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As the cellar door closed, Mary could make out the muffled voices of the Foxes from above.
Mr. Fox: "I heard them yelling that someone was injured. Are they?"
Mrs. Fox: "It's fine, darling, it's the servant."
Mr. Fox: "Dead?"
Mrs. Fox: "Not yet. We don't need him anyway. Where's the boy?"
Mr. Fox: "Safe."
Mary felt relieved at those words.
Mrs. Fox: "Good. Could you fetch dinner, love?"
Mr. Fox: "Of course, dear. Would you like me to take it to them?"
Mrs. Fox: "No."
Mary noticed that Mrs. Fox spoke quickly. She did not want Mr. Fox to have any contact with their captives. That was their out, Mary felt certain. Mr. Fox was the weak link.
Mrs. Fox: "Don't fret, dear, I will take the food to them."
Mr. Fox: "Thank you, love."
Mary listened harder. Mrs. Fox's voice disappeared, but she could still hear footsteps above. Heavier footsteps, not of a woman, that of Mr. Fox!
"Help!" She tried to make her voice waver, to sound as helpless as possible, "Is anyone up there? Can anyone hear me? Please, I need help!"
The footsteps stopped by the cellar door.
Mary continued, "My friend Thomas is injured and dying! I don't know if he is still alive, but he saved my son! Please, he needs help!"
After a few moments, Mr. Fox responded from above, "H-How bad is he hurt?"
"I cannot tell!" She glanced worriedly at Thomas, "Badly hurt, but my hands are tied, I cannot help him! Do you have any medical aid? Any bandages? I have experience from the War, I could save him."
No response.
"Please, Mr. Fox. His life is in your hands. He has a chance, but only if I have the proper equipment immediately. You can spare a few bandages, can you not?"
After a few moments, there was a shuffling from above and the cellar door creaked open. Mary saw Mr. Fox at the top of the staircase, his mouse-like face staring down the hatch to below. His eyes darted around the space and saw the bound, distressed Mary. He paled when he saw the bleeding Thomas lying facedown on his side, unconscious in the dirt.
Mary saw he was carrying a first aid kit in his shaking hand.
"That is sufficient, Mr. Fox. That first aid kit will save Thomas' life, I am sure of it. Could you please bring it down to me?"
He carefully descended the stairs, eyeing the halls for Mrs. Fox or Mr. Stillman. Mary tried not to think of Tom being in the hands of the burly valet. Mr. Fox reached Mary and placed the first aid kit by her feet.
"Very good. I thank you, Mr. Fox," she spoke each word slowly, "Would you please unbind my hands so that I may tend to him?"
He nodded and untied her hands. Mary flexed her wrists with relief. She could take this opportunity to run up the stairs, save George, call for help, and save Tom and Thomas. However, one look at Thomas alerted her that if she did not give him medical attention immediately, he would surely be dead.
She took the first aid kit from his hands and crouched by Thomas' side. His chest rose and fell shakily, a worrying sign. However, as she mentioned to Mr. Fox, her experience during the war taught her useful skills. She carefully rolled Thomas over onto his back. He winced.
"It's alright, Thomas," she spoke to him, not knowing if he could hear her or not, "It will be alright."
She slowly unbuttoned his white shirt and exposed the bleeding wound on his side. It was a gaping scrape still dripping blood. Mr. Fox paled and turned around. Mary tried to not let her worry show. The wound appeared irritated after having been untreated for so long, but she would have to do the best that her knowledge would allow.
"A bucket of warm water please," she said under her breath.
It took Mr. Fox a moment to realize Mary was speaking to him, but he nodded and returned with her requested item at once. Mary dipped her hands in the bucket to clean them, cleaned her tools, and slightly poured some over the wound to clear it as well.
Thomas groaned.
"Hold him down," she ordered, "Steady now. Should he move, it would only injure him further."
Mr. Fox nodded and held Thomas' shoulders down to the floor.
She removed a needle and thread and began to suture. Thomas cried out and flinched, thrashing against Mr. Fox. Mary continued her work steadily, wanting to finish as soon as possible to give Thomas relief.
After a few tense minutes, she finished the last stitch. Mr. Fox was sweating after fending off Thomas' fighting. She cleaned the wound and wrapped gauze around it carefully.
"There," Mary sighed, sitting back. She eyed Thomas. He did seem to be improved, the color of his skin was not as worrisome, "That should do-"
"What is going on here?!"
Mr. Fox flinched. Mary felt anger wash through her. She looked at the top of the stairs. A furious Mrs. Fox had her hands on her hips, glaring daggers at Mary. The more worrying sight was beside her: Mr. Stillman holding Tom with a knife to his throat.
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