Chapter Twelve
Sir Barnaby climbed to his feet with the slow caution of a man who was almost certain he had no broken bones. He was as filthy as a chimney sweep. Relief at seeing him stand made the urge to cry even stronger. Merry blinked back her tears with determination. She was not going to cry.
“Bee! Barn-a-bee!” a faint, frantic voice called.
Sir Barnaby turned towards the rockfall. “I’m fine,” he called back, his voice low. “Are Noake and Rudkin all right?”
“Not hurt.”
“Thank God,” Sir Barnaby said, and then he pitched his voice to carry: “Sawyer, get his lordship out of there. Now.”
“I’m trying, sir.”
“Well, try harder,” Sir Barnaby muttered. He raked a hand through his hair, dislodging dust and grit, and turned to face her and Charlotte. “We’ll get out of here,” he said, wit
