Page 25 of The Nabob's Designing Daughter
As he came over a rise, he saw it.
Dear God, his father’s worst nags had been sheltered better than these people who depended on him. But a respectable gig and horse stood in front and as he watched, a woman in a blue mantle stepped out of the hovel.
It was Ann.
A man roared, and he spotted a burly fellow loping through a patch of trees.
Errol spurred his horse. The man saw him, stopped, and took off back running the other way. He turned to give chase, but Ann shouted for Errol to stop.
Dismounting, he went to her. A scrawny young boy with a dirty cap peeked from behind her.
“Ann, what are you—”
“Come,” she said, beckoning him.
Inside, a small peat fire fought the chill air rustling in through the roof and the tattered blankets covering the windows. A tallow candle sat on the only table, and the only chair held a sturdy-framed woman.
“Maggie,” Ann said, “this is Dr. Robillard. I’ve done what I can, but can you have a look at her, Errol?”
The woman struggled to rise, but he nudged her back and went down on one knee. Both of her eyes were blackened, and near swollen shut.
“Are you Mrs. Gillespie?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Who did this to you?” he asked.
“Me da,” the boy said.
“Shush, Rolly. He’s not a bad man when he’s not drinking.”
“Did he hit you anywhere else?”
She shook her head.
“Your hand, Maggie,” Ann said softly. “I can’t tell if it’s broken.”
He lifted her right hand. The knuckles were raw, the thumb joint swollen. He had her wiggle her fingers, make a fist, and then probed every joint. It didn’t seem broken, and there wasn’t much he could do if it was, except to wrap it.
“I suppose you hit him back,” he said.
“Aye. Had to.”
“Was that your da running to the house like a madman?” he asked the boy.
“Aye.”
“We’re taking you somewhere safe, Mrs. Gillespie,” Errol said, and heard Ann expel a breath.
He got to his feet. The old housekeeper at Mounth Tower might protest, and Gillespie might cause trouble there. Perhaps he could take her and the boy further away, to Kinmarty.
“I’m not leavin’ me home,” she said, wobbling up from the chair. “It’s her, Miss Strachney, as gets him riled. Her being here and seeing our troubles. And now ye show up from nowhere. He don’t like strangers aboot. Now, please, sir, I thankee, but I’ve no money to pay a doctor.”
He opened his mouth to tell her he was no stranger, but her new laird, and thought better of it. If he sold Darleton, these people’s problems would be someone else’s.
“Rolly oughtn’t have gone for ye, miss.”
“Don’t you dare lay a hand on him, Maggie Gillespie,” Ann said. “Come, Errol.”
