Lady Elizabeth's Comet Read Online Free

"He
listened to me and I liked him, and what if he's dead?"
    "People don't die of nothing, Jeanie." She was ahead of me, almost out of sight in the
brush, so my profound comment fell on deaf ears. Feeling more than a little foolish, I picked up
my skirts and began to run. "Jean, wait!"
    She stopped, dancing with impatience. "It's not far now."
    It wasn't as far as it seemed. Finally we reached the end of the trees. At first I did not see
Lord Clanross. When Jean pointed to the grey splotch of his cloak, I began to run in earnest.
    He was crumpled, face down and still, in the weedy debris at the edge of the wall. An
insect crawled across his cheek.
    I knelt, panting, and brushed it off with my gloved hand. He seemed to have fallen
without an effort to stop himself, for his legs and arms stuck out at odd angles. A marionette with
the strings cut. His stillness appalled me.
    I tore off my gloves and sought a pulse. His hands and face felt ominously cold. Jean
began to sob again.
    "Be still!" I laid my ear to his back and fancied I heard a heartbeat, but my own heart
was thumping so loudly I couldn't be sure. I loosened his cloak ties and pulled the heavy garment
off.
    "Look!"
    Jean knelt and touched his bottle-green jacket below the left shoulder blade. Her fingers
came away red.
    "He's been shot," I said stupidly. I sat back on my heels, staring at the stain that
glistened through the dark cloth.
    "No! H-how could he be? I'd've heard the gun. We were just t-talking about my
watercolours, and he said, 'Lady Jean, will you please not ask questions. Fetch Sims for me.'
Then I think he said, 'Tell him this time...' and I didn't catch the rest. He just f-fell. I tried to pull
him up, but he was too still and heavy. So I r-ran."
    I touched the dark stain gingerly. It was wet and sticky, and it seemed to have spread. I
took a breath. "At least we know he's alive. He's still bleeding. Jean, you will have to run now. I
ought not to have made you come back with me. Go straight to the servants' entrance, or the
stables if you see someone there. Tell them Lord Clanross has been shot. Insist on seeing Sims.
When Sims comes, tell him to send Jem or John Coachman to fetch Mr. Wharton in the gig from
Hazeldell and to be quick about it. Then tell Sims to bring a hurdle and bearers. You'll have to
guide them. Clanross must be moved to shelter directly. Do you understand that, Jean?"
    "Mr. Wharton. Hazeldell. Hurdles." She gulped and nodded.
    "Then run. Now."
    She hiked her skirt and bounded away like a deer.
    In the silence I became exceedingly conscious of my isolation. Someone had shot
Clanross in the back. What if the villain were lurking nearby ready to finish what he had begun?
I started to shiver and brought myself sternly to heel. A fit of the vapours was not called for.
What was called for was something to stop the bleeding. Ruthlessly I ripped Clanross's muslin
cravat from his neck and folded it into a pad.
    No. I ought to lift his face from the bracken first. He might breathe in some of the loose
debris and choke. If he were still breathing. Grimly I lifted his head far enough to slip the cloak
beneath it.
    I looked about, removed my petticoat, and began tearing it into strips. It was
exasperatingly well made, but it finally tore. Then I reached under his right arm and felt for the
buttons of his jacket. Drat the man. He was wearing a waistcoat. I fumbled at the smaller buttons,
uttering unladylike words, and contrived to loosen them, too.
    For a man thin to the point of emaciation, Clanross was remarkably heavy. A
deadweight. The ugly phrase stuck in my head, and I yanked the jacket and waistcoat down from
his right shoulder, almost frantic. What if I weren't in time? His limp arm resisted my efforts, but
I finally forced the jacket sleeve and waistcoat off.
    The back of his shirt from the shoulder blades down was brown with drying blood. I
jerked the shirttail out and bared the flesh. Perhaps the cold air on his skin stung him to