She picked up a footstool, a very solid oak footstool, its surface covered with a lovely tapestry, lifted it high, and said quietly, “Bennett, I’m talking to you. Won’t you turn this way now?”
“Go away, Caroline, unless you want me to take you next.” No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Bennett froze. “No,” he said, and jerked away from Alice, but he wasn’t fast enough. “No, Caroline—”
She brought the footstool down on his head as hard as she could. She stepped back and watched him fall off Alice, who shoved at him to keep him from falling over her.
“Oh, Miss Caroline, I swear to you, I didn’t ask him to come here, I promise, Oh, Miss—”
“Hush, Alice. Let me see if the damned bounder is dead.” She knelt down and pressed her palm to his heart. “He’s not, more’s the pity,” she said, looking up at Alice, who looked like the child she was, pale and drawn and shaking. “Did he force you, Alice?”
Alice shook her head, tendrils of light brown hair swirling about her thin face, come loose from her braid. “He just hit me and shoved himself at me.”
“I heard your cry and came immediately.”
“He didn’t think I’d mind. He didn’t think I’d scream, but I did, but he was too much in the fever to stop. He just kept calling me those horrible names, just like the vicar does.”
“I know, I know,” Caroline said. Sudden rage surged through her and she kicked Bennett in his ribs. She wished she had Mr. Plumberry there as well; she’d boot him but good. “There,” she said, “that feels better.” She stepped over Bennett’s unconscious body and sat on the side of the bed, drawing Alice into her arms. “There, it’s all right. I swear this won’t happen again, I swear it. Do you want to kick him, Alice?”
Alice stopped crying. She became very still, then drew away from Caroline. “Kick him?”
“Yes, for what he tried to do to you.”
Alice looked very worried, then, suddenly, she smiled. “Oh yes,” she said. “Oh yes.” She eased off the bed, stood over Bennett, then kicked him as hard as she could in his ribs.
“Do it again, Alice. He deserves it.”
She kicked him again, and this time she said, “That were wunner… er, that was wonderful, Miss Caroline. I even hurt my foot kicking the bounder.”
“By God, what’s going on in here? Caroline!”
It was Owen. He’d been running so fast his dressing gown was still flapping about his bare legs. “Bennett! That bloody bastard, I’ll—”
“You won’t do a thing to him at the moment, Owen, so calm down. Thank you for coming so quickly. Ho, here’s Evelyn and Miss Mary Patricia.”
They’d come more slowly, their pregnant bellies keeping them at a walk.
“Oh goodness,” Evelyn said, taking in the situation at a glance, “my little baby, oh dear.”
“It’s all right,” Caroline said. “She’ll be just fine. She just gave Bennett two very sturdy kicks in his miserable ribs. Yes, Alice will be fine. However, it seems advisable for Miss Mary Patricia to fetch you some warm milk to calm you down before you decide to kick the rest of us.”
Alice giggled. Her would-be rapist was on the floor, yet she’d giggled. Caroline was so pleased she wanted to dance.
“Yes, an excellent idea, Miss Caroline,” Miss Mary Patricia said.
“Owen, would you drag Bennett out of here and into his bedchamber? Oh dear, there’s blood on his head. Do you think we should call Dr. Treath?”
Owen didn’t think they should call anyone save the hangman, but Caroline, eyeing the flowing blood from the blow she’d struck him, shook her head. “Do go fetch Dr. Treath. The last thing we want is for Bennett to croak here at Scrilady Hall. After all, Owen, I was the one who hit him and therefore it would be I who would go to the gallows.”
“Let him rot, Caroline.”
“Let me kick him again, Miss Caroline,” Alice said.
“We can’t, more’s the pity.”
The two of them together dragged Bennett into his room and hefted him onto his bed. Caroline wrapped a folded cloth over the wound in his head and Owen quickly dressed. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. If that bloody bastard wakes up, hit him again.”
She grinned, but it was a sorry excuse for a grin. When Owen was gone, she left Bennett and returned to Alice. Both Evelyn and Miss Mary Patricia were petting and soothing her, giving her milk, stroking her hair, telling her how strong she was and how she’d gotten that miserable bastard but good.
“Is he dead, Miss Caroline?” Evelyn said.