“Don’t be a—Jesus Christ!”

She knobbed him on the head with an inkpot.

“I’ve got another right here,” she growled. “I write a lot of letters.”

His face curled into something unpleasant. “I’m beginning to think you’re not worth the trouble.”

“So I’ve been telling you,” she hissed. She hurled the second inkpot at him, but as he moved to dodge it, Cat-Head (who had never been the brightest of her three cats) hopped back up onto the sill, let out an unholy scraw, and launched himself out the window.

“Cat-Head!” Georgie lunged forward, trying to get hold of him, but the cat was on Freddie’s face before she even had her arms out the window.

“Get it off me!” Freddie shrieked.

“Cat-Head! Cat-Head, come back!” Georgie hissed, trying to keep her voice down. The other bedrooms were around the corner, so with any luck no one would have heard Freddie’s cry of distress.

Freddie clawed at the cat, trying to dislodge it, but Cat-Head held firm, wrapped around Freddie’s head like half of a furry octopus.

Half of a furry octopus with claws.

“You bloody—” Freddie’s words disintegrated into a furious grunt as he seized the cat by its midsection.

“Don’t you dare throw my cat!” Georgie warned.

But Freddie already had him by the belly. Cat-Head let out a mighty cat-scream, and Freddie tossed him away.

It did not go well for Freddie.

Cat-Head fared splendidly. After a terrifying moment when he seemed to be suspended in mid-air, fur sticking out in every direction, he got his claws into a clump of leaves hanging down from another branch and then swung himself to safety.

Freddie, on the other hand, lost his balance completely. He let out a howl of distress as he clawed for purchase, but it was to no avail. He slid from the branch and fell, bumping against several lower branches as he tumbled to the ground.

“Oh my God.” Georgie’s words came out in a tiny horrified squeak as she leaned out the window. “Oh my God.” Was he dead? Had she killed him? Had her cat killed him?

She ran out of her room, grabbing a lantern from a table in the hall.

“OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGod …” All the way down the stairs, skidding through the hall and out the front door in her bare feet. “Oh my God.”

He was at the base of the tree, lying very still. His head was bleeding, and already one of his eyes appeared to be swelling shut.

“Mr. Oakes?” she asked hesitantly, inching toward him. “Freddie?”

He moaned.

Oh thank God. He wasn’t dead.

She leaned in a little closer, nudging his hip with her toe. “Mr. Oakes, can you hear me?”

“Bitch.”

So, that was a yes.

“Are you hurt?”

He gave her a malevolent stare. A one-eyed malevolent stare, which was somehow worse.

“Er, where are you hurt?” she amended.

“Everywhere, you bloody moron.”

“You know,” she said, “considering this is entirely your own fault, and I’m the only one here with the ability to summon help, you might think about being a little more polite.”

She held the lantern closer. There was a lot of blood on his head, although in the dark it was difficult to say how much of it might have been from the inkpot. But that wasn’t the worst of it. His left arm was twisted at an angle that wasn’t just unnatural, it was positively inhuman.

She winced. “I think you broke your arm.”

His reply was a string of vile curses, all of them directed at her.

“Miss Georgiana? Miss Georgiana!”

It was Thamesly, hurrying down the front steps in his dressing gown. Georgie wasn’t surprised that the butler would be the first to arrive on the scene. He had always had freakishly good hearing.

“Miss Georgiana, what has happened?”

“There has been an accident,” she said, wondering if she should avert her eyes. She didn’t think she’d ever seen Thamesly in anything less than full uniform. “Mr. Oakes was injured.”

His eyes widened. “Did you say Mr. Oakes?”

“I did.”

Thamesly looked down at the man on the ground. “He appears to have broken his arm.”

Georgie nodded.

“It looks quite painful.”

“It is, you bloody idiot,” Freddie snapped from the ground, “and if you don’t—”

Thamesly took a small step forward and stepped on Freddie’s hand. “It’s rather late to seek medical attention,” he said to Georgie. “I hate to bother a doctor when the injuries are so clearly not life threatening.”

Georgie’s eyes welled with tears. She had never loved the family butler as much as she did right at that moment.

“He appears to have cut his face, as well,” Thamesly said. He glanced down, and then back up. “That’ll leave a scar.”

“Not if he gets it stitched properly,” Georgie said.

“Middle of the night,” Thamesly said with a patently false sigh of regret. “Alas.”

Georgie had to cover her mouth to choke down a nervous laugh. She reached out and took the butler by the arm, pulling him away from (and off of) Freddie. “I adore you for this,” she whispered, “but I do think we need to get him help. If he dies …”

“He won’t die.”

“But if he does, it will be on my conscience.”

“Surely you don’t take responsibility for this idiot climbing the—” Thamesly looked up. “I assume he fell from the tree.”

Georgie nodded. “He was trying to get into my room.”

Thamesly’s nostrils flared ominously. “I will kill him myself.”

It was almost funny, delivered as it was in Thamesly’s signature monotone. Almost.

“You will do nothing of the sort,” Georgie whispered urgently. “His father is a baron. I might be able to get away with injuring him, but you most assuredly will not.”

“He does not deserve your care, Miss Georgiana.”

“No, but you do.” Georgie looked up at him. She would not go so far as to say that Thamesly had been a second father to her, but he had been a calming, compassionate presence in her life for as long as she could remember, and she cared for him deeply.

“I will lose no sleep over him.” Georgie flicked her head toward Freddie, who was still seething on the ground. “But if you were punished because we did not see to his injuries properly, I would never forgive myself.”

Thamesly’s pale blue eyes turned watery.

“We need to get him help,” Georgie said, “and then we need to get him out of here.”

Thamesly nodded. “I will summon your parents.”

“No!” Georgie clutched his arm with surprising urgency. “It will be better if no one knows he was here.”

“He should pay for what he’s done.”

“I agree, but we both know I’m the one who will pay. There is no way we’ll be able to keep it quiet if anyone else becomes involved.” Georgie twisted her mouth into a frown, looking quickly to the house and then off toward the stables. “Can you hitch a cart?”

“What are you thinking?”