Suitors and Sabotage(6)

Scrambling as best she could, Imogene rushed with Mr. Benjamin across the rubble, holding each other up as they tripped across the uneven surface.

Only Jasper’s head could be seen peeking out from behind the central stone newel post. He appeared to be on the widest step where the entrance to the great hall had been. But he was not moving. As she got closer, Imogene could see that Jasper was panting. Was it anxiety or pain? He was so entirely covered in gray dust that it was hard to discern that his mouth was even open. She was not at all comfortable with his lack of enthusiasm. The only time Jasper was not high-spirited was when he was asleep. As she neared, the dog began to whine, but still did not move.

“I’m coming, dearest puppy. Almost there.” With eyes on Jasper, Imogene spoke to Mr. Benjamin. “If you go round the other way, we can approach him from both sides. I’ll take his head to comfort him until we can understand … oh.” Imogene blinked. “Oh, Jasper, what have you done?” She was both relieved and concerned.

“His tail,” Mr. Benjamin said as they looked at each other over the dog’s back. “Well, it might not be too bad. We’ll know better as soon as I move the rock.”

It was not done easily. The rock was not a single stone but, in fact, a group of stones still mortared together—heavy and unwieldy. Still, Mr. Benjamin did not have to lift the weight far, just off Jasper’s tail. Once free, Jasper jumped to his feet, tried to wag, and then yelped in pain. The tip of his tail was kinked and matted in blood. Imogene crooned as she half lifted, half dragged him out of the stairwell and into the fresh air and light. Once there, she laid him down and gave him a thorough inspection.

“Oh dear. He has a significant cut on his shoulder and is missing a patch of fur on his side. And, of course, his tail is quite mangled.”

Mr. Benjamin knelt beside them, nodding as Imogene pointed out Jasper’s terrible injuries. “Yes, indeed, he was very lucky.”

Imogene smiled. “You are right. It could have been so much worse.” She laughed; it almost sounded like a giggle. She was so very relieved.

“I will carry him if that is all right with you and Jasper.”

“Your coat will be ruined. He is filthy and bloody and—Oh, I’m afraid—”

“Yes, rather pointless to be concerned about my coat now. Too late for both of us, I’m sorry to say. Your lovely gown is not at its best, either.”

Imogene looked down, snorting at the understatement. Not at its best? Her dress was ruined beyond repair, stained with dirt and blood, and ripped about the knees, and her lovely cerulean sash was missing. She grimaced. “Mother will not be pleased.”

“Under the circumstances, I’m sure Mrs. Chively will understand the forfeiture.”

Imogene shrugged—rather handily; it was a shame that Emily was not there to witness the feat. “I’m sure you are right,” she said, knowing otherwise. She would not allow thoughts of Mother’s anger to ruin her euphoria. Jasper would be fine. That was all that mattered.

Placing his hands carefully under the dog, Mr. Benjamin lifted Jasper easily, despite the precious creature’s weight of three and a half stone. Imogene guided them back across the rubble, providing support whenever rocks shifted beneath Mr. Benjamin’s feet. Once up and over the lip of the hole, walking became much easier, and Imogene trotted alongside, patting and crooning to Jasper. It seemed to be unnecessary, because Jasper was as content as any injured dog can be, no longer panting in distress.

They had just crossed the bridge and started to climb the hill toward the manor when they heard a hail. Imogene looked up and saw Emily and Mr. Beeswanger rushing toward them.

“Thank heaven,” Emily said when she was near enough to be heard without the necessity of raising her voice. She stopped in front of Mr. Benjamin, stroking Jasper gently. “Well done, Mr. Benjamin.”

“Jasper deserves the praise, not me. He cleverly stayed near the stairs and out from under the worst of the rubble. His tail suffered the most damage.” He pointed with his nose.

“Oh, you poor dear,” Emily said, leaning to look closer. “It’s rather flat.”

“This is a much happier outcome than expected.” Mr. Beeswanger joined the group. He was winded, likely from the act of rushing across the lawn. Emily’s father was an affable, somewhat portly gentleman, prone to laughing and jolly conversation, and brought comfort with his company. Not at all like—

“Imogene! What have you done?”

Imogene’s heart sank at the sound of her father’s voice. She took a fortifying breath and turned to look up the winding path to Gracebridge. Walking … no, marching … toward her, Imogene’s father quickly set upon them. His expression was thunderous; his countenance had a tendency to be pinched and critical at the best of times, but he had added a ruddy complexion and piercing gaze to the ensemble.

And then, to increase the uneasiness of the situation, Mr. Steeple—Mr. Ernest Steeple—stepped out from behind her father, and Imogene was suddenly very aware of her disheveled appearance. She smiled awkwardly.

“Look at you,” her father continued, speaking with a raised voice, despite having joined the company. “You are in complete disarray.” He turned to speak over his shoulder. “I can assure you, Mr. Steeple, that this is a highly irregular state of being. Imogene is usually the epitome of a properly brought up young lady.”