked. “He’s never far from the Shearwater. I would have thought he’d have turned up by now.” He put his hand under Charles’s elbow. “Take it slowly, and rest if you start to feel dizzy. Better to get there late than not get there at all.”

“Who is Miles?” Sophie asked as they climbed. The stairs were too narrow for three abreast, so she contented herself with following behind the preacher and the captain. She guided Betsy ahead of her, and Thea came along after, each holding Sophie’s hands.

“He’s a bit of a tearaway, I suppose. He showed up sometime last summer. He’s not yet twenty, I believe. Halbert Grayson lets him stay on because he looks after the Shearwater. Though where Miles sleeps is anyone’s guess. He pops up