Beth made every effort to busy herself for the rest of the day. She went to the kitchens to discuss the week's menu with the cook - a conversation she had not managed the previous day - and to sneak one of her delicious ginger biscuits. Then she arranged with the footmen to have the carriages brought round at eight in the evening on Saturday for the ball. She and her Lady's maid, Katherine, also selected her gown and hung it out to air, discussing hair, jewellery and shoes as they went. And despite all of that, she still chanced to be in the foyer as Mr Grayson escorted a pair of constables through.
Her heart froze and she tripped over the edge of the rug, catching herself on a display table. The vase atop it wobbled dangerously but thankfully stayed put. She tried to remind herself that the police had needed to be called, regardless of whether John was victim or perpetrator. They might even be in receipt of a missing persons report that could reveal his identity!
Despite her own assurances, she couldn't prevent the anxious glance she threw over her shoulder as she made her way upstairs. The rest of her afternoon went by tediously slowly, as she tried to find tasks that kept her in the vicinity of the foyer. It was hard to read, stitch or play the pianoforte with one eye on the front door, but she tried her best. Not long after she attempted the last, Phil appeared in the parlour doorway.
Beth glanced at the cock on the mantle; it was not yet four. "Should you not still be with your governess?"
The child moved closer, shaking her head. "Thankfully I have already exhausted Miss Nancy's knowledge of sums, else I imagine you'd be making it very hard to focus." She stopped a few strides away, hands fisted on her hips. "Whatever is the matter with you?"
Her sister bristled. "I beg your pardon? That's a very rude thing to ask, Phillipa."
The girl blinked up at her from under a furrowed brow. A maid passed through the foyer and the movement drew Beth's gaze. When she dropped her eyes back to Phil, understanding lit her sister's face. It was startling, not only to Beth but to all of their acquaintance, just how quickly her mind worked.
Without a sound, Phil turned away towards the bookshelves, standing on tiptoe to scan the titles. After a moment she drew one out, glancing at its cover with a nod and noise of approval. She collected two more, moving quickly from one end of the room to the other, before turning back to her older sister and offering the tomes.
"Here." She shook them gently.
Beth glanced from the books to Phil, blinking slowly. "Whatever are they for?" Her hand moved to rest on the novel she'd set atop the pianoforte. "I can select my own amusement, if you don't mind."
With a huff, Phil moved closer and all but dropped them in Beth's lap, ignoring her gasp of protest. "You can't read that drivel to the injured man. He's already weak; you might bore him to death!"
Her sister's mouth fell open in outrage, and then embarrassment kept it open as she didn't know what to say. Had her curiosity about the man been so apparent that even her 8-year-old sister had noticed? She blushed to think what the servants or her brothers were thinking about her behaviour.
"I hardly think that's appropriate, Phillipa," she said after a long moment, lips pursing into a delicate frown.
The little girl shrugged. "Suit yourself." She turned and walked away, pausing to look back from the doorway. "I did hear that reading to those with injure heads can help restore function and memory. Seems almost injurious not to go to him." Her scowl returned suddenly. "Whatever you decide, leave the piano alone – for all our sakes."
Beth's indignation returned, but her sister had already disappeared. She glanced down at the books in her lap, trying to ignore the flutter of excitement in her stomach. Perhaps it wouldn't be completely inappropriate to go check on the man, since she could possibly help him recover. It wouldn't be because she was curious, but for his benefit.
She was at the door before she'd even decided to go.
As she crossed the foyer, Beth examined the books her sister had selected. The first was a tome of nautical poetry, the second a history of the region, and the last a novel about an adventurer. Beth shook her head. Was this what men read?
"Beth!"
She paused at the call of her name, freezing mid-step as if she'd been caught doing something she oughtn't. Swallowing uncomfortably, she tucked the books under one arm and smoothed her skirts with her other hand, raising her eyes to see her eldest brothers trotting down the stairs.
Simon reached her first, still tugging a riding glove onto one hand. "Sorry to startle you. Bart and I are going to visit one of the tenants on the east side - that fellow who wanted more farmland - but we will be back in time for supper. If you wouldn't mind ensuring Phil takes her dinner at some point, I'd be grateful. I'm afraid the governess has cried off again... something about a headache..." He shook his head, but there was clear laughter in his eyes.
Bart was less amused. "It won't be long before this one resigns as well, Si. Something must be done."
