Chapter 4Arthur, in motion before thinking about it, found himself on his knees at the man’s side. Steadying him. Supporting him. “What happened? What do you need?”
The man blinked at him through rainwater and mud and—and blood? Arthur grabbed a towel—they’d materialized courtesy of a second helpful footman—and pressed it against the most visible cut, which lay crimson over the man’s left eyebrow. “Sorry, sorry, tell me if this hurts—”
“I’m fine!” He did not seem to be: exhausted and drenched and wounded, but sitting up, wincing, catching Arthur’s hand. “But my people—my driver, the footman—the bridge collapsed, crossing the Stern River, and the carriage went down—”
“I know where that is, that bridge is supposed to be under repair, there should’ve been a sign—!”
“There wasn’t!”
“The s
