Josiah gave a short, humorless laugh. “No, you muck-worm. It was the magistrate.”
“Oh…aye.” Moving to the cabinet, Foster wet a cloth and returned to Josiah’s side. “Well, let us have a look.”
Josiah sucked in a sharp breath as the servant pressed the cloth to his wound. “Have a care, Foster. It hurts like the very devil.”
Foster continued rubbing at his shoulder, indifferent to Josiah’s muttered oaths.
“Only a crease, thank the good Lord, but a deep one.” He stepped back to regard Josiah with an expression that managed to be even more dour than usual. “You’ll be needing stitches.”
“I feared as much.” Josiah gave a shake of his head. It wasn’t his first wound and doubtless wouldn’t be his last, but it was damn well inconvenient. “Don’t stand there gawking, Foster. Fetch the needle and thread. Oh, and the brandy. If I’m to endure your ham-fisted surgery then I have a feeling I shall want my wits dulled to the point of insensibility.”
Without warning Foster was backing away, his hands lifting in dismay. “Fiend seize it. I’m a manservant, not a damnable sawbones. If you need stitching then call for old man Durbin.”
“And have him spread the tale of my injury to the entire neighborhood on the first occasion he is in his cups?” Josiah growled. “Don’t be more a fool than you have to be.”
“What does it matter?” Foster shrugged. “No one takes notice of his drunken babblings.”
“I assure you the magistrate will take great interest in any babbling that concerns a wounded gentleman,” Josiah confessed, grimacing at his stupidity. “He knows he managed to shoot the Knave of Knightsbridge this eve. You might as well put the noose around my neck and be done with it.”
There was a pregnant pause as the servant sorted through the words and at last comprehended the danger of their situation.
“Bloody hell,” he breathed, a frown tugging his shaggy gray brows together. “I suspected that the man would prove to be a pain in the arse. Can’t abide a gentleman who is forever sticking his nose into the business of others.”
Despite his pain, Josia
h’s lips twitched at his servant’s indignant tone. “I believe, my dear Foster, that he perceives it his duty to stick his nose into whatever business happens to be conducted in his district.”
“Oh, aye, determined to make a name for himself in London, no doubt. Don’t matter how many decent folk he has to hang.”
“Or indecent folk, as the case may be.”
Foster gave a snort as he tossed the bloody cloth into the sink. He was a simple man. A man who possessed his own unique sense of right and wrong. And nothing could convince him to consider his master a dastardly criminal.
A pity not everyone was so sublimely indifferent to his wicked habits, Josiah acknowledged wryly.
“He ain’t nothing to old Royce,” Foster groused. “Now, there was a magistrate who knew how to do his duties.”
“He also had the decency to accept a friendly bribe when offered,” Josiah lightly teased.
“Aye, a man of sense.”
“And an unfortunate appetite for cheap gin and cheaper whores that managed to land him in an early grave.” Josiah gave a shake of his head, wincing as a pain shot through his shoulder. “We may rue his loss, but it will not alter the fact that our mission has become considerably more dangerous, old friend.”
“Mayhap you should lay low for a while.”
Josiah attempted to get comfortable on the wooden chair. He wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a soft bed, but he knew that he had to tend to his wound before either was possible.
Which meant convincing his stubborn companion to get on with the bloody business.
“Never fear, Foster, this damnable wound has seen that I will be laying low for several days, if not weeks. And speaking of wounds, you’re stalling. I have no intention of bleeding to death because you are too squeamish to stick me with a needle.”
Foster gave a shake of his head. “Nay, sir.”
“Fine, then fetch the blasted needle and I’ll do it myself,” Josiah commanded, his patience at a limit.
“Perhaps I may be of assistance?”
Both men stiffened at the sound of the soft, decidedly female voice. Briefly closing his eyes, Josiah wondered why he had ever left his bed that morning. Surely the gray weather and chilled breeze should have warned him to pull the covers over his head and give it up as a loss?