The Resurrection of Lady Ramsleigh

by Bowlin, Chasity

  The pistol went off, the blast echoing like thunder. Before him, Viola slowly sank to her knees. Graham’s greatcoat parted to reveal a growing red stain spreading over the white of her nightrail. Another shot rang out and Randall sank to the ground, as well. Whoever had fired the shot, it had been true. His eyes were fixed and sightless as he came to rest in the mud.

  The men rushed him, tackling him to the ground but the damage was done. Men stepped forward, took the rope from him and Nicholas moved toward Viola. In truth, he was running, but it felt as if he were mired in the mud that surrounded them, as if time itself had slowed to nothing. When at last he reached her, he sank to his knees beside her, heedless of the mud. Pulling her to him, he cradled her close. In that moment, he did not, indeed could not, think as a physician. He was simply a man overwhelmed with fear and grief as he contemplated losing the woman he loved.

  “We’ll take her to the inn. It’s closer… I’ll send someone to fetch your bag,” Graham said as Nicholas reached her fallen form.

  Nicholas didn’t respond. He was incapable. He simply held on to her. But Graham knelt before him, forcing the man to meet his gaze. “Nicholas, she needs you now. You must put aside what you feel, what you fear, and do what must be done. Or the outcome you are most afraid of will certainly come to pass.”

  Those harsh words, the brutal honesty of them, pulled him back to himself. With more fear than he’d known in his entire life, Nicholas pressed his fingers to her throat. When he felt the steady beat of her pulse beneath his fingers, he could have wept with it. But he knew there was no time to waste. She was bleeding profusely and if he meant to keep her alive, he needed to focus only on the task at hand. Lifting her in his arms, he made for the inn as fast as he could. Tarley was running ahead of him, throwing open the doors, shouting orders at the serving girl who’d come in and was weeping in the corner.

  “There’s no time for that, girl! Get water and bandages,” he shouted.

  “Mr. Tarley, sir, you’re alive!” she wailed.

  “I am, but if you don’t move your arse, Lady Ramsleigh might not be! Go!”

  Nicholas placed her in the first chamber he reached. Peeling away the coat, he tossed it aside and then ripped her borrowed nightdress at the neck to reveal the ugly wound in her shoulder. It had entered the fleshy part of her shoulder but there was no exit wound. The ball was still in there. Palpating the wound as gently as possible, he stopped when she cried out. Her eyes opened but they were glazed, filled with pain and fear.

  “Am I dying?” she whispered.

  “Not this day” he vowed. “The pistol ball is lodged at your ribs. It didn’t pierce them so your lungs are intact. But I have to remove it and clean the wound.”

  “This is too much for you,” she said. “I can see it in your eyes, Nicholas. And your hands are shaking. Surely a task such as this can be entrusted to Dr. Shepherd.”

  “First you try to terrify me half to death and now you insult me,” he teased. “A bit of brandy to steady my nerves and yours will work wonders. I would never let Dr. Shepherd near you, not after—not after everything I’ve learned of him. I will take care of you, Viola. Trust me.”

  “I do. More than you know… but… just do it then. Let us get the thing over with.”

  “We’ll wait until they fetch my bag,” he insisted. He took one of the bandages that had just been deposited by the serving girl. He pressed it over the wound to slow the bleeding. The blood was flowing far more freely from the wound than he liked. Given all of her recent traumas and injuries, that was even more concerning. “I have laudanum which will keep you from feeling the worst of it.”

  “I don’t want it. I hate laudanum,” she protested.

  “You are not your mother,” Nicholas insisted. He understood that fear only too well. “This will be painful. If you do not have it, the shock of the pain could kill you.”

  “Then I will likely lose consciousness from the pain before that happens. The bandage is already soaked through. I know I’m losing too much blood. The longer the ball is in there, the more blood I will lose. Just do it, Nicholas,” she urged.

  Tarley entered the room carrying a piece of rolled leather. “These were my mother’s. She was the midwife here before she passed.”

  Nicholas nodded for him to open it. There were some tools he recognized, others which simply terrified him, but they would do the job. “Pour whiskey over them and hold them in the fire until they glow.”

