“We need privacy, Colonel.”
“I won’t go far.” Rye could not go far, could not leave a man downed on the battlefield. “Holler if you need anything, and I do mean anything.”
“I understand.” She made a gesture in the direction of the ladder, her gaze calm and direct. Be off with you. I have the situation in hand.
He’d forgotten how petite she was, how serenity wafted about her like a fragrance. “Benny was right to send for you, and thank you for coming.”
“I will make a full report as soon as I’ve examined the patient, but I cannot do that until you remove yourself from the immediate surrounds.”
Orion made himself descend the ladder, and busied himself tidying up the horse’s stalls while soft voices drifted down from the hayloft. Benny was holding a conversation, not merely moaning out orders, and that had to be an encouraging sign.
Darkness fell—summer was well past its zenith, and autumn stalked closer. Rye’s hip told him as much on the chilly evenings and chillier mornings. Still Miss Pearson remained in the hayloft, speaking quietly. Benny responded, and the cadence was that of a normal chat, though Orion could not make out the words.
“Colonel?”
“Here.” Orion left off scratching Scipio’s neck and returned to the foot of the ladder.
“The patient will make a full recovery, but I need a set of clean clothes, warm water, and some rags. Also a sewing kit if you have one.”
“Stitches?” The poor lad. “I have some laudanum if that will help.”
“Let’s start with the clean clothes.”
“But that—” Made no sense. Orion’s protest died aborning as Miss Pearson’s skirts appeared at the edge of the hayloft, followed by her person climbing onto the ladder.
A gentleman did not watch a lady descend a ladder, even in the near-darkness of a stable in the evening. Miss Pearson wasn’t strictly a lady—she labored hard for her bread—but Orion had at one time considered himself a gentleman.
He turned his back until Miss Pearson was standing before him in the shadowy barn aisle. She’d taken off her straw hat, and her cuffs were turned back. She smelled good—flowery and fresh—a contrast to the earthy scents of the stable.
“Benny will be well,” she said, with calm conviction. “Clean clothes are the first priority. Bone broth, chamomile tea, light activity, and the malady will ease its grip in a few days.”
“You’re sure?” Orion said, peering down at her. “You aren’t a physician, and the boy was clearly in misery.” Had shown evidence of serious injury.
“I am as certain of my diagnosis as I am of my name, Colonel. Fetch the patient some clean clothes, and you and I will talk.”
Orion’s relief was unseemly. He’d worried for Jeanette when food poisoning had brought her low, but Jeanette was an adult, and she’d clearly had Sycamore Dorning to fret for her too. These boys had nobody and nothing, and life had already been brutally unkind to them.
“Thank you,” he said, taking the lady’s hand and bowing. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
Miss Pearson ambushed him with a hug—a swift squeeze, followed by a pat to his shoulder. For a small woman, she hugged fiercely. The embrace was over before Orion could fathom that he was being hugged, and that was fortunate.
He’d sooner have taken another bullet than endure Ann Pearson’s affection.
“The child is lucky to have you,” she said stepping back. “I gather Benny is one of several children in your care.”
“They are hardly children anymore. They eat like dragoons and grow out of clothing almost before it’s paid for.” Orion cupped his hand to his mouth. “Watch the lantern, Benny. I’m off to find you clean togs and scare up the tisanes Miss Pearson has prescribed.”
Benny’s head appeared over the top of the ladder, bits of hay cascading down. “You won’t tell the others?”
Tell them what?’
“You are suffering a brief indisposition,” Miss Pearson replied. “Perhaps something you ate disagreed with you. The colonel and I will discuss what’s to be done.”
Some silent communication passed between Miss Pearson and the patient. Benny shrugged and withdrew from sight.
“No more piking off,” Rye called up to the loft. “I don’t care if you have consumption, the Covent Garden flu, and sooty warts. You don’t desert the regiment just because you feel poorly.”
“Yes, sir.” The resentment Benny packed into two mumbled syllables was reassuring.
“Come, Colonel.” Miss Pearson gathered up her basket and marched down the barn aisle. “I daresay Benny could use some sustenance, and I want a look at your medicinals.”
Orion followed reluctantly. “You’re sure the lad will come right?”
“Benny will be fine. Have you eaten supper?”
“No, and now that I know we’re won’t be measuring Benny for a shroud, I admit I am famished. The cook/housekeeper usually leaves me a tray on the hob before she departs for the night. You’re welcome to share.”
“Your help doesn’t live in?”
Rye crossed the alley and escorted Miss Pearson into the garden, where a lone cricket sang a slow lament to summer’s end. A cat skittered up over the garden wall, and fatigue pressed down on Rye like the darkness itself.
“My housekeeper lives around the corner with her daughter and son-in-law. I believe Mrs. Murphy has a follower, and would rather see him on her own turf. My maid of all work and man of all work are a married couple—he also serves as my coachman—and they dwell over the carriage house.”
Miss Pearson moved through the night with the same easy assurance Orion associated with her in other contexts. She’d been comfortable in Jeanette’s sick room. In the Coventry’s kitchens, she’d been thoroughly at home.
“You have married servants, Colonel?”
“My former batman and his wife. I value loyalty over convention.”
“I suspect you value loyalty over almost every other consideration. My gracious, your roses are hardy.” Miss Pearson made her way down the cobbled path to the overgrown roses along the stone wall. “These are not damasks, and yet…” She sniffed. “They
