In which our heroine overcomes her fright

Scrambling backward until her back hit a tree trunk, Corinna found herself besieged by a swarm of confused thoughts.

The creature in front of her must be a changeling. But it was also a  child, which appeared to be hurt. Further complications rolled into her troubled mind. If she helped the girl now, she would reveal she had seen something she shouldn't have seen. That would mean betraying herself. Until she had a better idea of where she stood in this place, revealing her true nature was not a good idea.

The baby panther raised its head and wailed. The image of the child had faded away, but she knew what she had seen, what wriggled and writhed in front of her.

She should be ashamed of herself. The poor baby was suffering, and she was the only one around to help.

"Promise me not to bite me," she said in her sternest governess voice.

The same moment a revelation dawned. Unless the child belonged to my lord's farmers and had entered the grounds from outside, it could only be her charge: Amanda, his lordship's niece.

Worry squirmed through her innards.

The eyes of the creature had been familiar because they resembled his lordship's.

"Oh, lordy me, as Mrs. Tuckles would say. Everything is just as she thought."

The panther child had stilled. Her heart hammering out a panicky tattoo, Corinna crept across and reached for the snare that trapped the baby panther's leg.

Twice, she pulled back her hand. Twice she reached out again. The third time she managed to slip a finger under the sharp metal and pry it away from the fur, sodden with a sticky fluid, that could only be blood.

The panther licked her hand, and her heart went out the creature.

The changeling truly wasn't dangerous. It...she wasn't wild. She was only a child.

A very heavy child, as Corinna found out when she lifted the furry body. How old would she be? Nine or ten, she guessed. The panther's weight confirmed the suspicion. Of course, she had no idea what a baby panther was supposed to weigh, not having encountered one on her journeys across Europe.

"Let me help you," said a male voice.

Corinna yelped and nearly dropped her charge. Hastily, she pressed the warm, furry body to her chest and swung around to confront the latest insomniac prowling the grounds of the Hall at night.

This one had every right to such ramblings because he owned the place. The Marquis of Demoral's face was a white oval in the moonlight, his hair not artfully brushed into disarray, but thoroughly messed up. He wore boots, breeches, and a frilly shirt open at the chest, heaving from what must have been a fast sprint.

Corinna experienced some rather inappropriate stirrings. Inappropriate not because she still carried Amanda, the baby panther whose heart fluttered close to her, but because of his lordship's...appearance.

"Are you aware who you carry in your arms?"

Don't tell him. Whatever you do, don't tell him how you found out.

"I have a good guess, my lord. Call it female intuition."

He stepped closer, and she could see his expression now, tense and unsmiling.

"Did you join us here because of your...intuition?"

"No." That at least was the truth, and nothing but the truth.

Amanda the baby panther whimpered against her throat.

"She's too heavy for you." Lord Demoral reached out and cradled the child in his arms.

"I managed to remove the snare, but she's hurt. Let's not conduct lengthy discussions, but get her back into the house, so she can be treated."

Without a word, he swung around and followed a small trail Corinna never noticed until now, a trail the child must have been taking.

Something at the base of Corinna's throat fluttered. A trap on that path meant someone had known the girl would be using it.

She hurried after his lordship, his muscular frame a dark silhouette against a pale, pink dawn. The furry head of the panther child rested against his shoulder, the tail curled over his hip.

No, wait. What was that? The air around the creature shimmered and flowed, like water over a picture. The fur melted away. In its stead, a small head with long dark tresses showed. Loose paws became hands, and the tail simply dissolved.

Demoral dashed up a set of steps and nudged the conservatory door open with his hip.

Corinna followed in time to watch him place the child on a tasseled sofa.

"I'll fetch water and alcohol."

Demoral looked up. "She might be small, but she's brave. We mustn't give her spirits to numb the pain."

Lord, give me strength. "The alcohol is needed to disinfect the wound, not to cloud her mind. Of course, basil powder is supposed to be the accepted treatment, but that's what killed my brother."

"Your brother?"

"Robin didn't die at Waterloo, but from an infected bullet stuck in his...behind. The sawbones dug it out and then thought it fit to sprinkle powder on the wound and leave him unattended for days. He was in agony when he died. I would like to spare her that."

Demoral tossed her a frown. "You are a very strange person, Miss Wolverstoke."

"I'm well aware I lack the sensitivity required for a lady of quality. However, if it saves a life, then so be it."

She strode to the far end of the conservatory and tugged at the bell pull. The door opened almost at the same moment, which told her the footman in his immaculate blue uniform and white wig had been waiting outside.

"I heard his lordship's voice. How may I be of service?"

"We need warm water, plenty of linen, and some blue ruin."

The footman, who nodded when she started her list, widened his eyes at the last item. "Miss!"

Lord, give me even more strength.