  Tarley frowned. “What on earth for?”

  “It was a trick I learned while in the navy… and it worked most times. I lost far fewer men to infection than most doctors,” he answered. “And when you’re done with the whiskey, bring it here.”

  Placing his arm beneath Viola’s shoulders, he lifted her from the bed and held the bottle to her lips. “Drink as much of it as you can.”

  Viola coughed and sputtered as the fiery liquid burned its way through her. “Good heavens! Why would anyone willingly subject themselves to that?”

  “In about five minutes, when it hits you, you’ll understand,” he said. “Now, drink a bit more.”

  She did, grimacing in distaste. When she’d had enough that he knew it would leave her languid and incapacitated, he laid her back on the bed and took the tools from Tarley. He doused his own hands with the whiskey and then poured a liberal amount onto the wound. She didn’t scream, but a soft whimper escaped her and she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

  “We can wait, if I get the bleeding slowed—”

  “Nicholas, I can feel it. I know what has to be done,” she said.

  So did he. The blood had already soaked through the second bandage. If the wound wasn’t closed soon, then all would be for naught. To Tarleton, he said, “Hold her down. Don’t let her thrash about. Get someone else in here to help.”

  Tarley shouted for the serving girl who was lurking in the hall. She held Viola’s legs as he pressed her shoulders back against the mattress. Nicholas used the smallest of the forceps to penetrate the wound. Viola did scream then. The cords of her neck stood out in stark relief as she struggled against the pain. The sounds that escaped her were like that of an animal, no longer even human. It made the hair on his body stand up and transported him back to those few occasions on board ship when the battles had raged. Severed limbs, burns, pistol balls buried in guts. He’d seen it all, treated it all. But nothing in his experience had weighed as heavily on him as the pain he inflicted on her in those few seconds. It seemed to go on forever.

  Despite his distorted perception of time, it was not a difficult extraction, in truth. He located the ball easily enough and he removed it. And he began stitching the wound with the supplies the serving girl had brought in. But by the time it was done, Viola was unconscious and he felt near it himself. He was sweating profusely and it was all he could do not to cast up his accounts. Every part of him was shaking. Like a leaf buffeted by strong winds, he was without any sort of control.

  “You’ve got nerves of steel, Dr. Warner,” Tarley said in admiration. “Though I’d say hers might even be a might stronger. I’ve seen grown men not withstand the digging out of a pistol ball without laudanum. Wailed like babies they did.”

  “Now that the bleeding has stopped, and assuming the wound doesn’t fester, she should recover,” Nicholas said. It was automatic, that assessment of her condition following the surgery. Yet he knew that the words were uttered more as a means of soothing his own battered soul than anything else.

  The room fell silent. He remained by her bedside and Tarleton stood sentry at the door, staring out into the corridor. It was only after hours of that routine that Nicholas realized the man was still armed. Tarley had set himself up as their guard.

  “Thank you,” Nicholas said softly. “For everything you have done overnight. If she lives, it will be largely because of you.”

  The innkeeper glanced back at him. His old and grizzled face, covered with bruises and dried blood caked into his beard, crack
ed with a grin. “I reckon William Wells had the right of it. He told the tale of her rescue like it was a love story for the ages. And from the looks of it, seems he knew something before the rest of us did,” Tarleton observed.

  “Is it so laughable then that a man of my lowly station could be in love with a lady such as Viola?” Nicholas asked. The conversation was settling his nerves more than the whiskey he’d just drained from the bottle.

  Tarleton’s grin faded. “I don’t find it laughable, not at all. I reckon she deserves some happiness after what she’s been through. Married the way her family demanded the first time around and look what that got her!”

  Nicholas didn’t laugh, but a small smile did tug at the corners of his lips. “I suppose that, my station aside, there really is no place to go but up from there.”

  Tarleton let out a cackle. “Right enough that. Never liked old Ramsleigh. Never much cared for the younger one, either.” The man paused then, his expression growing thoughtful. “I fear what’ll become of the female population of Blackfield, now. Given how most of the women in this town take on after you, there’ll be a whole bushel of broken hearts from it.”

