“Oh yes, of course.” Ellie looked over at the ladder, which was laying on the ground in several pieces. Several men were gathered around it, inspecting the remains. “There's a bit of blood on the wood,” one of them told her.

She shook her head and turned back to her husband. “You're going to be full of splinters,” she said.

“Lovely. I suppose you're going to want to remove them?”

“It's the sort of thing wives do,” she said patiently. “And I am your wife, after all.”

“As I was just beginning to appreciate fully,” he muttered. “Very well, do your worst.”

Once Ellie got started on a task, there was no stopping her. She had three villagers help her move Charles back into Sally Evans's house and sent two more to Wycombe Abbey to fetch a well-sprung carriage to bring them home. Sally was asked to make bandages out of an old petticoat—which Ellie assured her would be replaced posthaste.

“And boil some water,” Ellie requested.

Sally turned around, holding a ceramic pitcher. “Boil it? Wouldn't you rather get started cleaning his wound with what I have here?”

“I would certainly prefer water at room-temperature,” Charles interjected. “I have no desire to add burns to my current list of injuries and ailments.”

Ellie planted her hands on her hips. “Boil it. At least get it hot. I know that I feel cleaner when I wash with hot water. Therefore it stands to reason that it would do a better job cleaning your wound. And I know that we're not supposed to leave behind any bits of wood.”

“I'll boil it, then,” Sally said. “Good thing the chimney is fixed.”

Ellie went back to work tending to her husband. None of his bones were broken, but he had sustained a number of bruises. She used a pair of tweezers borrowed from Sally to pluck out all of the splinters in his upper arm.

She tweezed. Charles winced.

She tweezed again. He winced again.

“You can yell if it hurts you,” she said softly. “I won't think less of you.”

“I don't need to—Ow!”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she said sincerely. “I was distracted.”

He grumbled something she didn't quite understand, and she had a feeling she wasn't meant to. She forced herself to stop looking at his face—which she'd realized she quite enjoyed looking at—and concentrated on his wounded arm. After several minutes she was satisfied that she'd removed all of the wood.

“Please say you're done,” Charles said when she'd announced that she'd gotten the last of it.

“I'm not certain,” she replied, her face scrunching as she examined his injury yet again. “I've removed all of the splinters, but I'm not sure what to do about the primary gash. It might need stitching.”

He blanched, and she wasn't sure if it was at the thought of his requiring stitches or her performing them.

Ellie pursed her lips in thought and then called out, “Sally, what do you think? Stitches?”