Time's Fool by Patricia Veryan Read Free Book Online Page B

Jamie. Falcon—isn’t it, sir?”
    â€œYes. Curse you! Confound it but—but you and your idiot friend … will answer … to me.”
    Naomi had fashioned the handkerchief into a pad which she now pressed against the wound in Falcon’s upper arm, and he lapsed into tight-lipped silence.
    Lieutenant Morris started to apologize, but checked as he stepped on an extremely sharp pebble. He glanced down instinctively. Beside some wet and crushed papers something gleamed faintly in the dim light from the carriage lamps. Curious, he bent and took up a tiny figure crafted from pink stone and set with red beads. A child’s toy, probably, dropped here by some youngster. He started to throw it aside, but it was rather quaint and his little niece might like to have it. He dropped it into his pocket, then joined Rossiter as a liveried coachman ran up, wheezingly out of breath.
    â€œThey had hacks … waiting, and they got clean away.… Leastways, they didn’t get your … jewels, milady.”
    â€œAnd they didn’t all get away,” observed Morris. “Unless that fella lying over there is one of your people, ma’am?”
    Naomi jerked her head around. “Oh, the poor creature! Well, do not stand there like stones! Cannot one of you help him?”
    â€œHe’s dead,” muttered Falcon rather faintly.
    â€œShot to kill, did you?” said Morris. “Better check, coachman. Just in case. Can’t always trust your aim in this kind of light, sir. I’ve known—”
    â€œCheck and be damned t’you,” snarled Falcon. “I never miss—as you’ll discover when … when…” His voice trailed off.
    Distressed, Naomi said, “Oh, he is faint, poor soul!”
    â€œA good time to get him into the coach,” said Rossiter with calm common sense. “Give a hand here, coachman. We’d better take him back to the inn. Would you wish that he journey in my carriage, ma’am?”
    Morris and the coachman lifted Falcon, and ignoring his protestations that he could walk, started towards Rossiter’s carriage.
    â€œNo,” said my lady autocratically. “Nor shall we take him back to that horrid inn! You will come home with me, August, where you can receive proper care. This person can take a message to—”
    â€œThe devil!” Falcon’s drooping head jerked up again. “I’ll not be maudled over in that pretentious pile, thank you! We’ll go back to the inn. My sister’s the best nurse I know.”
    Naomi said with considerable indignation, “If you are not the most perverse and ungrateful of men! That inn is dirty and stuffy, and you will have much better treatment with us! We will take my coach, if you please, gentlemen!”
    Obediently, they turned to her coach.
    â€œStop!” roared Falcon. His bearers halted, and he said heatedly, “Had it not been for you, Milady Wilful, we might all be cozily in … in feather beds by now. Instead of … me having this stupid hole in my arm, and you being dragged through the mud till you look a—proper fright! Now do as I say, you dolts, and put me in the carriage of the block who shot me.”
    Back turned the bearers with their burden.
    â€œDo not listen to him,” said Naomi angrily. “Can you not see that—”
    â€œEnough!” Rossiter’s voice cracked like a whip. “Be dashed if ever I heard such tomfoolery!”
    â€œYour opinion carries no weight here,” she flared.
    â€œAnd yours is rubbishing,” he said unequivocally. “The gentleman needs medical help, and the closest place for him to get it is the inn. If you persist in journeying on, so be it. I shall escort you. Jamie, put Mr. Falcon in my coach, and—”
    â€œNo such thing,” raged Falcon, struggling in the arms of his much tried bearers. “I’ll not trust myself to