“Yes, I will do so immediately,” Mr. Wheatly answered and left the room.
“Is there anything I can do to be of help?” the Duke asked stepping forward to place a comforting hand on her arm.
Seeing the helpless look on the Duke’s face, Marybeth knew that he needed a task to accomplish if for no other reason than his own sanity. “Roses, I need a fresh supply of rose petals. I believe the garden has a copious supply?”
“Yes, of course. I will make haste.” The Duke exited the room, leaving Marybeth alone with Oliver.
She smoothed the hair back from his face, once so lively with roguish charm, now nearly as white as the man who haunted the walls, devoid of any expression. “Stay with me,” she begged placing a kiss upon his forehead. The sound of feminine weeping caused her to turn and, in the doorway, she found the kitchen maid from the hay loft in the stables. Smiling reassuringly, she motioned for the girl to come to her.
“What is your name?” she asked as the girl came to kneel beside her on the floor next to the settee.
“Betty Wilson, Miss,” she answered sniffling.
“You care for Oliver very much, don’t you?” Marybeth observed.
“Yes, Miss,” the girl nodded in reply.
“He will be well in time. I know it looks frightening now, but with rest and care, he should make a full recovery.” Marybeth spoke to herself as much as to the young kitchen maid. She prayed that her words were true, but she knew better than most the mysterious nature of head wounds. Out of all the patients who had come to her grandmother with head injuries, some had lived while many had not. Those that lived were sometimes changed from the people they once had been into someone else entirely.
Fight, Oliver! Fight! She pleaded silently.
Mrs. Taylor returned with the requested supplies, followed by Mr. Wheatly, and then the Duke. Marybeth took the kettle of water from the fireplace and poured it into a bowl. She next poured in some of the honey and a large handful of rose petals. She stirred the sweet-smelling concoction around and around then dipped a clean cloth into the water.
Marybeth carefully cleansed Oliver’s head wound with the mixture, repeating the action over and over again until she was content that she had removed all dirt from the opening. She then proceeded to stitch up the wound with nice, neat orderly stitches, just as her grandmother had taught her all those years ago when she was but a young girl. She sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward for her grandmother’s patience in training.
Once she had completed the stitches, she tied off the thread and cut the needle loose. Next, she ground up a poultice of honey and garlic, smearing it onto the stitched wound in a thick layer. She then took a clean white bandage and wrapped it around the crown of Oliver’s head. When she was done, she cleaned up her supplies and set another kettle to boiling. When Oliver awoke, he would be in a lot of pain and it would be best if she had some white willow bark tea waiting for him.
Marybeth sat in vigil the remainder of the day and all through the next night. The Duke came and went frequently looking in on her. Betty the kitchen maid brought her food and drink, sitting with her whenever the cook would allow her to leave the kitchen. Time seemed to drag on forever as she awaited her friend’s awakening. By the second day she was good and truly exhausted. Unable to remain awake a moment longer she drifted off to sleep holding his hand.
* * *
Felix stood in the doorway and watched as Marybeth dedicated all of her energies to saving her friend. She had only left his side to see to the Dowager Duchess’s medicinal needs and then had returned immediately to Oliver’s side. He had never seen such devotion between two people who were not married to one another. An errant jealous thought had him shaking his head in shame.
Here the poor man lies in pain, suffering, and yet in this moment I envy him more than I have ever envied another man. What I wouldn’t give to have her look at me with such loving devotion.
“Excuse me, Your Grace, but the Earl of Bredon and Lady Cordelia await you in the library above stairs,” Mr. Wheatly’s voice cut into his thoughts.
“Thank you, Mr. Wheatly. Please inform the Earl and Her Ladyship that I will be with them shortly,” Felix replied. He was not pleased with the idea of receiving guests during such a difficult time but knew for propriety’s sake that he had little choice. He had already sent Lady Cordelia home the morning of their shared breakfast. He had completely forgotten about his promise of a hunt with the Earl. Time had gotten away from him.
Sighing, he moved forward into the room and covered Marybeth’s sleeping form with a blanket. If he would not be able to watch over her himself, he would have to assign the job to another man. He was not pleased to leave her in the hands of another footman who might fall asleep on the job, but he had little choice in the matter. Returning to the doorway, he flagged down a passing footman and gave him strict instructions as to her care.
“When she awakens do everything that she asks of you. Make sure that she has plenty to eat and drink. Keep her safe at all costs.” His firm tone conveyed the seriousness with which he held the charge.
“Yes, Your Grace. I will not let you down.”
“See that you do not.” Squaring his shoulders, the Duke climbed the stairs to meet with his guests.
* * *
Lady Cordelia Weatherton paced nervously back and forth across the Duke’s library floor. She had made little to no progress with the Duke, and her brother was quite cross with her over the failure. He perceived the lack of forward momentum to be entirely her fault and had come to see if he could urge the Duke forward. He had been promised a hunt upon his next visit and had come to collect.
