Figgs noticed her concern. “It’s the shock, like Lord Charles said. There.” Pulling up the covers, she patted them down around Nicholas. “He’s as comfortable as can be.”
Piling her cloths in the basin, she hefted it. She glanced again at Nicholas. “I’ll send up a footman with some hot bricks. That’ll warm up the bed and bring him to himself.”
“Thank you, Figgs.” Penny sank into the armchair, her gaze fixed on Nicholas’s effigy-like face.
Figgs humphed. “Em brews a tisane as calms the nerves something wonderful. I’ll have some sent up for you all. After all this fuss, you’ll be needing it, no doubt.”
Penny smiled. “Thank you.”
Figgs bobbed and left.
Charles walked back in as Figgs neared the door. He held it, then closed it behind her and crossed the room to Penny.
She raised her brows at him.
“Shutting the door after the horse has bolted, but…” With a light shrug, he sat on the arm of the chair. “If it was me, I’d come straight back in. Better safe than sorry.”
“What have you organized?”
He told her of the orders he’d given, two men in each patrol, with two patrols circling the corridors, passing in sequence from one wing to the next. “One man alone, this villain will kill him, but he won’t use a pistol—too much noise—and
unless he’s a wizard, he won’t try to take on two men at once.”
Penny nodded. Everything seemed so unreal. This was her home, yet patrols of footmen were now required to keep a murderous intruder at bay.
“I’d send you to bed, only I’d rather you remained in the same room as me.”
She blinked, looked up at Charles. “I’ve no intention of returning to my bed. I want to be here when Nicholas awakes—I want to hear what he says.”
He smiled, wry, resigned, and said no more.
Em’s tisane arrived, and they each drank a cup; a pot under a knitted warmer sat waiting for Nicholas. Footmen came with the bricks wrapped in felt; Charles oversaw their disposition. Another footman stoked the fire into a roaring blaze. Penny thanked him and dismissed him. Then she and Charles settled to wait.
The clock on the mantelpiece ticked on.
Another hour passed before Nicholas stirred.
“You’re in your own bed,” Charles said. “He’s gone.”
Nicholas frowned. It took effort to open his eyes; he blinked at them, went to move, and winced. His eyes widened. “He stabbed me.”
“Twice.” Charles’s tone was caustic. “What possessed you to tackle him alone?”
Nicholas grimaced. “I didn’t think it through—there wasn’t time.”
Charles sighed. “What happened?”
“I was sitting in a chair in the hall, waiting—”
“Why there?” Charles asked, perplexed.
“Because I reasoned he’d go to the library, and I could see the library door from there. I didn’t think he’d come through the window. The first I knew of him was a great crash—he’d smashed one of the display cases.”
“Hmm.” Charles’s eyes narrowed. “What happened next? How much do you recall?”
“I rushed in—he saw me and swore, but I was on him in a flash. We tussled, fell.” Nicholas’s gaze grew distant. “It was so dark. It was more guesswork than science, grappling, rolling—then he flung me back, and stabbed me.” He paused, then continued, “Then he stabbed me again. It felt so cold…” After a moment, Nicholas looked at Charles. “I heard a shout, but it seemed to come from a long way away.”
“That was me—I was in the doorway.”