  At that, Nicholas did laugh. “You are a salve to my battered pride, Tarleton.”

  “I try, Doctor. I do try,” the man said. For the first time since they’d returned from the cemetery and the wretched events that had taken place there, Tarleton left his post. He opened the door wide and, just before stepping out into the hall, said, “We’ll be below if you need us. Come on, girl!”

  Nicholas remained there, sitting on the edge of her blood-soaked bed and watching her sleep. The room was silent save for her breathing and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. Content to listen to it and yet vigilant for even the slightest change, Nicholas was prepared to sit there as long as necessary.

  *

  Viola awoke to a dull ache in her shoulder that was easily surmounted by the pounding of her head. Her mouth tasted foul and she wondered what on earth could have happened. Bleary eyed, she peered around the unfamiliar room. Memories, disjointed and foggy began to creep in. She’d been watching Lord Ambrose ride up when pain had exploded in her shoulder. Randall had shot her.

  Turning her head slightly, she peered out the window. The sun was setting, silhouetting the spires of the church. She was at the inn, she realized.

  A serving girl bustled in. “Oh, you’re awake! The doctor will be ever so relieved.”

  “Where is he?”

  The girl smiled. “Tarley made him go next door and take a bath. He’s sat by your bedside for two full days. Tarley said if the doctor didn’t have a bath and a shave, you’d not recognize him when you did awaken!”

  Viola attempted to lever herself into a sitting position but failed horribly. Embarrassed, she asked, “Will you help to me sit up?”

  The girl nodded and fetched extra pillows from the trunk at the foot of the bed. Wrapping her arms around Viola’s shoulders, she helped her to sit up and then shoved the other pillows behind her, allowing her to recline against them.

  “It’s been two days since Randall shot me?” Viola asked. The time was simply gone. There was not even the faintest stirring of memory.

  “Yes, my lady. You burned a fever something fierce. It’s only in the last few hours that it broke. Poor Dr. Warner hasn’t left your side since!” The maid appeared to be on the verge of swooning as she relayed the tales of Nicholas’ devotion.

  Before Viola could respond, the door opened and Nicholas entered. Freshly bathed, with his face clean shaven, he still did not look well. It was clear from the gaunt appearance of his face and the shadows beneath his eyes that he hadn’t slept. “Dear heavens! You look horrible,” she blurted out.

  His answering grin alleviated some of the hollowed appearance of his face, but did nothing for the dark bags that had formed beneath his eyes. “Is your love so fickle that it will fade in the face of my newly-developed hideousness, Viola?”

  Her lips firmed in disapproval. “You’ve made yourself ill taking care of me! You look as if you’re about to fall over yourself at any moment!”

  “I assure you, I’m made of sterner stuff than that,” he replied. He gestured for the maid to go.

  The girl did so with a blush and a giggle. At the door, she glanced back once more, her expression so blatantly adoring that Viola could practically see the stars and hearts dancing in her eyes. Her own eyes rolled in response. “Well, clearly you’ve made a conquest. I should not be difficult to replace if you feel so inclined.”

  His brows arched upward and his gaze settled on her. It felt as if they were the only people on earth in that moment. “On that point, I must beg to differ. It would be impossible to replace you. Ever.”

  Her breath caught. She couldn’t think much less speak when he looked at her in that way.

  “Are you in pain?” Nicholas asked, his expression shifting to one of concern.

  She shook her head slightly. “My head hurts and my shoulder aches a bit but, otherwise, I am quite well. What of you? I can tell that you are exhausted, but you were not injured?”

  He shrugged as he moved nearer to the bed and settled himself on the edge of it. “I was not injured, other than having my heart nearly ripped from chest. I’m better now. Yesterday, when your fever was at its worst, I was rather like a madman.”

  “I’m sorry to have worried you.”

  “I’m sorry to have allowed you to be shot… I did promise to protect you, after all. I failed at it rather miserably,” he replied.

