Page 32 of The Nabob's Designing Daughter
At the small cottage they found Errol and Forbes just getting ready to mount.
Errol tookone look at Maggie’s mottled, bruised, face, and swallowed his anger.
“Rolly hurt,” Ann called, jumping down from the bench. “His leg might be broken.”
He hurried to the box and peeled back the blue fur-lined mantle he recognized as Ann’s. Next to him, Ann shivered, and he felt the heat of her breath as he gingerly probed the swelling limb. “Forbes, have your workmen fetch a board or small table.”
Forbes ran in and swiftly returned with the two workmen carrying a door, and Ann helped transfer the child onto the flat surface.
Inside, they carried the boy to the dining table and set the board upon it. Bodies pressed all around.
He heard Ann’s quiet murmurs. The workmen moved off, and Edme went through the door to the kitchen.
“What’s happened here, Mrs. Gillespie?” Errol asked.
Her gaze shifted away. “He fell.”
The boy—Rolly, Ann had called him—looked to be not more than six years old. His gaze followed his mother.
“Maggie,” Forbes said, his voice gentle. “What did that man of yours do this time?”
Her lip jutted out. “’twere an accident. Can ye help him, please, doctor? Please help him.”
He let Forbes deal with the woman, while he opened the lad’s worn jacket. The scrawny creature was skin and bones. He’d been crying, but he wasn’t doing so now. He looked like he was going into shock. “I’m Dr. Robillard. Do you remember me, Rolly?”
“Aye,” he said on a faint breath.
The red blotches on his chest would turn purple later but the boy’s ribs seemed intact. The blood seeping through that trouser leg meant Ann had probably had the right of it. That had to come first before checking further for broken ribs or damaged internal organs.
Ann handed him a pair of scissors. “I have Edme fetching hot water. Forbes, are there any clean flannels or towels anywhere?”
“Aye. Had the household linens stocked already upstairs in case the doctor wanted to stay.”
Rolly’s eyes fluttered and closed, and his mother began sobbing.
“Now there, Maggie,” Ann said. “You must cease your crying. It will only make this harder for Rolly. Go into the kitchen and help Edme.”
Errol took out his scissors and began snipping the trouser leg.
Maggie shrieked. “Those be his only breeches—”
“Go now, lass.” Forbes had returned bearing a stack of towels, and there was steel in his command. Her tearful moans retreated, and he heard the door creak shut.
One of the workmen came in carrying a load of wood. “We’ll get this fire going, as well,” Forbes said.
“Thank you.” In truth, Errol had ceased feeling the chill the moment he’d seen the lump under the coarse cloth.
Carefully he snipped, an inch at a time, lifting the cloth gingerly, laying the leg bare.
A moan escaped the pinched little mouth, and Ann rested her hand on the boy’s head.
Errol probed gently and let out a breath, relieved that no bone poked through. He snipped an inch further and found a ragged gash.
He touched the leg again, and the boy blinked, a bit of the shock clearing. The pain would soon surface again, and this time in spades.
“Your leg bone is broken, young Rolly. And you’ve a cut here. I wonder how that happened?”
"Splinters,” Forbes muttered.
