The narrow passage, with its cantilevered upper stories, was clogged with people. Juliette, keeping Mr. Swann’s cloak gathered around her, wended her way toward the door beneath the sign that said “The Bell & Rose”—a more gentle and genteel name than the building suggested.

Stepping into the taproom, the odors of ale, smoke, and cooked meat assaulted Juliette. Stools and benches had been pushed aside, and several injured townsfolk lay on the tables. Men, women, and—to Juliette’s horror—a child.

Her stomach lurched, her head whirled, and her knees turned to aspic. The child had a cut on her arm, and blood dripped down her hand. A woman struggled with the frantic youngster, trying to get her to hold still long enough to have the injury wrapped.

“You there, help or get out. We’ve no time for gawkers.” A red-faced woman in a mobcap and stained apron shoved past Juliette, her arms full of blankets. “Bit soon for the gentry to come gawping.”

“We’ve come to assist.” Agatha stepped forward. “How may we help?”

Heinrich and his helper brought the wounded man through the doorway. “Where should we deposit this gentleman?”

“Anywhere you find room. I’m not a hospital, and I shouldn’t have to take in these people.” The woman’s eyes blazed. “I didn’t invite any of you in here.”

“Now, Hazel, calm down. This is the logical place.” A man straightened from a crouch, wiping his hands on a towel. “Far enough from the blast to have escaped damage but close enough and large enough to treat the wounded. I explained all of this.” Instruments stuck up from the front pocket of his apron. He reached into a bag and pulled out a brown glass bottle, uncorked it, and patted his apron. “Where is that spoon?”

“You’re the doctor. It in’t my job to find your equipment when you can’t lay a hand to it.” The woman dropped the blankets on a bench and jammed her hands on her ample hips. “I should just walk out and leave you to the place. It’s falling down around me anyway. I could kill me old man, if he weren’t already dead, leaving me with this millstone strapped around me neck.”

Heinrich lowered the injured man to lean against the wall beside the door, nodded to the fellow who had helped him, and brushed his hands along his thighs.

“Lady Juliette, I must insist we leave. This is no place for you. The wounded are receiving help enough.” Heinrich glared at a man who sat propped in a corner. He held a jug, lifting it by the thumbhole handle to swig from it. Some of the contents dripped into his filthy beard, and he swiped at it with the back of his hand. All the while, he never took his leering gaze from Juliette.

A shiver skittered up her spine.