Wilkins had been correct: The moment Rose said the injured man's name, the well-dressed gentleman in the surrey quickly guided his horses toward the accident scene. He and the Doctor carefully lifted the Secretary into the back, where the Time Lord sat with him as they clattered along the road toward the pretty town ahead.

Rose discovered that the town was called Lafayette Park. As they approached, she saw a huge, grand home in the distance. It seemed familiar to her.

"What's that?" she asked.

The good Samaritan replied, "That is the White House, Miss."

"You mean the White House? Where the President lives?"

"The same."

Rose's accent seemed to give her an automatic excuse for ignorance of American culture and history. Still, she felt it best not to press the issue so rode quietly as Seward's driver directed them toward a lovely red brick home.

Within a few minutes the Secretary had been carried to his upstairs bedroom, where the Doctor attended him. He had not yet regained consciousness, so the Time Lord prepared the broken arm for a splint while a servant hurried off to fetch the politician's own physician.

Rose remained with the Doctor as he scanned Seward's head once more then felt along the injured jaw again. He was frowning in concentration and concern.

"You've got a device that mends broken bones, right?" she asked.

He looked up. "Yes."

"I can run back to the ship an' get it—"

He shook his head. "Not a good idea, Rose."

"But that wouldn't change the time lines," she began to protest.

"It might." He tucked the sonic screwdriver back into his pocket. "See if you can find out exactly what the date is. If Lincoln's the president, that would put us somewhere in the early 1860s."

"Isn't that when the American Civil War was goin' on?"

"Could be. Make a few inquiries. And check on the driver, too. His knee's going to need attention, but I think for propriety's sake I should stay with Mr. Seward until his own doctor arrives."

Rose nodded. "I'll see what I can find out."

As she left the Secretary's room, she nearly collided with a young woman in the hallway.

"Oh! Sorry," Rose apologized.

The woman was pale and clearly shaken. She blinked at Rose in surprise. "Who… who are you?"

"I'm Rose. I'm with the Doctor. We saw the accident—"

"The doctor who's been helping Father?"

"Yeah. You're his daughter, then?"

"Fanny," she replied quickly, her attention shifting toward the bedroom. "How is he? Wilkins said he's been badly hurt, that he's unconscious."

"Doctor says he's got concussion an' a couple of broken bones, but he's gonna be all right."

"I must see him." She brushed past Rose but paused for a moment to add, "Thank you for helping."

Rose nodded. "Don't worry. Your dad's in good hands."

Concerned about Wilkins, she made her way downstairs. He had been helped to a settee in the sitting room. He lay against the cushions with a pinched expression and pallid complexion. His eyes were half-closed, but he opened them when she entered the room.

"How're you doin'?" she asked.

He swallowed and tried to push himself up onto his elbows. "How is Secretary Seward?" he responded.

"About the same. As soon as his doctor gets here, my Doctor'll sort your knee. You gonna be all right 'til then?"

"Yes, Miss."

His pallor belied his words. Rose saw a crystal carafe and several matching glasses on a side table. She poured a small amount of water then helped Wilkins drink a few sips.

"It wasn't your fault, y'know," she said. In addition to his worry about his employer, the driver was clearly anxious about his part in the mishap.

"I lost control," he replied shakily.

"You couldn't help it. Horses got spooked an' bolted. You couldn't've prevented that."

He shook his head. "I don't know. Perhaps if I'd taken a different route…"

"You had no way of knowin' anything would happen. No one's gonna blame you. I'll tell them exactly what happened; we saw the whole thing."

Wilkins exhaled slowly, relief seeping from him. "Thank you."

Their attention was drawn to the foyer, where agitated voices accompanied brisk footsteps on the marble floor. They saw the servant who'd rushed from the house as soon as they'd arrived. An older man, dressed in similar attire to the Doctor's, was right behind him.

"That's Dr. Verdi," Wilkins told Rose.

"D'you want me to stay with you?" she asked.

"You may be needed upstairs."

"I don't think so. Fanny's up there now, and with two doctors I'd probably just get in the way." She offered him a gentle yet reassuring smile.

"Thank you," he said, falling back against the cushions.

"Try to rest."

He nodded tiredly and closed his eyes. She found a lap robe across the back of a chair and set it carefully over him, mindful to avoid touching his knee. She'd noticed a newspaper folded neatly upon a side table and picked it up. She glanced at the date first: April 5, 1865. She skimmed the headlines, finding that Lincoln had recently toured the Confederate White House in Richmond, and that General Lee, the leader of the Confederate army, was expected to surrender within the next several days. So the war was nearly at an end.

She wished she could remember more about American history. She had a niggling feeling that there was something else important yet to come, but she'd never been a stellar student, particularly where world history was concerned.

She set aside the paper and returned her attention to Wilkins, offering him what small comfort she could as she waited for the Time Lord to join them.

After half an hour, Rose's concern for the unfortunate driver prompted her to seek assistance. He'd grown even paler, and his skin was now clammy. His hands were fisted tightly as he clenched his jaw intermittently against his pain.

"I'm gonna see how it's goin' upstairs," she finally said, adjusting the blanket and giving Wilkins's shoulder a gentle, comforting squeeze.

She was no expert in medicine or even in first aid, but she knew that his dislocated knee would be excruciatingly painful until it was returned to its proper position. She needed the Doctor to do that. She'd seen another man enter the house a few minutes ago and gleaned that he was also a physician, since a servant greeted him succinctly as Dr. Marshall. With additional assistance now available, perhaps her Doctor could leave the Secretary's side for a quick trip downstairs.

