Chapter 11

“Whatever happened?” he said, eyes wide and shocked as he looked him over. Christy blinked and lookeddown. He was covered in blood. His hands, his clothes…he’d never even thought about how he might look, hadn’t even washed his hands. All he’d been able to think about was getting to the bookshop.

“Oh, oh…I…I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, feeling foolish.

“My dear boy. Sit down.” He found himself steered to the table and chairs whilst Mr. Fenton threw morewood on the fire and then pulled the kettle over it. “Let me take your coat and shirt.”

Christy wriggled out of the wet garments and sat at the table in his breeches, shivering. Gooseflesh covered every inch of him.

Mr. Fenton sat on a chair before him and gently raised one arm and inspected the bruising on his torso, then touched the bruised place on his forehead before tilting his chin so he could look at what were probably bruises the shape of fingerprints on his throat.