“Gawd, lady! D’yer think I’d’a let it ’appen if I’ad? I’d’a killed the b-bastard if I’d b-bin there!” he stuttered in a futile effort to find a word bad enough for the rage that ate him. “If yer can’t ’elp ’er, at least don’ ’urt ’er any more, yer ’ear me?”

Hester put her hands very gently on the woman’s arms, feeling for the grating edges of bone where the flesh was already misshapen and damaged. She found one break in the left arm, two in the right. The left knee was swollen and at least two small bones were broken in the right foot. The collarbone was broken on one side, but there was little she could do about that. Cutting the cloth of the girl’s bodice, she exposed a purple bruise at least six inches wide across the ribs and stretching down below the waist. This was what she feared-it meant internal bleeding she could do nothing to help. She had a fair knowledge of anatomy, mostly learned in the battlefield while looking at the actuality of torn-open bodies, not the neater, more leisurely education of medical school, or dissections of the dead. Still, she knew where the major arteries were and what could happen to them when damaged.

“Do something! Damn yer!” the man said desperately, shifting his immense weight from one foot to the other and back again in his fever of anxiety.

Without answering, Hester continued to learn as much as she could without moving the broken body of the woman. She wished Margaret were there to help. Bessie was kind, but she had not the inner calm, the steady hands that Margaret had. She identified too much with the women, having lived all her life among them. She saw the pain and the fear from the inside, and it robbed her of the dispassion needed for practical help in such critical injuries as these.

“Go and find Mr. Lockhart,” she ordered, and saw Bessie’s face flood with relief that she could do something useful and at the same time escape the pain. She was out of the door without even grasping for her hat.

Hester turned to Livia, ignoring the man.

“Miss Baltimore!” she said firmly. “Would you be good enough to pass me that roll of bandage on the table? And then fetch a splint from the cupboard over there.” She pointed with her other hand. “In fact, fetch three.”

Very slowly, Livia stood up. She looked pale enough to faint.

“If you would do it quickly, please,” Hester instructed, holding out her hand.

Livia obliged, still moving as if in a dream, fumbling with the bandage, rolling in the ends, then going to the cupboard. She returned after a moment with three splints and passed one across.

Hester took it from her. “Now, would you hold the girl’s shoulders, please? Lean on them. I need them to remain still.”

“What?”

“Just do it! Lean your weight on her shoulders. Be firm, but gentle.” She looked up. “Go on! I’m going to set these bones so they heal as straight as possible. I need someone to hold her still. It’s far kinder to do it while she is insensible anyway. Can you imagine how it will hurt if we leave it until she regains herself?”

Livia stood frozen to the spot.

“You don’t catch diseases that way. Just do it!” Hester snapped. “I can’t set it by myself. You came here to find out who killed your father. If you can’t even bring yourself to look at this world, how are you going to learn anything about it? You want these people to help you? You’d better give a little help yourself.”

Slowly, still looking as if she were going to pass out, Livia put her hands on the young woman’s shoulders and leaned forward, resting her own body’s weight on them.

“Thank you,” Hester acknowledged. Then she carefully took the lower arm and, feeling the sickening grating of bone, pulled the limb straight. The youth handed her the splint and the bandages, his hands gentle as he laid them by the limb, and she bound them together as firmly as she dared. Fortunately there was no broken skin, so there was no possibility of infection from dirt, but she knew very well that there might be considerable internal bleeding which she could not reach or stop.

With Livia’s shocked and reluctant help she set the other bones as well. The large man stoked the fire and fetched more water. Hester made poultices for the broken ribs and collarbone, and placed them gently on the injuries.

“Now all we can do is wait,” she said at last.

“She gonna be all right?” the big man asked.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “We’ll do all we can.”

“I…” He swallowed. “I’m sorry if I were a bit short wif yer first off. I’m s’posed ter keep an eye after ’er, but she don’ belong ’round ’ere. Dunno wot ’it ’er, ’alf the time.” He passed a huge hand over his face, as if he could wipe away his emotions. “Strewth! Why’d the stupid little cow go moufin’ off ter someone? Times I’ve told ’er ter keep ’er mouf shut! But they in’t got the wits they was born wif, some o’ them! Fink ’cos a man pays ’em money ’e’s gonna treat ’em nice? Some o’ them swine fink ’alf a crown buys yer soul. Bastards!” He made a low growl in his throat as if he were going to hawk and spit, then changed his mind.

“You can’t do anything more for her now,” Hester said gently. “You might as well go home.” She turned to Livia Baltimore. “And you should go home, too. I suppose your carriage is still somewhere close by?”

“Yes,” Livia agreed very quietly. Hester wondered what reception she would get from the maid. Probably icy with disapproval she dared not voice, but she might very well be handing in her notice in the morning-and shattering the invalid Mrs. Baltimore with outraged accounts of the whole episode. Livia would need all her courage and her patience to deal with that.

“Thank you for your help,” Hester said with a very slight smile. “If I learn anything that might be of use to you, I shall tell the police.”

Livia took a card out of her reticule and handed it across.

“Please do. Either write or call.”

“I will,” Hester promised, knowing Livia hesitated.

“I’ll walk yer to yer carriage,” the big man offered.

Livia looked startled, then relieved. A flash of light crossed her face which could even have been humor. “Thank you,” she said, then went out of the door into Coldbath Square, followed by the man.

It was ten minutes later that Bessie returned with Lockhart, tired and disheveled as always, but perfectly willing to help.

“You don’t eat proper!” Bessie chided him, as she had apparently been doing ever since she had found him. “Steak and kidney pudding, you need!” She went over to the stove. “I’ll get you some ’ot tea. Best I can do. But it’s yer own fault!” She did not explain what she meant by that, and Lockhart shot a wry look at Hester, but there was affection in it. He understood Bessie better than she understood herself.

Hester explained what they had done for the girl and took him over to her.

He looked at her carefully, for a long time, but he could not tell Hester the one thing she needed to know, whether there was internal bleeding or not.

“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head and looking at the girl with pity. “I just don’t know. But if she’s still no worse by morning, she might survive it. I’ll come back midday or so. Until then, you can do as much for her as I can. You’ve made a good job of the bones.”

It was a little after seven, and full daylight, when Hester awoke to find Bessie standing over her, her eyes bright, her hair struggling out of its fierce knot, her dress even more rumpled than usual.

“She’s come ’round!” she said in her penetrating whisper. “Don’ look too good, poor creature. Yer’d better see to ’er. Kettle’s on. Yer look like summit out o’ the morgue yerself, an’ all.”

“Thank you,” Hester said a trifle dryly, sitting up and wincing. Her head throbbed and she was so tired she felt worse than when she had lain down. She swung her legs to the floor and stood up, aware now of the girl on the other bed only yards away from her, eyes open, face so white it seemed hardly warmer than the pillow.