Sara lunged forward. Her hand grazed the voluminous skirt of the child’s dress, and she gripped as much of the material as she could, yanking hard. The girl, shrieking, flew off the ledge, inside, to safety. They hit the ground together in an awkward tangle of limbs and petticoats, the girl practically sitting on Sara’s lap.
The girl twisted around and looked at Sara, blinking in astonishment. Sara was sure she’d cry out, but instead the girl resumed her babbling song while reaching up with one hand to stroke Sara’s chin.
“Well done, just in time,” said Walter as he and Mabel gathered on either side of her.
“Do you think she hurt herself?” asked Sara.
“No, not a whit. You broke the fall. Are you all right?” Mabel scooped up the child while Sara let Walter help her to her feet. She was straightening her skirts and rubbing her hip, which no doubt would sport a large bruise by tomorrow, when a tall, thin woman appeared in the doorway.
“What on earth is going on in here?” the woman demanded, clutching the hand of a little girl a few years older than the one held by Mabel.
The name popped into Sara’s head from the guest book: the Hon. Mrs. Theodore Camden. Traveling with three children, a husband, and a small coterie of servants. Mr. Birmingham had instructed Sara that all of the Camdens’ needs be anticipated, as the wife was the daughter of a baron.
Sara stepped forward. “The child was standing in the window and we brought her inside.”
“More like saved her life,” said Walter. “Mrs. Smythe here leaped in and dragged her back inside in just the nick of time.”
The child, as if realizing the heightened emotions of the grown-ups around her, began to wail. The woman dashed forward and scooped her out of Mabel’s arms, holding the girl close. When her cries subsided, Mrs. Camden looked up, as if seeing them all for the first time.
“I thank you for your assistance, but where is her nanny?”
As if on cue, a plain-looking girl stepped into the room.
“Ma’am?” she inquired, her face scrunched up in confusion.
“Miss Morgan, where have you been? Lula almost fell to her death due to your absence.”
“I’m sorry?” The girl gazed around at everyone in the room. “I popped out for only a minute, to drop off a postcard at the front desk. I thought Mr. Camden was here.” Her voice trailed off and she looked about, as if trying to summon him out of thin air.
“You were supposed to be here minding the children.”
The child buried her head in her mother’s shoulder, weeping again.
“Where is Luther?” Mrs. Camden rushed into the adjoining room and they all followed. Another child—a boy who seemed to be around the same age as Lula—lay on the enormous bed, fast asleep, his curls damp around his head.
Sara, standing beside Mrs. Camden, could practically feel the woman’s fear and relief emanating from her body, like aftershocks of an earthquake. The nanny took Lula from her arms and set about calming the girl down, avoiding her employer’s eyes.
How awful if something had happened. Two little children left alone with a wide-open window; the thought was unimaginable. Sara turned to Mrs. Camden. The woman’s profile was precise, her coloring fair other than thick black lashes that framed hazel eyes. Sara had encountered innumerable members of the peerage at the Langham, and they all shared a common way of moving in the world, a confidence that their every desire would be met. It was rare to see one in crisis.
She sensed Walter and Mabel hovering behind them and became protective of the woman’s dignity. “Is there anything else we can do, Mrs. Camden?” asked Sara.
“No, that is all.” The woman’s face softened. “Thank you for saving her.”
“Of course, ma’am.” Sara nodded to Walter and Mabel and led the way out of the room. Once the door was closed behind them, Sara exhaled with relief.
“That was a close call.” Walter rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand.
“You were spectacular, Sara. I mean, Mrs. Smythe,” said Mabel.
Sara wanted more than anything to crumple onto the floor, but she couldn’t allow her staff to see that.
“That’s more than enough excitement for one day. Back to work. And, Mabel, please remember to address me properly.”
“Of course, Mrs. Smythe.”
Sara turned away and strode down the hallway, grateful her quaking knees were hidden under multiple layers of petticoats and skirts.
The rest of the day, whenever Sara’s mind returned to the events in room 510, her heart thumped wildly in her rib cage. What if she hadn’t grabbed the child in time? What if she’d had to peer over the edge and see the lifeless body splayed on the hard ground of the courtyard below? Sleep tonight, in the damp heat of her Bayswater bedsit, would be impossible.
But there was enough to keep her busy until then. She finished updating the ledgers and was about to head out to inspect the turndown of the guests’ rooms when a man rapped on her office door. She knew it was a man from its hard, hollow sound. Maids’ knuckles were barely audible, already apologizing for disturbing her, but the men, whether Mr. Birmingham or the janitor, had no such qualms.
She stood and opened the door, expecting Mr. Birmingham to have made a special trip upstairs to upbraid her for causing a scene with the guests. Instead, a stranger’s face peered down at her. As if he sensed her discomfort, he stepped back a pace. “Mrs. Smythe?”
“Yes. May I help you, sir?” He was clearly a hotel guest, dressed in a fitted, bespoke suit with a Broadway silk hat tucked under one arm.
“I apologize for intruding.” He wiped his brow with an enormous hand. “How do you manage up here, with this insufferable heat?”
“It’s a rare occurrence, luckily.”
“I believe you saved my daughter Lula today. I wanted to thank you in person. My name is Mr. Theodore Camden.” His accent was American, his voice a warm tenor.
Sara gestured to a chair opposite her desk, offering him a seat. He moved with an unexpected grace, given his large build. Nothing about him was handsome, by standard measures. His head was small in contrast to his broad shoulders, his eyes close-set to an irregular nose. But when put all together, he was magnetic. She sat, looked down, and closed the ledger in order to stop herself from staring.
“I’m glad she’s safe. She is all right, isn’t she?” The image of the wailing girl came to mind.
“Yes. We offered her a slice of Battenberg cake and she’s completely forgotten the incident.” He chuckled before a brief look of pain crossed his face. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t gotten there in time. The twins, Lula and Luther, are constantly getting into trouble.”