Bess
Jack frantically yelled my name, but I was not sure why until two large hands wrapped around my arms. My feet dangled in the air as I was carried backward. Surprise twisted through me, but I was not afraid because I knew who my captor was. I tried to kick my captor, but he would not release me, so I did what any other damsel in such a predicament would—I screamed.
“Help! Help me!”
Other screams and shouts joined mine, but either my captor did not care, or he wanted to make a scene. Either way, I would not allow him to take me.
He was backing toward his carriage. He put me down, keeping one hand on my arm as he pulled open the carriage door. I fought, halfheartedly, against him, punching the hand around my arm, scratching his wrist enough to draw blood. I tried to think what Edith would do in such a situation though I had a suspicion that Edith would have fainted. I was about to begin my fight in earnest, when shoes pounded toward us on the cobblestones and a stout voice called out. My captor cursed and shoved me away, causing me to stumble over the hem of my gown and fall. Rocks scraped my hands, and pain coursed through my backside causing me to wince. It was only momentary, for the sounds of fists meeting flesh made me forget my pain.
A tall man was striking my would-be captor over and over. I watched in awe for his fists were weapons of their own. He threw a right jab that was like watching wind—so quick was it delivered. I was so intrigued that I did not see the short man creeping up behind my rescuer, until he struck my rescuer against the back of the head with a cudgel. A horrified cry escaped my lips as the poor man stumbled back and fell heavily. I scrambled to my feet, but not to go to after my attacker.
The black carriage with its rogues drove off into the night, but it was my rescuer who required my full attention. I knew blows to the head could be fatal. As I knelt beside him, he was breathing, but his eyes were closed.
“Sir, can you hear me?” No response. Opening my reticule that was hanging from my wrist, I pulled out my smelling salts that my mother made me carry.
“Do forgive me,” I murmured as I waved the foul smelling vial beneath his nose. His head jerked a little followed by a moan. I passed it beneath his nose again, and his eyelids fluttered.
The street lamps had been lit at some point casting a sheen of light over us. As he opened his eyes, I sucked in a surprised breath. His eyes were a beautiful, soft green with flecks of bronze.
“Can you hear me, sir?”
His voice was gravelly. “Yes.” He stared at me for a long moment, and then he looked away as he tried to push himself up. When he winced, my heart lurched.
“You should not get up yet, sir. You have suffered a hard blow to the head. A doctor should be summoned.”
His hand touched my arm, and I looked down at it. It was an ordinary hand, but its soft pressure caused my face to heat.
“Please do not. If you would only help me to my feet, I shall be well.”
There were carriages all around us, and I could not see the door or the throng of people, but I could hear them, and I could hear Jack calling out to me. I did not respond to him. Instead, I helped the man to sit up.
“If you will allow me,” I motioned to his head. At his nod, I moved around him to check his wound. Gingerly, I touched his sandy colored hair. It was thick and wavy, curling at his nape, and very soft. There was an awful bump on his head, but it was not bleeding. As I helped him to his feet, he swayed, so I put both my hands on his arms to steady him.
“Thank you, Miss Martin.”
I frowned, perplexed. He knew my name, but I had no notion who he was.
“Bess!” Jack ran around one of the carriages, sliding on the loose rocks. He halted when he saw who I was with.
“Madison, are you all right?”
I glanced sharply at Jack and then up at the man who stood several inches above me. Andrew Madison?
“Martin,” the man nodded to Jack then winced again.
“John, do not stand there gaping. Help me to get him to his carriage.”
Jack moved to his side, and together we supported him through the line of carriages until we found the one belonging to Mr. Monroe.
The driver looked nonplussed as we helped Andrew Madison into the carriage. When he was seated, I told Jack to go in search of both Mr. Monroe and our mother. Jack looked mutinous for a moment, but gave in and moved away quickly.
“Thank you for your assistance, Miss Martin,” came a tired voice from inside the dark carriage.
“It is I who should be thanking you, Mr. Madison, for if you had not come to my rescue, I do not know what would have happened.” I would have fought, but it might not have ended well.
“Miss Martin,” he said, and I looked into the carriage where his head was resting. He leaned forward to look me in the eyes. “I know that we have not been properly introduced but,” he paused for breath, “might I be permitted to call upon you?”
I was taken aback, not so much from his words as from a rush of flutters in my stomach which were uncommon for me. “I shall be honored, Mr. Madison.”
He smiled, and the flutters began to dance a minuet.
“I say, Andrew, are you hurt?” Mr. Monroe asked as he came up beside me.
“A bump on the head, nothing more.” Mr. Monroe turned to look down at me.
“Mr. Madison very kindly came to my aid and was struck on the head by a cudgel.”
My mother came up beside me and wrapped her arm around me. “How can we ever thank you, Mr. Madison, for your brave rescue of my daughter?”
“Knowing that Miss Martin is safe is all the thanks I require,” he said, rising in my estimation.
“You must both come to dinner.” Mama looked to Mr. Monroe. “Tomorrow evening?”
Mr. Monroe agreed and climbed into his carriage. Jack closed the door, and we stepped back.
“What was that all about?” My mother’s voice was sharp as we watched the carriage drive away.
“Nothing you need worry over. Jack and I have everything well in hand.” So I hoped.