The Whisper Of Wings Read Free Page A

Then they too began to fade, and before she realized what was happening, she hit the brick driveway with a shocking impact. She felt a moment of intense panic, a spark of pain in her head, and then everything went black. Blessedly black.

 
    CHAPTER TWO
     
    The moment the young woman's body slipped to the ground, Christopher Standeven catapulted into action, shouting orders as he raced down the driveway.
    "Gerald, help me get her into the house. Mrs. Avery, call a doctor immediately."
    Gerald was right behind him, pressed into action by the urgency of the situation. At the gate, the figure lay in a tattered heap. He automatically reached out to help, but there wasn't much he could do. He wasn't familiar with medical procedures. He only knew what instinct led him to do. He glanced from the face of the girl, half hidden by a mass of matted hair, to his father, who was frowning down at her. Christopher Standeven seemed at once perturbed, yet as self-controlled as ever, though he couldn't hide the fact that he was touched by the odd circumstances. That was clear by the way he reached down and gently pushed the hair away from the girl's face.
    "She's bleeding. Her forehead," Gerald whispered, his eyes riveted on the bloody area near her hairline. It seemed like so much blood.
    Christopher said nothing, just frowned all the more as he lifted the frail body from the ground and carried the girl back to the house. Gerald hurried ahead to push the door wider for him, for the first time in his life wishing he were as commanding as his father, as self-assured, as quick to take control. He felt impotent, helpless, and it rankled him. It was not a feeling he often experienced, and he didn't particularly like it. It was not a noble emotion.
    The moment they came through the door, Mrs. Avery appeared in the hall, carrying with her a deep bowl of steaming water and a fresh towel.
    "The study," Christopher instructed, already bearing the girl down the hall and into the airy room.
    Gerald hung back and watched as his father gently lowered his burden to the leather couch. Mrs. Avery relieved herself of the bowl and the towels to place a pillow under the girl's head. As usual, Gerald didn't seem to be needed. Nor did anyone ask for his assistance. The situation was already under control.
    "The doctor?" Christopher queried in his quiet, controlled manner, his eyes on the girl.
    "On his way, sir," Mrs. Avery answered.
    "There's a gash on her forehead from the fall." He glanced back over his shoulder at his son, to include him. "Gerald was kind enough to point that out."
    "Quite a nasty one I see," Mrs. Avery murmured, bending forward to briefly study the wound. "Though it's hard to say just how bad it is until it's been cleaned."
    She automatically reached for the bowl of hot water, dipping a small towel into it and ringing it until it had just the right amount of dampness left to it. She would have bathed the wound herself, but she stopped when the head of the household silently lifted his hand, palm up. She stared at it for a moment, uncertain as to his intent. Then she realized what he wanted and slowly relinquished the cloth into his hands, too startled by his unspoken request to hide her surprise.
    He held her gaze for a moment longer, his eyes glittering something like a challenge, then turned away to sit in the chair Gerald had pulled close to the couch, and began bathing the young woman's forehead, his mouth pressed into a tight line, his expression closed.
    Christopher knew precisely what was going through his housekeeper's head. But he'd never in his life felt the need to explain his actions, and he'd be damned if he would start explaining himself now.
    Agnes Avery was astounded by Mr. Standeven's decision, but she was careful to keep it to herself as she hovered close, watching as he carefully bathed the girl's face. It was not her place to ask questions. She'd been with this household long enough to know that he would not tolerate