The Man in the Green Coat Read Online Free Page A

down, I can walk.”
    “Gabrielle, no!”
    “Your sister, you said?”
    “Yes sir. We thought it safer for her to dress so.”
    Mr Everett noticed a red stain on the jacket. He sprang forward as the girl crumpled, and caught her in his arms. Her brother seemed dazed, and looked to be in not much better case.
    “Gabrielle. . . Sir, let me take her.
    “Hoy!” interrupted the jarvey. “What about me fare?”
    “Do you pay the driver,” directed Mr Everett, “and I shall carry her in. You have money?”
    “Oh, yes, sir, but Gabrielle . . . I . . . oh, very well. Thank you.”
    Mr Everett, his face expressing none of the curiosity he felt, shifted his burden into a more comfortable position and turned to find the landlord awaiting him, a mug of ale in one hand, the other planted on his solid hip.
    “We haven’t got room, Mr Everett, and well you knows it. Partickly not for the likes o’ these.”
    “They may have my chamber, Colby, and I shall answer for them. If I am not mistaken, they are just escaped from France like most of your other guests.”
    “Oh, in that case, sir, if you say so. You’ll want your dinner sent up?”
    “We may need a doctor, not dinner. This child is injured and I do not know how badly.”
    “I am not a child,” said Gabrielle, faintly but indignantly. “Pray put me down, sir. I am quite able to walk.”
    “No, you are not, Gaby. I am scarce able to walk myself and I have no bullet hole in the ribs.” Gerard’s gait as he approached the group was as unsteady as if the deck still heaved beneath his feet.
    “That is because you were so stupidly seasick. And don’t call me Gaby!”
    “A bullet hole, is it? No wonder you are bleeding all over my coat,” said Mr Everett grimly, and strode into the inn, the girl in his arms. “You’ll do no more walking till it’s been seen to, if then. Colby, send for the surgeon at once, and have Baxter come to my room, if you please.”
    Dimly lit by a single candle, the low-ceilinged chamber to which he carried Gabrielle was nearly filled by a huge, old-fashioned fourposter bed of dark oak. He laid her gently on the patchwork counterpane, and placed a pillow under her shoulder so that she lay half on her uninjured side. Gerard sank into a chair.
    “Why do I feel as bad on dry land as I did on the boat?” he groaned.
    “It is often so, I believe,” said Mr Everett unsympathetically. “I suppose you are too ill to aid your sister. I must cut away her clothing around the wound, for the blood is drying and it will stick. At least you can act as chaperon.”
    A small, balding man, neatly dressed in black, slipped into the room.
    “Sir?”
    “Baxter, I need plenty of light and a pair of scissors.”
    “Sir.”
    The servant lit a branch of candles on the mantelpiece and another on the dressing-table crammed into a corner between bed and tiny window. The light revealed his lugubrious face, jowled like a bloodhound. He opened a leather box on the dressing-table and offered it to his master.
    “Scissors, sir.”
    “Thank you. That is not enough light. Is there no lamp in here?”
    Baxter bent down and pulled an oil lamp from beneath Gerard’s chair. He lit the wick at a candle flame and moved to hold it over the bed. As he looked down at Gabrielle, his face grew gloomier.
    Gerard stood up and leaned against the nearest bedpost. Mr Everett had pulled back Gabrielle’s jacket and was cutting away the shirt, revealing a huge purple bruise. He looked up at her brother, saw his sweat-beaded forehead and white lips.
    “Sit down, lad,” he said. “It will not help Miss Gabrielle if you pass out on us. Baxter, I need warm water and a clean cloth.”
    “Sir.” The servant departed as silently as he had come.
    Mr Everett sat on the edge of the bed and studied Gabrielle’s face. Beneath the unladylike tan it was pallid, and a tiny frown of pain contracted her eyebrows. Her hacked-off curls were draggled and stiff from the salt sea air. He leaned