The men frowned at each other.
"It's hardly Phil's fault – they just aren't equipped to handle intelligent young women."
"But perhaps they would try harder if she didn't take so much joy in outsmarting them."
Simon huffed out a laugh of little humour, shaking his head. "Yes, you're right. Perhaps they would."
Having made his point, Bart directed his attention back to his sister, raising his brow as he noticed the books.
"A bit of light reading, Beth?"
"Uhhh..." Beth glanced from the books to each of her brothers, feeling the blush brighten in her cheeks the longer she failed to answer. She decided on the truth – or rather, she couldn't think of any other excuse. "Phil suggested that reading to a patient with amnesia can restore memory. I thought I'd try."
Bart nodded at her, taking the books gently from her and assessing the titles.
Simon smiled. "How good of you, Beth."
Their brother agreed. "And excellent selections." He handed them back as Simon slapped him on the shoulder.
"We'd best be off."
As they departed, Beth looked at the books with a noise of surprise, murmuring under her breath, "Perhaps this is what men read."
It wasn't until she reached the room and stood in front of the closed door that Beth remembered she'd not noticed the policemen leave. She reached to knock and then changed her mind, slippers swivelling on the floor with her indecision. Her hesitation meant she was standing there, arm partially raised, when Mr Grayson opened the door. He stepped back abruptly, nearly bumping the policemen who had been following him, before bowing slightly and murmuring an apology.
Beth retracted her hand quickly. "No, the fault is mine, Mr Grayson. I didn't mean to be in the way." She stepped to the side, letting the three men pass and accepting their tipped hats with nods of her own. She turned back to the room and found another inside: Vincent.
This was the problem with having four brothers; they were always popping up where you'd least expect.
She stepped cautiously into the room, noting that the man – John – had been propped up on pillows. The sheet was gathered at his waist, but he had thankfully procured a shift since the early hours. His arm was raised above his head, face buried in the crook of his elbow, so she knew he was awake despite not being able to see his face. There was no sign of the doctor.
She moved carefully to Vincent's sign. "What did the policemen say?"
Her quiet voice travelled across the even quieter room, and John's neck snapped upright and his arm fell away. Beth had to muffle a gasp as she saw his face; if anything, the bruises had darkened since she'd last seen them. His eyes – or rather, eye, as one was still firmly swollen shut – flew to hers, before flicking quickly to the door and back. She wondered briefly who he was looking for and tried not to name the disappointment that settled in her chest.
"They... there..." Vincent rubbed his face. "Nothing of particular import. There have been no reports of missing men, but they will ask around." He glanced at the books in her arms, and tipped his head at her in question.
The more she repeated it, the sillier she felt. "Uh, Phil said that, um..." she fixed her gaze on her brother and refused to look across the room. "Phil said that reading to people with amnesia could restore memories?" It wasn't meant to be a question, but it sounded like one.
Thankfully, Vincent was already nodding. Without further comment, he moved towards the exit, deliberately opening the door as wide as possible. From the doorway he nodded at them. "If...I... Send a servant if you have need of me." He glanced to John. "Either of you."
Alone with the injured man, Beth had no choice but to meet his gaze. His expression was serious, but not threatening, so she clutched the books to her chest and moved a little closer.
"How do you feel?" she asked gently, stopping a stride or two from the edge of the bed.
He nodded at her. "Fine, given the circumstances." His hand drifted to his braced leg absently. His head tilted slightly. "I'm afraid my head is still a little fuzzy; your name-"
"Elizabeth Humphrey." She cut him off with her startled exclamation. "Beth." Realising her informality, she blushed and tried for the third time. "Lady Humphrey."
Her confusion tugged a small smile onto his lips. "Humphrey? So Phil is not your husband."
She blinked. "Phil?"
He nodded at the books.
"Oh!" They referred to Phillipa so frequently as Phil that they often forgot it was not in and of itself a feminine name. "Oh no, Phil is Phillipa; my sister." Beth laughed lightly. "She's only 8, but she has the personality and interests of a spinster maid. Recently she's quite taken with medical journals, so here I am." She wiggled the books she clutched, trying to stop her mouth from moving.
"It's very kind of you. Both of you." He glanced at the doorway. "Actually, your entire family has been very kind."
Beth blushed and didn't know what to say. She held out the books. "Would you like me to read you something?"
And over the next few hours the both of them became very well acquainted with nautical poetry.