The Raven Prince (Princes #1)(18)

—from The Raven Prince

The woman lay on her side in the ditch, both legs curled as if seeking warmth. She clutched a dirty shawl about pitifully thin shoulders. The dress beneath the shawl had once been a bright pink but was now smeared with grime. Her eyes were closed in a face that looked yellowish and unhealthy.

Anna held her skirt out of the way with one hand and used the other to steady herself against the bank as she clambered down to the stricken woman. She noticed a foul smell as she drew nearer.

“Are you hurt, ma’am?” She touched the pale face.

The woman moaned and her large eyes flew open, making Anna start. Behind her, the coachman and footman slid down the little slope with a rattle.

John Coachman made a disgusted noise in his throat. “Come away, Mrs. Wren. This here ain’t for the likes of you.”

Anna turned her eyes to the coachman in astonishment. He averted his face, watching the horses. She looked at Tom. He inspected the rocks at his feet.

“The lady is hurt or ill, John.” She knit her brow. “We need to summon help for her.”

“Aye, mum, we’ll send back someone to take care of her,” John said. “You should come to the carriage and go home now, Mrs. Wren.”

“But I can’t leave the lady here.”

“She’s no lady, if you understand my meaning.” John spat to the side. “It ain’t fit for you to bother yourself with her.”

Anna looked down at the woman she’d drawn into her arms. She noticed now what she hadn’t before: the unseemly show of skin at the woman’s dress top and the tawdry nature of the material. She frowned in thought. Had she ever met a prostitute? She thought not. Such persons lived in a different world than poor country widows. A world that her community explicitly forbade from ever intersecting with hers. She should do as John suggested and leave the poor woman. It was, after all, what everyone expected of her.

John Coachman was offering his hand to help her up. Anna stared at the appendage. Had her life always been this constrained, her boundaries so narrow that at times it was like walking a tightrope? Was she nothing more than her position in society?

No, she was not. Anna firmed her jaw. “Nevertheless, John, I do bother myself with this woman. Please carry her to the carriage with Tom’s help. We must bring her to my cottage and send for Dr. Billings.”

The two men didn’t look happy with the situation, but under her determined gaze, they bore the slight woman between them to the carriage. Anna got in first and then turned around to help ease the woman onto the carriage seat. She braced the woman against herself with both arms to prevent her from falling off the seat on the way home. When the carriage stopped, she carefully laid the woman down and got out. John was still in the high driver’s seat staring straight ahead with a furrowed brow.

Anna placed her hands on her hips. “John, come and help Tom get her into the cottage.”

John muttered, but climbed down.

“What is it, Anna?” Mother Wren had come to the door.

“An unfortunate lady I found by the roadside.” Anna watched the men maneuver the woman out of the carriage. “Bring her into the cottage, please.”

Mother Wren backed out of the way as the men struggled to get the unconscious woman over the doorsill.

“Where shall we put her, ma’am?” Tom panted.

“I think in my room, up the stairs.”

That earned Anna a disapproving look from John, but she ignored it. They carried the woman up the stairs.

“What is wrong with the lady?” Mother Wren asked.

“I don’t know. I believe she may be ill,” Anna said. “I thought it best to bring her here.”

The men clomped back down the narrow stairs and outside.

“Don’t forget to stop by Dr. Billings’s,” Anna called.

John Coachman waved a hand irritably over his shoulder to signify that he had heard. In a moment, the carriage had rattled away. By this time, Fanny was standing wide-eyed in the hallway.

“Could you put the kettle on for tea, Fanny?” Anna asked. She drew Mother Wren aside as soon as Fanny started for the kitchen. “John and Tom say this poor woman is not entirely respectable. I’ll send her elsewhere if you say so.” She looked anxiously at her mother-in-law.

Mother Wren raised her eyebrows. “Do you mean she’s a whore?” At Anna’s startled glance, she smiled and patted her hand. “It’s very hard to get to my age without hearing the word at least once, dear.”

“No, I suppose not,” Anna replied. “Yes, John and Tom indicated that she is a whore.”

Mother Wren sighed. “You know it would be best to send her away.”

“Yes, undoubtedly.” Anna lifted her chin.

“But”—Mother Wren threw up her hands—“if it is your wish to care for her here, I’ll not stop you.”

Anna blew out a breath in relief and ran upstairs to see to her patient.

A quarter of an hour later, there was a sharp knock on the door. Anna came down the stairs in time to see Mother Wren smooth her skirts and answer the door.

Dr. Billings, in a white bobbed wig, stood outside. “A good day to you, Mrs. Wren, Mrs. Wren.”

“And to you, Dr. Billings,” Mother Wren answered for them both.

Anna led the doctor to her room.