It was a measure of Wilkins' extreme discomfort that he did not attempt to dissuade her. The man's devotion to his employer was admirable; he'd insisted that she not disturb the sickroom when she'd suggested fetching the Doctor twenty minutes ago.

Rose hurried upstairs. The Secretary's bedroom door was open. Fanny stood near the foot of the bed with the male servant who'd brought the physicians. Dr. Verdi, Dr. Marshall, and the Time Lord were hunched over Seward doing something to his head.

Rose slid in beside Fanny and touched her hand briefly in a gesture of succor. The other woman glanced at her with a nod, and, to Rose's surprise, grasped her hand firmly, seeking the comfort offered.

The women stood silently for several minutes, listening to the doctors' murmurs and soft conversation. Finally, the Time Lord stepped back and looked up.

"How's he doin'?" Rose asked quietly.

She could now see the injured man. His arm was in a splint, and the side of his face and neck were wrapped in some sort of wire-based contraption. His eyelids fluttered restlessly. Several phials and bottles were set out on the night table, and she thought perhaps he'd been given some sort of drugs for his pain.

Without replying, the Doctor stepped away from the bed and offered a reassuring nod to Fanny. Rose hugged her shoulders then gave her full attention to the Doctor. He took her arm and led her out into the hallway.

Immediately she inquired, "Well?"

"He's going to be all right, I think." He glanced back once. "The jaw was difficult to set—Verdi and Marshall had no idea how to do it, but I came up with a rather clever solution using wire and thin bits of wood to immobilize the jawbone. Looks a bit funny, and it won't be particularly comfortable, but it should do the trick 'til the bones mend."

She nodded, not surprised that he'd solved a tricky issue. "Did he wake up?"

"He did, but unfortunately Verdi administered laudanum before I could stop him. Medical science is quite rudimentary at the moment; drug-induced sleep with a head injury is extremely ill-advised. I managed to do another scan, though, and it looks like the concussion is beginning to resolve. Still, I suggested that they wake him periodically to check his responses."

"How'd you get 'em to trust you?"

"Well, I'm brilliant, for one," he replied with a little grin. "And the psychic paper identified me as Doctor Ian Turlough, recently arrived from Cambridge to accept a position at William and Mary's College of Medicine. Suppose that helped a bit."

She gave his arm an affectionate nudge as they descended the stairs. "Yeah. Well, Doctor,the driver's in need of your skills. He's in a lot of pain, an' I think he might be goin' into shock."

His smug expression changed to one of concern. "Oh. Well, we can't have that."

They hurried to the sitting room, where the Doctor quickly evaluated Wilkins's condition. The man stirred, several groans escaping him.

"I'm going to sort your knee," the Doctor told him. "Hang on for just a moment. Rose, you need to keep him still while I do this."

"Yeah, 'course, whatever I can do to help," she said.

He directed her to press her leg over the man's thigh, keeping her weight fully upon him to prevent movement.

"Hold down his shoulders if you can, too," he added.

She got into position, and the Doctor wrapped his hands around Wilkins's calf. The injured man cried out in pain, his eyes flying open. He tried to sit up, but Rose pressed her hands against his chest and her knee against his thigh. Still, he was a large, sturdy man, and he thrashed mightily for several seconds before the Doctor's rapid motions snapped the knee back into place.

The action was accompanied by a heavy grunt that reverberated against Rose's hands. Then Wilkins went limp beneath her. She moved away.

"Think he's passed out," she informed the Doctor.

He pressed gentle fingers over the driver's throat. "Yes. Probably for the best, too. I'll get this wrapped before he regains consciousness. And, unlike Secretary Seward, a dose of laudanum won't hurt him; it'll just permit him to sleep until some of the pain passes. Run upstairs and ask Verdi for the bottle. And ask one of the servants to bring some strips of linen and the extra splints."

She scurried upstairs to procure the requested items then delivered them to the sitting room. She managed to get a spoonful of the opiate into Wilkins's mouth while the Doctor placed a splint on his knee.

Within a few minutes, the driver was deeply asleep. The Time Lord surveyed his work then ran the sonic screwdriver over the slumbering man. He gave a nod of satisfaction.

"He'll be all right."

Rose tucked the blanket around Wilkins once again, replying, "I'm glad. He feels terrible about the accident, but I told him it wasn't his fault."

"It really wasn't. There was nothing he could've done to prevent it. And it looks like Seward's going to recover, given time, so I suppose all's well that end's well."

As she replaced the cap on the laudanum bottle, her eye fell upon the newspaper. "Oh, I found out the date," she said off-handedly.

"Yes?"

"It's 1865."

"What month?"

"April."

For a moment the Doctor stiffened. "What day?"

"The fifth. War's almost over, an' the paper says they expect General Lee to surrender. He's in charge of the Southern troops," she added.

"Yes, I'm familiar with the country's history," he said tightly.

"Somethin' wrong?" she asked. She'd seen that look too many times to ignore it.

He shook his head slowly. "No, things are happening just as they should." Suddenly he gripped her shoulders. "You're needed here, Rose. You have to stay."

"Me? Why? What 'm I supposed to do?"

He swallowed and dropped his hands to his sides. "I'm not entirely sure, but it's important for you to remain here."

"Is somethin' gonna happen?"

He didn't reply. He'd already turned to leave the room. She sighed. She was pretty sure that no alien threats were looming, but something was clearly bothering the Time Lord. She supposed she'd find out soon enough; he'd tell her when he was ready. She wiped a few drops of water from the table then replaced the carafe on the sideboard. All she could do for the moment was wait.

To be continued…