Part 18 (1/2)

Polly opened her eyes to find that he was real and holding her very close.

Those brilliant grey eyes were blazing into hers. The nausea receded a little. He gave her a slight shake.

”I need you to be strong now, Polly. Don't disappoint me.”

Polly's chin came up. Though utterly unprepared for the horrors that had happened to her, she responded instinctively to the authority in his tone.

Besides, there was her mother to consider. The Dowager Countess was stumbling to her feet, her clothes in tatters, filthy and stained. The mob was falling back, hesitant and sullen, slipping away in ones and twos down the dark alleys and lanes, melting into the darkness as they had come.

Lord Henry was bending to help the Dowager Countess to her feet and as he did so, his black cloak swung back and Polly saw the pistols at his belt.

”The militia are coming...” The whisper caught and ran round the remains of the rabble. The madness was dying.

”Let's go...”

”Can you walk, ma'am?” Lord Henry was solicitous, his voice betraying neither fear nor panic.

”If not, I will carry you home. It is not far, but I think we should be moving.”

The Dowager, like her daughter, had a strong streak of courage in her.

She straightened up and pushed her tumbled hair away from her face.

”I can walk, sir, if you give me your arm. But the other lady and gentleman...? I thought, I was sure... Lord and Lady Ballantyne?”

”They have gone,” Lord Henry was saying, already shepherding them away from the smouldering hulk of the carriage, 'and we can only hope that they man aged to escape the mob. We must concentrate on getting you home safely, ma'am. ” The dark streets were empty, littered with broken gla.s.s and smouldering wreckage. It seemed to Polly, summoning the last of her strength to get herself safely back to Brook Street, that the journey could have taken two minutes or two hours. The Dowager Countess limped along, huddled within the tattered remains of her cloak, leaning heavily on Lord Henry's arm. His other arm remained, most improperly, about Polly's waist. But she did not care for propriety or convention. Polly needed the rea.s.surance and strength Lord Henry's presence conveyed, and would have clung to him if all the mobs from h.e.l.l had erupted about them.

Lights flared from the house in Brook Street and the front door stood open.

Lord Henry helped the Dowager Countess up the steps and into the hall.

The whole place was in uproar. Nicholas Sea grave, his face tense and white, was supporting a man Polly recognised with relief as John, the coachman. There was a huge, livid bruise on his temple and dried blood caked to his face.

His eyes were wild as he clutched at the Earl's arm.

The butler, looking almost as shaken as Sea grave himself, was firing orders at a host of servants who appeared to be running aimlessly in all directions.

As they came in at the door, there was a moment of complete silence.

Then the Dowager tottered over to the staircase, clutched at the bannisters and sat down rather heavily on the bottom step. And Lord Henry March night, with the casual aplomb that would not have been out of place at the most exclusive of social gatherings, said, ”Your servant, Sea grave. I am happy to be able to restore the Dowager Countess and Lady Polly to you.”

Much later, the Dowager Countess had been cosseted and exhorted into bed by her daughter-in-law, and Polly was propped up against her pillows, sipping a cup of hot, sweet tea. She felt light-headed with exhaustion, but the shock had prevented her from sleeping. Nicholas and Lucille, horrified and distressed, had heard the whole story, and were now sitting at the end of the bed.

Lord Henry March night had slipped away before anyone had had the chance to thank him properly.

'and the strangest thing,” Polly was saying, stifling a yawn, 'was that Lord Henry appeared to come from nowhere. And when he did, the rabble turned tail and fled. It was most extraordinary. He is a most mysterious man...”

Her eyelids were closing. Lucille gently took the cup from her grasp and set it down on the washstand. She tucked up Polly's covers.

Polly could feel herself slipping into sleep at last. She tried to rouse herself.