He put a finger to his lips. “Leave it to me. Sattar knows better than to let the fellow squeal. And stop calling me Giff, for heaven’s sake!”
Abashed, but resentful, Delia went into a spirited defence. “Oh, I do beg your pardon,MisterGiffard! Another time I will ignore your need for succour.”
He grinned. “You were supposed to be running away.”
“Yes, that is my habit, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
A laugh escaped him and he winced. “Ouch! Heedless wench, do you want to increase my hurts?”
There was time for no more.
“Oh, Mr Giffard! How dreadful! And Miss Burloyne? Are you injured? I shall never forgive myself if you are! How shall I face dear Lady Matterson?”
Delia got to her feet, leaving Lord Tarporley to assist Giff to rise. “I am unharmed, Miss Watkinson. It is Mr Giffard who took the brunt of the attack.”
“Villains! In broad daylight too!”
“Lean on me, Giffard! I have you safe.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing. In all my years at Weymouth, the Castle has been safe from invasion by footpads.”
Footpads? Yes, a worthy excuse.
“Did they get anything from you, Giffard?” Lord Tarporley had an arm about Giff, taking his weight.
“Nothing but my dignity,” Giff returned.
He was limping as, with Lord Tarporley’s assistance, he began walking back towards the group at the edge of the edifice. Other members of the party were strung out along the side as stragglers came to discover the cause of the commotion. Miss Leigh, likewise limping, called out.
“Oh, are you hurt, Mr Giffard?”
“Hurt? Of course he is!” Miss Watkinson was off again. “What else is one to expect when the place is overrun with ruffians? I shall send for Captain Rhoades on the instant. One of the footmen must ride for him at once.”
“No need, ma’am,” Giff cut in. “My servant has one of them laid by the heels.”
Miss Leigh piped up in a frightened squeak. “One of them? How many were they? Do you mean they are still at large?”
“There were two, but one escaped,” Delia said.
“But we must indeed send for the militia, Mr Giffard. We cannot have this sort of thing going on in Weymouth, indeed we can’t.”
“First things first, Miss Watkinson, don’t you think?” Lord Tarporley was diffident. “Should we not get Mr Giffard back to town where he may have his wounds seen to?”
“Yes, indeed we must. Mr Giffard, I beg you will take a seat in one of the carriages.”
“Nonsense, ma’am. I’m perfectly capable of riding.”
“But you’re limping, sir,” cried Miss Leigh.
“A little stiff, but nothing to signify.”
With which, Giff pushed himself upright and took his own weight, using only a hand on his companion’s arm to help him.
Delia’s anxious eyes searched his face and found it a trifle pale. He ought not to ride, but it was no use saying so. Besides, she must not appear too familiar. Thank heavens everyone seemed to have forgotten her involvement in the adventure.
Miss Watkinson was still pontificating on the matter of bringing in Captain Rhoades, finding a receptive audience in Tabitha Leigh. Attention soon turned on the tableau ahead, where two horses stood quietly while the Indian servant kept hold of a subdued Barney and members of the pleasure party milled about, talking in low tones.
Miss Watkinson took charge as they neared. “We must return at once, ladies and gentlemen. We cannot remain when there are footpads at large in the area.”