Chapter Twenty-Nine
She had lost her wig and spectacles and the new bonnet. Her navy blue spencer was ruined, the seams joining the arms to the bodice torn open. Nell stared at the damage blankly—and then realized what had caused it: wielding the chair leg. Her sprigged muslin gown was torn, too, across the knee.
There was a lump at the back of her head, but no blood. That lump, and the growing bruise on her throat where Fitch had half-throttled her, were her only injuries—but Mordecai Black hadn’t been so lucky. “Quickly, Bessie—help me to change.”
“Are you certain you don’t wish to lie down, ma’am?”
“Mr. Black was hurt far worse than I.”
Nell hastily changed into her sole remaining gown. Her throat ached and her head ached, but those things were unimportant. The injuries that matter
