My Favorite Thief Read Online Free PDF Page A

Charlotte explained. “I’m more concerned that he not bleed to death before we can do something to help him. Perhaps you and Ruby would run downstairs and fetch us some warm water and clean rags for binding.”
    â€œAnd go into the medicine chest in the kitchen cupboard and bring me extract of lead, a lancet, a needle, a probe, and some thread,” added Eunice, huffing as they awkwardly eased their injured guest onto a narrow iron bedstead.
    â€œAnd whiskey.” Harrison closed his eyes. “Lots of it.”
    â€œI’m afraid I don’t keep spirits in the house,” Charlotte told him, apologetic. “If you like, Ruby will make you a nice cup of tea.”
    He raised his lids to glare at her. He had a bullet in his shoulder and an excruciating headache that was making him feel cold and nauseated. Did this sanctimonious young girl really believe all he needed was a goddamn cup of tea? “Wine, then.”
    â€œNo wine, either, I’m afraid.” She seemed utterly unmoved by his glower. Clearly his mask was protecting her from its full impact.
    â€œI’ve some nice, sweet cooking sherry in the larder,” Eunice offered, taking pity on him. “Ye can have that.”
    The thought of ingesting some sickly-sweet cheap cooking swill made Harrison’s stomach lurch. “No.” Then, realizing that the elderly woman was offering him something that she probably believed was precious, he added, “Thank you.”
    â€œTea it is, then, Ruby,” declared Doreen, who had set to work with Oliver trying to remove Harrison’s gloves, blood-soaked coat, and shirt. “There’s hot water in the kettle on the stove.”
    â€œI don’t want anything.” An overwhelming weariness was seeping through him, which combined with the crushing pain in his head made him want to retreat from the world. Sleep was what he needed. If he could sleep, the pain just might be gone when he wakened. He would worry about the bullet, and the police, and his disastrous visit to Lord Chadwick’s house, in the morning.
    â€œYe’ll be drinkin’ it anyway,” she informed him briskly. “By the looks of yer clothes ye’ve lost enough blood to float a wee ship, an’ ye need to have somethin’ to drink to help ye make more. I’ll nae have ye turnin’ yer toes up on my sheets—’tis bad luck.”
    â€œ ’Twas hard enough gettin’ ye up the stairs while ye were alive, lad,” said Oliver, chuckling. “I’m nae of a mind to drag ye down again when ye’re dead.”
    â€œYe could always tie a rope around him and toss him out the window,” suggested Annie helpfully. “That’d be quicker than bangin’ him down the stairs.”
    â€œHe ain’t goin’ to snuff it, is he?” Flynn looked disappointed. “I want to hear about his fleecin’.”
    â€œNae from a wee scratch like this.” Having peeled the sodden layers of fabric off Harrison’s torso and mopped away most of the blood, Doreen was finally able to survey the actual damage to his shoulder. “The ball bit through and come out the other side, nice and clean. Me and Eunice will stitch him up, and in a week or so he’ll be fit an’ fine.” She firmly pressed a wadded up cloth against the oozing wound.
    â€œWhy is he trembling like that?” asked Charlotte, concerned. “It’s not cold in here.”
    â€œHe’s probably got a chill from losin’ so much blood,” Eunice speculated. “Annie, run and gather up every blanket ye can find—we’ll pile them on him an’ see if we canna get him warm again.”
    â€œIt’s not the blood,” Harrison managed, his teeth chattering as Annie left to do Eunice’s bidding. “It’s the pain—in my head.”
    â€œIf ye’ve a pain in yer head, ye’d best let me take yer mask an’ cap