When the Duke walked into the room, he looked tired, almost haggard. Cordelia had never seen him in such a state of exhaustion and disarray. It was quite disconcerting. “My dear Duke, whatever has befallen you?” she asked rushing forward. She grabbed ahold of his arm in concern and he patted it in recognition of her expression of compassion.
“We have yet to apprehend the intruder who frightened you in this very room. It has been a trying series of days.”
“Oh, my,” Cordelia murmured looking about her as if the ghostly figure might pop out from behind a piece of furniture or materialize out from behind a bookshelf.
“Do not be ridiculous, Cordelia. You are perfectly safe with the Duke and I present,” her brother chastised.
“Yes, of course,” she agreed weakly. She nervously took a seat near the window with her back to the wall so that she might see all that occurred within the library’s walls. Ghost or no ghost, I will not be caught unawares again.
“So, what is this I hear about Arkley Hall being haunted?” the Earl asked in a bemused tone. “My sister has been telling me wild tales of ghostly white figures haunting your library bookshelves.”
“Yes, we have been having difficulties with an uninvited guest.” The Duke went on to tell them everything that had transpired since Cordelia’s encounter with the man in the library days before.
“Ghostly figures, hidden rooms, dark tunnels? It all sounds deliciously mysterious to me.” The Earl waved away the information as if it were little more than spilled tea in the garden.
“Yes, until someone gets hurt,” the Duke replied, his face becoming all the wearier as if the mere thought itself had exhausted him.
“Was someone harmed?” Cordelia asked, her heart racing in dread at the thought.
“Yes, one of my groomsmen was hit over the head two nights ago. He has yet to awaken. Miss Wright is tending him as we speak.”
“That is terrible!” she exclaimed, her hand fluttering to her chest in dismay. “Is there anything I can do to be of service?”
“No, but I thank you for the thought. Perhaps you could sit with my mother for a time to keep her company while your brother and I see if we cannot find a deer or two for our supper?”
“Yes, I would be glad to.” She hoped that spending time with the Duke’s mother would make him look at her the w
ay she had seen him looking at Miss Wright. Rising from her chair she walked over and selected a book from the shelves and left the library to go and do as asked.
* * *
Felix watched as Lady Cordelia left the library and tried to be grateful for her presence. It was not her fault that he found her lacking when compared to Marybeth. Anyone, including myself, would be found lacking when compared to a miraculous healer such as Marybeth Wright.
Felix unlocked the gun cabinet, took out two flintlock rifles, then locked it once more. Turning back to his guest, he walked to the door and motioned for the Earl to follow. They left the library and walked out to the stables. As all of his groomsmen were busy guarding the house and castle, the only person remaining was the head stableman, Mr. Norris.
Felix had Mr. Norris saddle a horse for the Earl, while he saddled his own. The last thing that he wished to do was go hunting with all that had transpired within his own household in recent days, but he did his best to muster enthusiasm for the sake of his guest. Perhaps it will rejuvenate the staff if I were to bring home a portion of fresh venison as a gift for all of their hard work. Armed with newfound purpose, Felix headed for the forest.
Chapter 15
“Marybeth,” Oliver’s voice called through the fog of her dream. “Marybeth.”
“Oliver?” she murmured as she attempted to pull herself from sleep. She opened her eyes and looked up to find Oliver awake, wincing in pain. “Oh, Oliver!” She threw her arms around his torso in celebration. “I was so frightened.”
“What happened?” he asked, reaching up to touch the bandage on his head.
“You do not remember?” Marybeth asked, concerned.
“No,” he began to shake his head to the negative but stopped, wincing in pain once more. “The last thing I remember is sitting in that room, alone in the dark.”
“Someone struck you over the head, and you have been unconscious for two days,” Marybeth explained, searching his eyes for signs of more serious injury.
“Was the intruder caught?”
“No, I am sorry, Oliver, but he has vanished once more. Every groomsman and footman on the estate is searching for him, but thus far they have not met with success.”
“Where is the Duke?” Oliver asked, looking around the empty sitting room.
“I do not know.”
“His Grace has gone with the Earl of Bredon on a hunt,” Mr. Wheatly’s voice informed them from the open doorway. “He will return as quickly as he is able. I know he wished to be here by your side when you awoke. He was quite vigilant in watching over you both while you slept.”
“No one else was hurt?” Oliver inquired, his concern for the others of the household clear upon his face. Marybeth’s heart went out to him for all he had been through and yet he still managed to worry about others. It was the quality that had made them fast friends as children.
“No. No one else was harmed,” Mr. Wheatly reassured him.
“Good,” Oliver sighed in relief.
