Chapter Six
Genteel Women
“Sariah!” Nanny Eleanor’s first reprimand came no sooner than her granddaughter had shuffled down the hallway.
Sariah’s leg hurt a bit, and it was then she remembered adrenaline and the rock—and noticed the red footprints she’d left at various spots. It was those impertinent little stains that Nanny Eleanor was fixated on as well.
“Child, what—oh, don’t bother explaining just yet.” Despite all her grumbles, Nanny Eleanor hoisted Sariah up—quite a feat—and dumped her in a chair. Sariah curled her foot up first and saw the monstrosity there.
It looked like it had bled profusely for a time, perhaps while she was in the water and unconscious, but had clotted and trapped sand and who knew what else. The slash traveled diagonal across her arch, and spots of fresh blood peeked from within the dried, crusty part.
“Oh, Nanny Eleanor—I’m sorry about your floor!”
Nanny Eleanor grasped Sariah’s foot and studied it for herself. “Psh. I’m much more worried about your injury than I am my floor. You can mop that up once I tend to you.”
“Tending to” started with soaking Sariah’s feet. The next part was the worst, though: Nanny Eleanor scraped off all the almost-scab.
Sariah fancied herself a grown-up girl, but the fit she threw rivaled one of Connor’s or Rosalie’s tantrums. Her leg jerked backward automatically and she thumped herself in the stomach with her knee several times. No matter how many times Nanny Eleanor said “hold still, child,” nothing could convince Sariah to do so.
“I know it’s bad, child, but if you don’t want to get your foot amputated—” Nanny Eleanor began when there was a knock at the back door.
Nanny Eleanor huffed. Her hands were stained a bit with red, and there were a few flecks of blood on her green dress. Sariah only hoped she wouldn’t be in too much trouble when her grandmother finally took stock in her clothing.
“Hello?” Nanny Eleanor sounded a bit breathless as she marched to the door.
A woman stood on the other side of the glass. She waved at them and patted the basket that hung from her arm. “Hello! I saw you move in today, and I just thought I’d drop in to call on you. I’m Charlotte de Berry.” She grinned at them both. “May I come in? I have some treats here, some pastries that I made, an assortment of cookies…”
If she was perturbed by Nanny Eleanor’s bloodied appearance of Sariah’s whimpers of pain, she didn’t show it. She only continued to smile as if they were going to be the most wonderful friends and talk about frills and lace—yes, Miss de Berry struck Sariah as the type of girl that Nanny Eleanor would have nothing but disdain for.
“Now, I live right down the beach, past the old Sullivan manor. It’s a gorgeous white mansion—” Miss de Berry began. One delicate little foot tried to step over the threshold, but Nanny Eleanor refused to budge. If anything, she only stepped closer to the door.
“Yes, yes, I’m well aware of the old Sullivan manor. I’ve been there in its heyday. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my granddaughter has an injury, and I’m fairly certain she’ll bleed to death if I don’t wrap her leg immediately.”
“Oh, dear me! Is that what the noise was? I’m so sorry. It did sound like someone was screaming, and the thoughts that filled my head—well!—they were like one of those penny dreadful novels.” Miss de Berry clutched her chest and gave a dramatic sigh. “I’m glad it’s only a minor operation, then.”
Sariah, slick with sweat, was of the opinion that there was nothing minor about the operation. She was the one that was losing gallons of blood per second into the bowl. It was Miss de Berry, though, who would be dead within the second if she didn’t start obeying Nanny Eleanor’s subtle orders.
“Miss de Berry, if you would be ever so kind…”
There were a few more protests and attempts at neighborly conversation before Nanny Eleanor was able to extricate herself from the conversation, but not before the basket of goodies had been thrust upon her. She plopped the unwanted trophy on the table and grumbled to herself as she began to clean Sariah’s wound with antiseptic and dress it.
“With that unpleasantness out of the way, why don’t you tell me exactly how you happened upon your Le—er, what did you say his name was?”
“George,” Sariah bleated. Her nose was runny and tears streamed down her face. She was sure she looked every bit as pitiful as George had when she first discovered him.
“George,” Nanny Eleanor amended.
During the long process—in between whimpers and hollers and threats—Sariah managed to piece together the story. At the end of it, where she recalled the voices, Nanny Eleanor made a little “hm” sound in the back of her throat.
“Yes, I remember that part. And, if you ask me, those were the hunters coming to find him—and Miss de Berry is one of them. I would stake money in the fact that she tried to weasel her way in here to find out where we stashed George.”
Sariah sniffed. She dared not run her arm underneath her nose, lest she be subject once more to a critical remark, as she had the last three times she’d done so. “How so? I just—just thought you th-thought she was asinine.”
“Oh, the asinine folks are just as annoying, but she was absolutely adamant—in a very genteel way—that she was going to get into our house. No, Sariah, there was something altogether off about our Miss de Berry friend. She’s a hunter, and a wily one at that.” Nanny Eleanor’s face hardened. “I fear we didn’t cover our tracks well enough.”
Sariah probably would have taken the time to be scared if there hadn’t been a loud: “hello!” that came from the bathroom. Her eyes widened, and despite her injury, she hobbled towards the bathroom, certain she’d find George’s impaled body amongst the suds. He yelled again, and she broke into a limping run.
She careened into the bathroom and almost collided with the dividing wall. Seashells and various paraphernalia that hung there rattled and threatened to fall, but Sariah had no time to worry about knick-knacks. George could be bleeding out, and she still couldn’t see him—
She gave a deranged squawk as her foot gave out and she slipped. She crashed in a heap onto the flooded floor. More water sloshed over the side of the tub as George banged his tail around. Her chin hit the rug, her arms and legs all cockeyed.
George’s eyes were wide as he peered down at her. “Are you okay?!”
“Yes, but—are you?” Sariah propped herself up on her elbow. “You screamed!”
“So did you!” George said. His dark eyes were wide, more tears in them. “Are they here? Did they get you?”
“Who?”
George snapped his mouth shut and shook his head. “...You’re not hurt, then?”
“Well, my foot is,” Sariah began.
George squinted at her injured limb as she held it up. “They aren’t supposed to look like that?”
For some reason, his question made her giggle. She slapped her hand over her mouth, but even that couldn’t stifle the loud laughter that bubbled up from the pit of her stomach. She shook her head, and even Nanny Eleanor’s cry of, “Sariah! Honesty, would a real lady—”
Sariah didn’t hear what a real lady did or didn’t do. She doubled over and wrapped her other hand around her stomach as she cackled.
The only thing that interrupted her was George. “So that’s your name, then? Sariah?”
She peeked up at him. His hand was extended beyond the side of the tub. She reached up and gave him a firm handshake, a gesture which made him smile as well.
“Yes. Sariah. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” George said. His whole being seemed to inflate with pride when he added, resolutely, “My name’s George.”
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