“Muse.” His smile, even when his head was upside down, had a decidedly rakish cast. “If you want me to prove that you still have my full attention, it will require the carriage and a return to our chambers. A turn around the room will not suffice.”
Blushing, Jane glanced around to see if anyone had heard. Doing so, she spied a horse galloping up to the ballroom. A moment later, Zachary flung himself from the saddle, striking the ground at a run.
“Mr. Hamilton!” The young man burst through the door of the ballroom. “Mr. Hamilton!”
Straightening with alarm, Vincent turned. He took one step and his knees buckled.
Jane reached for him, but he slipped from her grasp and dropped heavily to the ground. With an ungenteel curse, Jane sank to kneel beside him. Unconscious, he lay with his legs splayed awkwardly.
Zachary hurried towards her. Jane raised her head and found Louisa. “Do you know how to weave cold?” she called.
“Yes, madam.” With no further instruction, she rushed over and wove a sphere of cool air around Vincent to try to bring his temperature down.
Jane returned her attention to Vincent and, with Zachary’s help, eased him onto his back. His collar was already open, and he had long since abandoned his waistcoat, so she could do little to cool him beyond Louisa’s efforts. She felt for Vincent’s pulse, which was wild and fast.
He groaned and blinked back into consciousness. For a moment, he frowned at the ceiling before comprehension came back into his eyes. Vincent raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Well … that was appallingly stupid.”
For the second time that day, Jane asked, “Are you all right?”
“The room is spinning as if I were on a pirate ship, but other than that, yes, I am well.” He lowered his hand and held it up for her to see. “No shakes. No nausea. Nothing except the amateur mistake of standing too fast.”
Her tension relaxed only a little at his words, but she had to admit that his hand was steady. “Then, may I expect you to remain lying down for a while?”
“Perhaps.” He lifted his head, and just as quickly lay back down, squeezing his eyes shut. “Allow me to amend that to a ‘yes.’ Zachary? You came with a message?”
“Yes sir.” The young man’s livery was flecked with dust, as if he had ridden hard to get here. “The number two boiler has blown.”
Twenty-four
Fire and Water
As if the prospect of the boiler blowing were not bad enough, Zachary’s next words chilled Jane. He said, “There’s a dozen or more wounded bad. Mr. Pridmore won’t send for a doctor.”
Vincent’s eyes snapped open. “Tell me that is not true.”
“He won’t even let us move them. Frank tried to insist, but Pridmore said he’d whip anyone who touched the wounded instead of helping save the stock. Frank send me to ask you to come.”
Jane put a hand to her bosom in horror. All those people burnt and scalded, with no hospital, and Pridmore would not send for medical help? It was beyond monstrous.
“Why does he think I can get Pridmore to do anything different?”
“You’re white.”
The blunt reality sat between them. Regardless of Frank’s competence or the correctness of his position, he could not argue with Mr. Pridmore and hope to win. Pushing himself up, Vincent pitched over and had to catch himself with a palm slapped to the floor. “Damn. Someone help me up.”
“Vincent—”
“Jane, I am not going to lie here.” He held out his hand to Zachary. “Steady me, please.”
Zachary hesitated, looking to Jane for guidance. In the time it took for her to nod, Vincent growled and rolled onto his hands and knees. He braced himself there, head hanging, and let out a steady stream of profanity.
Jane slid forward on her knees and put a hand under his arm. “Lean on me.”
With a hand on her shoulder, Vincent got one foot under himself and pushed upright. Even so, he swayed, and would have fallen again if Zachary had not rushed forward to catch his waist. Not yet fully upright, Vincent stood, balanced between the two of them. “Wait. Give me a moment.”
“Would it not be better to wait until the dizziness has passed?”
“It can pass in the carriage.” He nodded to Zachary, face set. “All right.” With painful care, he let go of Jane’s shoulder and straightened slowly. Another string of curses in at least three languages emerged as he stood, Zachary bracing him.
Keeping his arm around Vincent’s waist, Zachary moved to his side. “Put your arm over my shoulder, sir.”
With a grunt, Vincent did so. The activity in the ballroom had come to a complete stop as all of the glamourists watched Vincent’s halting progress across the floor. Without a doubt, all of them recognised the pitching, spinning sensation that came of working too much glamour.