Sally came over, carrying a kettle of hot water. “Oh, yes. He definitely needs stitches.”

“Couldn't I obtain a professional opinion?” Charles asked.

“Is there a doctor nearby?” Ellie asked Sally.

Sally shook her head.

Ellie turned back to Charles. “No, you can't. I'm going to have to stitch you up.”

He closed his eyes. “Have you done this before?”

“Of course,” she lied. “It's just like stitching a quilt. Sally, have you any thread?”

Sally had already removed a spool from her sewing box and placed it on the table next to Charles. Ellie dabbed a piece of cloth into the hot water and wiped off his wound. “So it will be clean before I close it up,” she explained.

When she finished that task, she broke off a piece of thread, and then dunked it in the hot water for good measure. “Might as well do the same for the needle,” she said to herself, and then dunked that as well. “Here we go,” she said with forced cheerfulness. His skin looked so pink and healthy and well… alive. Rather unlike the last hemline she'd sewn.

“Are you sure you've done this before?”

She smiled tightly. “Would I lie to you?”

“You don't want me to answer that.”

“Charles!”

“Just get on with it.”

She took a deep breath and plunged in. The first stitch was the worst, and Ellie soon found out that her little lie actually had some truth to it—it was a bit like stitching a quilt. She attacked her task with the same devotion and singleminded concentration she used with all of life's work, and soon Charles had a row of neat, tight stitches in his arm.

He had also consumed what was left of Sally Evans's only bottle of brandy.

“We'll replace that, too,” Ellie said with an apologetic smile.

“Buy you a whole new coddage,” Charles slurred.

“Oh, that's not necessary,” Sally said quickly. “This one's as good as new, what with the chimney working now.”

“Ah, yes,” he said expansively. “Nice chimney. I saw it. Did you know I saw it?”

“We all know you saw it,” Ellie said in her most patient tone. “We watched you on the roof.”

“'Course you did.” He smiled, then hiccupped.

Ellie turned to Sally and said, “He tends to get a little silly when he's drunk.”

“And who could blame him?” Sally replied. “I would have needed two bottles of brandy if I were receiving those stitches.”

“And I would have needed three,” Ellie said, patting Charles's arm. She didn't want him worrying that they thought any less of him for drinking spirits to dull the pain.

But Charles was still stuck on the comment about his being drunk. “I'm not drunk!” he said indignantly. “A gennleman never gets drunk.”

“Is that so?” Ellie said with a patient smile.

“A gennleman gets foxed,” he said with a resolute nod. “I'm foxed.”

Ellie noticed that Sally was covering her mouth to hide a grin. “I wouldn't mind taking you up on a second cup of tea while we wait for the carriage,” she said to her hostess.