“Do not thank me, Your Grace. There is still a chance that she could die,” the doctor warned. “She will need to be kept under close observation. She will need someone to sit with her night and day. At any sign of fever, you send for me immediately. For now, keep caring for her as you are, and I will leave instructions for her care with your manservant. Your Grace, My Lord,” the doctor bowed to each of them in turn then left the room to see to the Dowager Duchess’s care.
Felix slid out from behind Marybeth. “I must go and hear what the doctor has to say about Mother’s condition.”
“I will stay here with Marybeth. I will send for you if her condition worsens,” Alexander promised.
“I will return momentarily. I will not be above stairs for very long.” Felix left the library and climbed the stairs to his mother’s bedchamber.
The doctor administered his own curatives for the Dowager Duchess as best he could, but there was not much that he could do that Felix had not already done. “You have a precarious situation on your hands, Your Grace,” the doctor warned.
“Are you telling me that both of the women I love in this world could die?”
“Yes, it is quite possible that you will lose them both, but do not lose hope, Your Grace.”
Felix nodded at the doctor’s reply, took notes on methods of treatment for both women, then showed the doctor to the door. “I will return upon the morrow to ensure that all are recovering as they should,” the doctor promised, doffing his hat, then he was gone.
Felix returned to the library to check on Marybeth, having left the Dowager Duchess in the care of Mrs. Taylor. “Mr. Wheatly, it would be best if Mrs. Snow’s body was removed from the Dowager Duchess’s room immediately.”
“Yes, of course, Your Grace. I will have it seen to right away.” Mr. Wheatly scurried from the room to do as bidden.
Felix looked over to where the Earl had sat before the magistrate had taken him, and his mind turned to Lord Enfield. As if he could read Felix’s thoughts, Alexander stepped forward and said, “We must go and find our father. He must answer for what he had done.”
Felix nodded his head. “Yes, he must. I cannot leave Arkley Hall with Marybeth and my mother as they are.”
Alexander shook his head. “This is a family matter. You do not want to be present for what is going to happen. Stay here. Care for your mother and our sister. We will return as soon as is possible.”
Felix nodded his head and shook hands with both men. “Will you all be going?”
“Yes, we have made arrangements to meet our other brothers upon the road once they have finished with the magistrate.”
“I wish you good fortune in your hunt.”
“Take care of our sister. We have grown quite fond of her,” Thomas instructed shaking the Felix’s hand.
“I will.”
Nodding, both brothers kissed Marybeth on the top of the head and then rode off down the drive. Felix had no doubt that by the end of the day Lord Enfield would have drawn his last breath.
Chapter 34
Felix sat by Marybeth’s side all the rest of the day and night, interwoven with frequent trips above stairs to look in on his mother. Both women struggled for life. Felix attempted to remember everything that Marybeth had taught him about medicinal herbs and instructed Mrs. Taylor on how to make his mother’s treatments. Oliver lay sleeping on the settee in the library, waking up at intervals to sit with Marybeth so that Felix could provide care for his mother. Felix’s world felt as if it were crashing down around him.
Despite Felix’s best efforts, Marybeth developed a fever in the night. Felix did his best to replicate the recipe for the garlic and honey poultice that she had used on Oliver’s head wound. He smeared the foul smelling concoction onto the bullet wound. He made willow bark tea with honey and did his best to get it into her. Upon his request, some of the maids came in with bathing supplies and a clean nightdress. Felix and Oliver stepped out of the room, allowing for some privacy.
The act of bathing was twofold. The cool water helped to bring her temperature down and a clean body was less likely to become infected. Marybeth looked like a new woman once the blood had been washed from her, showing her pale skin that had been hidden beneath the crimson stain. Once her bath was complete, Felix and Oliver returned to the library to stand guard by her side. Oliver fell back to sleep on the settee. Felix slept in the chair beside Marybeth.
As Felix slept, he dreamed of all the horrors that had been visited upon them by the Earl of Bredon’s greed. As he roused himself from the nightmare, he awoke to find Lord Enfield standing across from him staring down at Marybeth, a knife in one hand and pistol in the other. Felix jumped up in surprised horror. “Get away from her!” he demanded.
“No.” The word was so simple and yet with it carried a myriad of threats. Felix’s heart felt as if it might stop in his chest as Lord Enfield lowered the knife to Marybeth’s throat. The red lines from the last time he had done so were still quite fresh and vibrant against the paleness of her skin.
“Do not harm her!”
“She is my daughter. She is mine to do with as I see fit. You, Your Grace, have no say in the matter.”
“You are mad!”
“That I am,” Lord Enfield nodded in agreement. “Life is certainly more interesting that way do you not agree?”
“No, I do not.”
Lord Enfield shrugged his shoulders as if to say that it was Felix’s loss. He acted as if his madness was an asset, an acceptable state of being to be desired by all. Felix could not believe that he had not known of his cruelty sooner. The glint in Enfield’s eyes spoke of a man who cared not for anyone but himself. Felix knew that it was hopeless to attempt to reason with such a man, but he had to try for Marybeth’s sake.
“Marybeth’s fate is not yours to decide as if she were one of your livestock. She is your daughter, your flesh and blood. No matter how she entered this world, is there not some value to you in that shared familial connection? You mourn the loss of your son and heir, Stephen. I saw it with my own eyes. How can you kill another one of your offspring after having just lost one? With what you are doing you will not only lose Stephen, but you will lose all of your sons. Please put the knife down.”
Felix eased forward one small step, his hand outstretched palm up in hopes that the love Enfield held for his sons would cause him to see some small amount of reason. “I care not for the affection of my progeny. My bloodline will go on whether they care for me or not.”