“I should change your poultice and bandage,” Marybeth informed him, standing up and gathering her medicinal supplies. When she had gathered all that she would need, she began unwrapping the bandage from around his head, taking the old poultice off with it. She washed the wound once more in the honey rose water, then mixed a fresh poultice, applying it to the wound. When she had finished with this, she wrapped his wounds in a clean bandage. “Done,” she announced, cleaning up the remaining mess.
“Thank you,” he gritted out, his face as pale as the pillow upon which he rested.
She had tried to be as gentle as she could, but Oliver’s jaw was clenched in pain the entire time that she tended his wound. “I am sorry that I hurt you.”
“I have the distinct feeling that if it had not been for your skilled care, I would not be awake now. You never need apologize to me for anything that you do, Marybeth. Thank you for your efforts on my behalf.”
“Always,” Marybeth replied, waving away his gratitude. “You would have done the same for me.”
“Yes, I would, but I do not have your healing hands.”
“Miss Wright did not leave your side for more than a moment,” Mr. Wheatly informed Oliver, a gleam of pride and admiration in his eyes. “I believe Miss Wright is stating that you would have done the same were she the one that was wounded.”
“In that regard you are correct,” Oliver nodded, then stopped, clenching his teeth in pain. “I must cease from moving my head about,” he moaned.
“That is advisable,” Marybeth replied, making sure that his pillows were in a comfortable position. She moved over to the fireplace and poured the hot water from the kettle to make Oliver some white willow bark tea with honey to ease his pain. When the tea had sufficiently cooled, she handed it to him and helped him to swallow the soothing liquid.
Seeing that Oliver was able to swallow and keep the tea down, he announced, “I will alert the cook that you have awakened, and she will send you something to eat. You must keep your strength up.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wheatly.”
“Not at all. I am beyond pleased to have you among the living. Arkley Hall would not be the same without your cheerful face.” The grandfatherly affection that the butler felt for the young groomsman was clear. Mr. Wheatly left the room for the kitchens.
A short time later, the pretty kitchen maid named Betty came bearing a tray of tasty treats for Oliver. She blushed when Oliver greeted her by taking her hand in his after she had sat down the tray. Marybeth, seeing she was not currently needed, quietly left the couple to visit alone while she went to tend to the Dowager Duchess.
Climbing the servant’s steps back up to the second floor she felt a chill pass down her spine, thinking of the empty room on the other side of the wall. The groomsman guarding the hidden entrance nodded at her in acknowledgement as she passed. The thought of Oliver laying in that room all alone in the dark, bleeding out upon the floor, was unbearable.
Marybeth was grateful beyond measure that he had not died. She did not know what she would have done without him in her life. The thought of Oliver being the last person on earth to know and love her added to her feeling of unease. Marybeth began to reconsider her preference for a solitary life.
What would I have done if he had died? I would have been all alone in this world, completely, utterly, irrevocably alone. Perhaps I should open myself up to the possibility of creating other friendships in my life. The Duke is an honorable man. I have great respect for him and would be honored to have him as a friend, but something tells me that if we were to become true friends that it would be very different from the friendship I have with Oliver. A tingling sensation of anticipation traveled along her skin at the thought.
Continuing on up the stairs, she reached the second floor and made her way down the corridor toward the Dowager Duchess’s room. Another footman stood guard outside of the Duchess’s door. He nodded much as the last one had done, then opened the door for her to enter. “Thank you,” she murmured and then entered the bedchamber. To her surprise she found the Lady Cordelia Weatherton sitting beside the Dowager Duchess’s bed. “Oh, you have a guest. I will come back later.” She moved to exit.
“No, no, please, come join us,” the Dowager Duchess beckoned, patting the side of the bed for her to sit down. “We have just finished our tea and Lady Cordelia was about to read to me. I love literature in all its forms. Don’t you?” The Duchess’s eyes were so hopeful as she spoke that Marybeth was incapable of refusing her. Had the noblewoman asked for the moon, Marybeth suspected she would have tried everything within her power to grant it to her. Her sweet and gentle spirit were hard to resist.
“Of course, I will stay if you wish it, but only for a time. I will need to return to Oliver’s bedside before too much time has passed,” Marybeth agreed, coming around to sit on the bed.
“How is young Oliver?” the Dowager Duchess asked in concern.
“He is awake and eating,” Marybeth answered with a smile
of joyous relief.
“That is wonderful!” the Duchess exclaimed taking Marybeth’s hand in hers. “We owe our thanks to your healing powers, I am certain.”
“I do naught but work with what nature provides,” Marybeth humbly waved away the praise. She had never felt as if it were actually her doing the healing, but always gave credit to the wonders of the natural world.
“Guided by your skill and knowledge,” the Duchess insisted.
Marybeth bowed her head in humble assent. “Perhaps.”
Lady Cordelia cleared her throat ever so delicately. “My apologies for the interruption, Lady Cordelia, please continue,” the Dowager Duchess instructed.
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