“Surely there is some way we can help? We cannot merely stand here as spectators.” Juliette stepped aside as two men, with a third man’s arms draped over their shoulders, slowly made their way up the street. The third man’s head hung low, and he did little to help them, covered in dust and soot … and blood.

Her stomach roiled. Why? Why did You give me this weakness, God? It’s not rational. How can I help people if my knees turn to water and my thoughts become sparkling pinwheels every time I see blood?

She shifted restlessly. “Agatha, if we just stand here and wait, it will seem interminable. Let us lend aid. Drag the seat cushions out of the carriage. Heinrich”—she abandoned formality—“find us buckets of water and blankets. Knock on doors and get sheets or tablecloths to use as bandages.” Though at the moment, how she would bind wounds without fainting was beyond her. However, she must try.

She motioned to the approaching men. “Lay him here. Let us see if we can help him.”

Agatha handed her the bench cushion from the carriage, and Juliette laid it on the cobbles. The men eased the injured man to the ground. Without a word, they turned and went back toward the mill.

The wounded man groaned, sweat on his brow making putty of the dust clinging to him.

“Sir, where are you hurt?” Juliette tried not to look at the cut on his forehead, filthy and still bleeding. She took her handkerchief from her pocket and laid it over the wound.

“Ribs, mostly.” The words ground from between clenched teeth.

Agatha edged closer. “Were you in the mill? Have you seen my father, Mr. Montgomery?”

Juliette removed Mr. Swann’s cloak, then her pelisse, and folded the pelisse to place under the man’s head. She put the cloak on again as cold air bit through her day dress.

“Wasn’t in the mill. In the lane. Bringing grain. Got thrown into the side of a building.”

Juliette had no idea how to treat injuries, but surely making the man comfortable came near the top of the list. “Sir, what can we do for you?”

“I don’t suppose you’d have any gin, would you?” He smiled through clenched teeth. “I could use a draught.”

“I am sorry I have no spirits, but someone has gone to fetch water. We’ll wash your wounds and bandage you.” Again she averted her gaze. It wasn’t seemly for unmarried women to act as nurses, but what could they do? It was every hand to the work in a crisis.

Heinrich reappeared carrying an ewer and holding a stack of toweling under his arm. “The inn up the street has become something of a hospital. Perhaps we should transfer this gentleman up there.” He set the pitcher down and handed the towels to Agatha.