Free An Angel for the Earl by Bárbara Metzger

breathing.
    Lucy was radiant. “You did it,” she cried, clapping her hands. “You saved his life! You endangered your own to save a fellow man, and then gave him your very breath! Oh, they have to appreciate this up there. Such a noble act has to cancel some of the wickedness, it just has to. So generous, so selfless, so—”
    â€œSo where’s my stash?” Kerry thundered, shaking poor Demby again.
    â€œUnder the bed,” Demby rasped. “With my collection.”
    Kerry dashed back into the house while Lucy shrieked like a banshee about his jeopardizing her chance for heaven with his recklessness and greed.
    There were two boxes under the bed, so Kerry dropped both out the window before hurtling after, just as something in the kitchen exploded with a roar and a burst of new flames.
    The fire brigade had arrived by then, in time to get a good view of the flames while their captain dickered with Demby over his lordship’s lapsed fire protection policy.
    Kerry opened his purse into the captain’s hand. A new policy was instantly in effect.
    â€œExceptin’ your lordship might also be interested in a benefit lottery we be holdin’. For the widows and young’uns of us brave firefighters, don’t you know, what has fallen in the line of duty. Drawin’s soon, and we only be sellin’ a fixed number of tickets, so chances are pretty good.”
    â€œBetter than the chances of any of your brave boys putting out my fire if I don’t take a ticket, I suppose,” the earl muttered, emptying his purse into the waiting palm. The captain whistled his men to work.
    Demby was sitting up against the garden gate, blankets still draped over his shoulders. He was staring into one of the boxes, his stricken face looking more ghastly than it did when he wasn’t breathing.
    â€œNot the money, man, tell me the money is safe!” Kerry begged, falling to his knees next to the servant.
    â€œNo, my lord, your property is secure.” He indicated the other box, where a household account ledger rested atop a leather pouch. “It’s my, ah, collection.”
    â€œDeuce take it, I’m sorry if anything got damaged when I threw the box from the window. Didn’t seem much choice at the time, you know.”
    â€œOf course not, my lord. And I believe the damage was done by the heat, not the fall.” He held the box out with hands that shook less than usual.
    Kerry looked in, then stirred the contents with one finger. “Uh, you were collecting candle stubs? I mean, I know it’s been bellows to mend for a bit, but candle stubs?”
    â€œNot candle stubs, my lord, wax carvings. Figurines I was going to have cast in bronze when we were in the chips again. Pewter, anyway. Here.” And he unwrapped a piece of flannel to reveal a brass dragon small enough to fit in the earl’s hand.
    â€œWhy, this is exquisite. Too bad it’s not jade or ivory. Wherever did you come by such a fine piece of workmanship?”
    â€œI had it cast the last time the dibs were in tune, you recall, when we did so well at Newmarket last year.”
    â€œYou mean this is from one of the candle stubs? Uh, wax carvings? You’re saying you did this? With a knife?”
    â€œA chisel, actually.”
    â€œWith your palsy?”
    Demby took the statuette back with hands that didn’t tremble at all. He coughed, as if there were still a residue of smoke in his chest. “The tremors passed when I stopped drinking, which is what cost me my apprentice mason job in the first place. I didn’t like being a valet, my lord. Or a groom, or a cook, butler, footman, whatever. While you believed me incapable of performing all those duties, I had more time for my carving.”
    â€œBlast it, I hired you as a man-of-all-work,” Stanford complained.
    â€œBut you never paid me, my lord.”
    What could the earl say? For one of the first times in his life