e other man thumped his hand hard into his stomach.
The nurse and Bridgette moved at once, skirting around the fighting gentlemen and pushing the door shut tightly. Bridgette turned the key, pulled it from the lock and placed it in the depths of her pocket, breathing hard. What was she to do? Ought she remain here, standing guard at the door?
Lord Millerton grunted loudly, then there came another thump or two, with a thud that seemed to rise up and fill the room. Staring straight ahead, her candle still in her hand, Bridgette waited to see what would happen next, wondering if the intruder would make for another attack, only for Lord Millerton to let out a loud groan and straighten entirely.
“It is quite all right,” he croaked, turning around as Bridgette took a tentative step forward. “He will not be making any more attempts to escape.”
Bridgette let out her breath slowly, feeling it rattle out of her, her hand shaking as it held out the candle towards Lord Millerton. She gasped at the dark bruises on his cheek, one eye already beginning to swell and blood trickling from his nose. He sniffed, frowned, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, holding it hard to his nose.
“The candles, Lady Callander?” he said, as the sound of a muffled groan came from the bed. Hurrying to do as she was bidden, Bridgette saw the nurse rushing back towards the bed, reaching for Miss Sarah’s hand and holding it tightly in two of her own .
“Is she awake?” Bridgette asked, lighting all the candles that had, only a few minutes ago, been extinguished by Lord Millerton. “She is not ill again, is she?”
The nurse shook her head. “She is not returning to her fever, no,” she said softly, as though she did not want to wake the lady. “I believe she was trying to pull herself from the depths of sleep but did not quite manage to do so.” The nurse sank down into a chair, one hand brushing across her forehead. “Thank goodness she is quite safe.”
Bridgette nodded, turning back to Lord Millerton and seeing how he looked down at the now prone man on the floor. “Do you think he came to harm Miss Sarah?”
Lord Millerton looked up at her. “Yes,” he said, bluntly. “Whatever it was specifically that you said to Lady Madeline, she must have said to another. That person, whoever it was, sent this man to search your house, to make certain that Miss Sarah was not the sick person you had spoken of.”
“And if he discovered her?” Bridgette asked, her voice a little tremulous. “What then?”
Grimacing, Lord Millerton bent down and pulled something from the man. “Then I fear it would have been her end,” he said quietly, the gleam of the sharp blade making Bridgette catch her breath, her eyes wide and her heart filled with the horror of it all. Guilt flooded her and she closed her eyes, feeling tears begin to prick in the corners of her eyes.
“I should not have said a word,” she whispered, opening her eyes but seeing nothing but the fuzzy lights of the candles, her vision blurred by tears. “I did not mean to —”
“You did not mean any harm, of course,” Lord Millerton said, quickly, coming over to her. “But I will agree with you when you state that you should not have said a word to anyone. That is quite true.” He gave her a small smile, his fingers warm on hers. “But this fellow may prove to be very useful indeed.”
She sniffed and pulled her handkerchief from her pocket, her fingers feeling the cold metal of the key for the door. “What should I do?” she asked, wiping her eyes and then blowing her nose. “Should I awaken the butler?”
Lord Millerton considered this, then shook his head. “No, it is quite all right,” he said, slowly. “I will be able to bind this fellow quite easily, and if we lock him in another room, I highly doubt he will be able to find a way to escape.” He grimaced. “He may very well try, of course, but it will be impossible for him.”
Bridgette nodded quickly. “There is rope in the small outbuilding where the gardener keeps his tools,” she told him, quickly. “Should I fetch some?”
Lord Millerton pressed his lips together, looking at her with caution in his eyes.
“I am not afraid,” she told him, reassuringly. “I know that this man must be restrained and I —”
“It is only that I fear you may come across the gentlemen of the League,” he told her, his hand reaching out for hers again, his eyes moving around her features as though he sought to find some sort of understanding hidden in her gaze. “I do not know what has become of them.”
A sudden thrill of horror ran up Bridgette’s spine. If she did as she had suggested, then there was the chance she might come across one or both gentlemen in less than agreeable circumstances. But yet, she knew that Lord Millerton needed rope in order to bind the unconscious man at his feet, and it was this knowledge that bolstered her courage and forced her forward.
“I will manage to do so,” she told him, her fingers pulling from his. “I know you are eager to find and help the gentlemen who were keeping guard at the house, and I will do my very best to be as quick as possible.”
By the time Bridgette reached the servants floor of the house, she was so fearful that it was difficult to put one foot in front of the other. It was quite ridiculous, she knew, given that Lord Millerton had made her wait for some minutes before allowing her to go, making quite certain that there came no other untoward or unexpected noises from within the house. He did not expect there to be anyone other than the unconscious intruder present, but still she felt herself very anxious indeed.
It was made all the worse when she noticed that the door that led from the servants floor outside was already ajar. Her heart pounding, she stopped dead, her feet fastened to the floor as she looked at it steadily, fearing that someone would come striding into view.
No-one did so. Her breathing ragged, Bridgette stepped closer, her fingers pulling at the door gently until it swung open. She frowned. Normally this door was tightly secure, for her butler always made certain to do so. Why now would it be open?
It was then that her candlelight revealed to her the answer. Something had been forced into the lock, something that must have allowed the door to be opened without the intruder making a single sound.
“You there!”
The loud voice had her shrieking with fright, one hand grasping her shoulder tightly as the sound dropped from her throat.
“I am Lady Callander,” she squeaked, not quite certain if such a name would make any particular difference to the person holding her so tightly. “Who goes there?”
The grip on her shoulder relaxed almost at once and she lifted her candle a little higher, revealing the sharp eyes and square jaw of Lord Windsor. She relaxed at once, just as an exclamation of surprise came from him.