LITMIR.BIZ

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the other parishes. It made things much easier. She stood up and faced him.

      ‘I made a mistake and turned the wrong way. Thankfully, my guardian angel was looking after me and sent a protector.’

      ‘Where is he?’

      ‘There on the ground. Sir Christopher Foxton.’

      Mr Jessop gaped. ‘Sir Christopher Foxton? He is involved? This is bad, very bad.’

      Hattie noticed the other men turn white and start to edge away. A group of farmhands stood solidly behind Mr Jessop, preventing them from leaving.

      ‘These men attacked me and Sir Christopher defended my honour, Mr Jessop. What you see is the aftermath of battle, which I am delighted to say Sir Christopher won.’ Hattie rapidly explained the situation, giving an account that was accurate in all the particulars but skated over some of the details. There was no need to tell the constable about the quarrel which preceded the event. All he had to know was that Sir Christopher had defended her honour with great vigour.

      ‘In broad daylight?’ The parish constable’s eyes widened. He drew himself up. ‘What is the world coming to? You should have stayed to the main part of the fair, Mrs Wilkinson.’

      ‘They were insensible with drink.’ Hattie pressed her hands together and tried to keep her limbs from trembling. ‘It is lucky Sir Christopher happened by when he did.’

      ‘Do you wish to press charges?’

      Hattie regarded the patch of spreading red on Kit’s chest and the way his face was swelling. A primitive urge to see the men hanged filled her. She pushed it away. ‘You must do as you see fit, Mr Jessop. It was a fight, but it is also the day of Stagshaw fair. You will have to speak with Sir Christopher when he is in a better state.’

      ‘I see, Mrs Wilkinson. No doubt there will be a few sore heads in the morning. A spell cooling off over in Hexham gaol will do them good.’

      ‘I wish to get medical help for Sir Christopher before anything else happens. Sir Christopher’s well-being is the most important thing.’

      Kit mumbled something. Hattie bent down. ‘What is it you want to say?’

      His fingers curled about hers. ‘Don’t leave me,’ he murmured in a broken whisper. ‘Please stay … please, I beg you.’

      Hattie’s heart flipped over. She smoothed a lock of hair from his forehead. He’d risked his life for her. All this had happened because she had decided to take offence at his flirtatious comments, comments which were not meant to be taken literally. She had behaved worse than an aged maiden aunt. He wasn’t asking her to stay for ever, just until he recovered. ‘Yes, I’ll look after you. I promise. I’ve no intention of leaving you.’

      He gave a crooked smile and closed his eyes. ‘Good.’

      She held his hand, waiting until he became calm and his breathing regular. After what Kit had said, her decision was surprisingly easy. It didn’t matter that Stephanie would be terribly shocked. Stephanie would get over it. One simply did not turn one’s back on someone who had risked his life for her.

      ‘His lordship can’t stay here,’ Mr Jessop said. ‘It’s not right.’

      ‘I will take Sir Christopher back to the Dower House where he can be properly nursed.’ Hattie stood up. ‘I would appreciate the doctor arriving there as soon as possible. I will want several stout men to help me to get him into the governess cart.’

      ‘Back to your house, ma’am? Are you sure that is wise?’

      ‘I pay my debts, Mr Jessop, and I owe this man a huge debt. You send Dr Gormley to me once he has been found.’

      ‘It is fair day, Mrs Wilkinson.’ Mr Jessop rocked back on his heels.

      ‘You may try the ale tent or, failing that, machinery exhibition. The good doctor is as fond of inventions as the next man.’

      Hattie waited, trying to keep her gaze steady. Surely Mr Jessop was going to assist her, rather than throwing up roadblocks?

      Mr Jessop nodded and gave the orders. ‘It is my profound regret that this happened. We run a clean fair. It must be ten years since anything of significance has happened.’

      ‘I know you do. It wasn’t your fault.’ Hattie bent down and shook Kit’s shoulder. ‘Kit, can you walk or do you need to be carried?’

      ‘Give me your shoulder, Hattie, and I’ll walk. I can do anything if you help me. I can do more things if you’d kiss me.’ The words were a bit slurred and Hattie wondered if he’d hit his head in the fight. The Kit she was used to would never say such a thing.

      Mr Jessop, she noticed, had studiously averted his eyes. So much for her hope to keep anything with Sir Christopher private—the gossip would be all over the fair within minutes. ‘If you are sure you don’t need us for anything else, I will get him back to my house. I believe he has hit his head.’

      ‘I’ll help you, ma’am, in case he falls like,’ a thin farmer said. ‘Way aye, I saw the whole thing and one of them brought a walking stick down on his head. ‘Tweren’t right, that. The man’s a hero. It weren’t many men who’d do something like that.’

      ‘We will haul this lot up in front of the magistrates come Monday morning,’ Mr Jessop declared.

      ‘I will be happy to give evidence,’ the farmer said. ‘And me lad as well.’

      Hattie felt the tears well up. She hadn’t expected any assistance and now it seemed people were queuing up to support her.

      ‘Let me know if his condition worsens,’ Mr Jessop called out as she started the slow march towards her governess cart with Kit’s heavy weight leaning on her shoulder.

      ‘Obviously.’

      Was what she was doing the right thing? Hattie gave a small shudder when she thought about Stephanie, but that couldn’t be helped. She’d given Kit her word and she intended on keeping it. They were friends.

      Please let him be all right. That was all that mattered.

Chapter Eight

      Kit woke with a start from confused dreams about Hattie, his uncle and various jumping-jacks. A single candle shone by the bed and there was an engraving of some biblical scene hanging on the opposite wall. The room was small and austere, a sickroom and utterly unfamiliar.

      His entire body ached and his right eye was swollen shut. And he was dressed in a voluminous nightshirt, unlike the sort he normally wore. His head ached like the very devil.

      He searched his mind, trying to figure out how he’d arrived here. The events of the afternoon came flooding back. As far as bright ideas went, taking on four men was not one of his better ones. But try as he might, between landing the first punch and to just now, his mind was a blank.

      He put a hand to the back of his head, probing. A huge pain shot through him, blinding in its intensity. He’d obviously banged his head. But beyond a few aches and pains, he would survive. There was no reason to stay here, helpless and at the mercy of some unknown quack.

      He swung his feet over the side of the bed and started to push his protesting body to a stand.

      ‘Oh, no, you don’t. You are to stay in bed and get well.’ Cool hands pushed him back down on to crisp linen sheets. He turned his head in case his fevered mind had conjured her up.

      The candlelight made her blonde hair shine and highlighted the hollow at the base of her throat. An angel. No, an angel would not wear a sprigged muslin. An angel would be dressed in flowing robes. It was Hattie in the flesh and blood. Her sewing had fallen to the floor as she stood to enforce her command. The sheer domesticity of the scene made him want to weep.

      He rubbed

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