"I'm not in need of Dutch courage, if that's what you—what's your name?"

"Jones-Evans, miss."

"If that's what you think, Jones-Evans. The gin will help disinfect the wound. Unless you happen to have stronger spirits. Those would do even better."

The footman's expression segued to pensive. "The second footman is a Slav. His favorite vodka makes you blind, but methinks it might serve your purpose. I will ask him."

Jones-Evans sailed off on his errant to procure alcoholic beverages and dressings.

Smiling for the first time during this horrid morning, Corinna returned to the sofa, where the marquis had pulled a blanket over his niece, which was much-needed since the poor mite hadn't a scrap of clothing on her body.

The blanket covered her slight frame, with only the mangled ankle showing at one end and her head at the other. Amanda's eyes stayed closed, but a pinched expression about her lips told Corinna the girl must be awake.

She kneeled and stroked Amanda's forehead. "It'll be all right, sweetheart. Everything will be fine."

The marquis rested his elbows on the sofa. Corinna sensed his gaze on her, but refused to acknowledge the man's presence. Instead, she grabbed the little hand Amanda had pushed out from under the blankets and closed her fingers around the cold and clammy appendage.

"It appears I'm in your debt, Miss Wolverstoke."

"For what? If I hadn't found her, you would have done so."

She regarded him out of the corner of her eyes and found him to be staring at a still life hanging on the nearest wall. A potted palm hid the biggest part of the painting, that featured an amazing selection of fruit that originated from all over the world and would never be ripe at the same time.

"Haversack woke me up, telling me you had been propositioned. Once I'd risen, I checked on Amanda and found her gone. That's when I realitzed we were in trouble."

"So, she doesn't have mumps, does she?"

"No. She might yet get it if she's caught it from me, but that's not what worries me here. It all happens too early. She's not even twelve." He bit his lip.

Did you change at twelve? That was the one question she couldn't ever ask.

"Amanda's a girl. They develop earlier."

He rose, not letting her out of sight. "You are very calm in the face of something you must find inexplicable and no doubt frightening."

"My lord, she frightened me exactly until the moment when I noticed the intelligence behind her actions. Even a wounded wild animal will sometimes let you treat it, but I could see that this was no animal."

The delicate hand in hers twitched, and she stroked the soft skin of Amanda's palm with her thumb.

"Why are you here?"

"Why do you ask, my lord? The circumstances of my family should be known to you. I needed a position."

"My understanding is you had a good one with Miss Langtry."

Corinna raised her head and looked him straight in the eye. "She's my friend. She wanted me to be more, and I doubted I could be that for her. So, I left."

A dangerous glitter crept into his green eyes. "I know, and it makes me think well of you. However, what I don't understand is how you supported your family all these months between leaving her employment and coming to us."

Just like that, they had moved into danger territory. Corinna's stomach cramped once.

"You seem to have learned an awful lot about my circumstances, my lord."

"Why do you think I wanted you to join so quickly? Your application was—let us say unusual, shall we? Unusual usually means trouble, my dear Miss Wolverstoke."

A soft scratching noise sounded on the door. It opened a second later, revealing the solid form of Mrs. MacGregor carrying a water bowl and a jug. She was followed by a young maid who held an earthenware flask as far away from her body as was possible without dropping it.

Saved by the vodka. Or the gin, or whatever the girl might be carrying.

Mrs. MacGregor proved to be a competent, if heavy-handed, nurse. Several times, the small hand Corinna cradled between her fingers cramped, and Amanda's breath came hard and fast. Not once did she open her eyes, though, and apart from the odd squeak, she didn't issue a word as her wound was cleaned and bound.

When it was done, a tear coursed over a rosy cheek. "There you go, baby," Mrs. MacGregor said roughly and wiped her eyes with her apron.

"Thank you," his lordship said. "I'll carry her upstairs to her room."

"What about my lady?" Corinna dared to ask.

"Still asleep, and it's better that way," he responded, lifting his niece from the sofa.

"Aye," Mrs. MacGregor said. "She'll only blame herself for letting the child run wild on the grounds at night. It'll be easier if she had a good night's rest before she learns the news."

From what Corinna had seen of her ladyship, she wouldn't be relaxed about such a colossal mishap, but this was one thing she wouldn't add to her list of worries.

The marquis hesitated at the door. "Try to catch a wink of sleep, Miss Wolverstoke. We shall talk more later. And thank you again for what you did tonight."

Aye, as Mrs. MacGregor would say, Corinna's troubles were far from over.

1829 words Image by darksouls from Pixabay

Blue Ruin is a nickname for gin. It was very popular especially among the lower classes who lived in incredibly poverty and used it to blur the pain. 

This chapter is dedicated to fellow writer @MonicaBGuerra who had to bow out of the ONC contest. Look after yourself, and I hope you'll be back soon!