  Viola could not believe how obstinate he was being in not seeing just how heroic his actions had been. The man had risked everything and very nearly sacrificed everything to save her. “And yet here I am, recovering quite well thanks to your skill. No one could ever fully anticipate the evil that is Randall Grantham unless they’ve experienced it firsthand. I failed myself in not anticipating that he would do something so underhanded. That poor maid! Has her family been notified?”

  “They have,” he said. “And they held a service for her yesterday with a vicar who seemed entirely uncertain how to conduct such an affair.”

  Viola reached for his hand, needing to touch him, to feel the comfort of his skin against hers. “What happened to Randall?”

  “Ambrose shot him,” he said simply. “He’d arrived from the castle after having settled Wells once more into bed. Lady Agatha and Lady Beatrice would not have it but that he should come into town and help.”

  “Is he—” She stopped abruptly. She hoped he was dead. If he were dead, so many of her problems would simply die with him. They’d be able to live in peace.

  “Quite dead. Ambrose has left for Bath. The magistrate says there will be no issue for him legally, but the scandal will be quite ugly. So Bath will be far better for him than London at the moment,” Nicholas offered. “I was very unfair to him, I think. I made assumptions about him and what sort of relationship we could develop as two grown men suddenly discovering they are half-brothers. Yet he has been loyal and staunchly supportive when I have been reluctant, ill-tempered and, at times, quite rude.”

  Viola smiled at that. “And yet he persevered. Because he understands the importance of family… and because he sees you for what you are. Kind. Just. Honorable.”

  Nicholas leveled her with a sidewise glance. “You will turn my head, Lady Ramsleigh.”

  “Then allow me to turn it more, Dr. Warner. I love you,” she said. “I know I told you before, but I just really needed to say it again. I love you more than I ever dreamed was possible.”

  “And I love you. I knew I loved you from the first, I think, even when I wasn’t quite willing to admit it,” he said.

  “You told me that I should let you know when I was amenable to answering your question. I find that I’m quite ready to do so,” she said.

  Tired, haggard, worn out from days of grief and anxiety, he was still the most handsome man she had ever seen. And as his gaze settled upon her, and his lips turn
ed upward in that half-smile, her heart stuttered just a bit. But then he uttered a single phrase that made it skip altogether.

  “Viola Daventry Grantham, will you marry me?”

  Viola couldn’t hide her smile, nor did she wish to. For the first time in her entire life, she was free to feel what she wished to, to express those feelings as she desired. Without fear, without hesitation, without concerns of reprisal—and he had given her that. “Do you think the vicar has ever performed a marriage ceremony for a resurrected woman recovering from a pistol wound?”

  “Possibly, though I doubt the groom in question would have been the illegitimate offspring of a notorious libertine,” he said. “Between the two of us, we should be able to scandalize him thoroughly.”

  “Then get us a license and we’ll be married tomorrow morning,” she said.

  He raised one eyebrow at that. “I think we could give it a few days, at the very least. You did almost die, after all.”

  “And that’s all the more reason not to waste another day,” she said. “I’ve been so unhappy for so long… and I don’t want another day of it. I mean to live my life to the fullest—free of fear and full of love—with you at my side.”

  In the end, he relented. He was unable to refuse her anything.

  Epilogue

  Nicholas and Viola had elected not to live at Ramsgate Hall. It was a place of darkness, after all, and neither wanted that in their life. Ambrose, as a wedding gift, had granted them a small estate not far from Blackfield. He was still in hiding in Bath as the scandal raged through London. Nicholas’ half-brother, the once upright and staid son of a notorious libertine, had been painted by that same tarnished brush in the eyes of society.

  Branded a murderer, cut by some of the more respected members of the ton, Ambrose insisted that he minded not at all in the letters he’d sent to Nicholas, letters that her husband had shared with her. But Viola had read between the lines and shared her concerns with him. It was clear to her that Ambrose minded very much. She’d urged Nicholas to speak to him about it more honestly, but he refused, saying he did not wish to press. Of course, Viola understood. They were half-brothers, but they did not have the lifelong bond that would have come from being raised together. In many ways they were still strangers who happened to share the same blood. Their relationship was not such yet that Nicholas could feel comfortable prying into Ambrose’s affairs.