“No, it will not,” Lord Alexander’s voice threatened from the doorway. All seven brothers filed into the library their pistols pointed at their father. “I swear to you here and now, if you harm our sister, we will abstain from ever having children. Your bloodline will wither and die on the vine. There will be naught to remember you but the Devil who will come to take you to Hell.”
Lord Enfield snorted. “You, my sons, are not monks. You will never be able to uphold such a promise.”
Lord Alexander’s brow and lip quirked up in wicked amusement. “You are wrong.”
Lord Enfield paled at the look on his son’s face. “You are my heir. It is your duty to continue the line in your brother Stephen’s stead.”
“And perpetuate your legacy? I would rather watch Enfield burn to the ground than to know for one moment that I had pleased you.”
“You ungrateful…” Lord Enfield took a step forward in anger causing the knife to waver away from Marybeth’s throat. Felix took advantage of the moment and launched himself at Enfield tackling him to the floor.
Felix and Lord Enfield wrestled around for control of the knife. Lord Enfield might have been older, but he was a broad man of great strength. The knife cut Felix’s hand, causing blood to slicken his grasp. Lord Enfield got the better of him and put all of his body weight into pushing the knife down toward Felix’s chest.
“Felix!” Marybeth’s voice cried weakly through the haze of her fever. He was not sure if she was actually awake or dre
aming, but her outcry was enough to empower him once more. The thought of what would happen if he were to lose gave him a surge of energy that coursed through the muscles in his body like a coiled spring.
Felix let the knife sink down toward him just enough to bring Lord Enfield’s head within reach. The tip of the blade pricked his skin of his shoulder causing blood to drip down his arm. In one swift motion, Felix twisted his body bringing up his elbow to strike Lord Enfield in the face. The lord reacted bringing his free hand up to protect himself. Felix managed to wrest the knife from his attacker’s hand and brought it up to the lord’s throat.
“I believe this man belongs to you,” Felix remarked to the line of brothers that now encircled them.
Lord Alexander stepped forward placing a pistol to his father’s head. “Get up,” he growled.
Lord Enfield slowly did is bid. “You would not murder your own father,” he argued.
“You underestimate me, Father.”
A glint of pride entered Lord Enfield’s eyes at Alexander’s words. “You are my son.”
A knife flickered into Lord Enfield’s hand from within his sleeve as made ready to stab it into Alexander’s torso. Alexander did not blink. He did not flinch. He simply pulled the trigger. Lord Enfield dropped like a stone onto the library floor. His final expression of gape mouthed surprise imprinted upon his face for all eternity, his eyes gazing sightless up at the ceiling overhead.
Felix rushed forward and took Marybeth into his arms. Her fevered body gave him cause for great alarm. “We must get her fever down,” he informed Alexander. “If we do not, she is sure to die.”
“We need large amounts of cool water,” Alexander stated reaching down to feel his sister’s face.
“The pump by the stables,” Oliver offered. “It pours into a large horse trough.”
Felix lifted Marybeth from the chaise lounge and carried her outside. He walked back behind the stables to the trough in question. Oliver held up a lantern for his master to see by. He lifted the pump handle causing fresh cool water to flow into the trough. Felix stepped into the water and sat down with Marybeth in his arms using his shoulder to hold her head above the surface of the water.
Ripping off his cravat he used it to bathe Marybeth’s face, but it was not enough. Sitting back against the edge of the trough he allowed the cool water to flow from the pump over the top of Marybeth’s head, careful not to allow her airway to be overcome with water.
Lord Alexander came around the side of the stables and stood over them. He gazed down at his sister’s face with a mixture of sorrow and affection. “We have removed Father’s body from the library and loaded it onto the back of his horse. We will take it into the magistrate now. If I am still a free man upon having done so, we will return.”
“I will bear witness that you acted in self-defense, and in the defense of myself and your sister. No judge in his right mind would fault you for that,” Felix promised. His heart went out to the man.
“Patricide is highly frowned upon by the English courts. We shall see.”
“It was not murder, Alexander. Do not doubt your actions, or bear guilt that is not yours to bear.”
“I do not regret my actions and would do so again in an instant. Even if it meant I would hang for it upon the morrow.”
“It will not come to that,” Felix promised.
“Until we meet again,” Alexander bowed to Felix, then reached down and caressed his sister’s cheek. “Take good care of her, Your Grace, for you hold within your arms the most precious gift in all of England.”
“You will return to us soon and aid in her care. Do not doubt it,” Felix answered reassuringly. Alexander nodded, then turned and disappeared into the night.
Oliver continued to pump water over Felix and Marybeth. The trough filled with water and overflowed onto the ground, streaming across the hard-packed earth. Felix remained in the trough with Marybeth for a long time. He could feel the skin on his hands and feet wrinkling. Gooseflesh broke out across his body and he began to shiver in the cool night air, but he stayed with her, ensuring that she remained above the water.
Marybeth shivered uncontrollably, sloshing about in the water. She began to fight back against the stream of water flowing over her face. “Shhh,” Felix soothed as he held her fast. “I am sorry, my love, but we must do this.”
Delirious with fever, his voice did not make any difference to Marybeth’s frantic state. She was not coherent and unable to comprehend what was happening. “No,” she cried out over and over. “You hurt my mother. I will kill you for that.”
“She thinks that you are her father,” Oliver noted shaking his head in concern. “She knows not what she says. The fever has addled her wits.”
“Marybeth, it is I, Felix. Come back to me, my love,” Felix soothed, knowing it was all for naught until they were able to reduce her temperature. He caressed the wet hair back from her face and continued to speak reassuringly into her ear.
They went on like this for some time before the fever finally broke. Dawn lit up the sky and in its early grey light, Felix could see that the trough water had been tinged pink with blood. “She has broken open her bandaging in the struggle,” he remarked as he stood on shaky legs to carry her back into the house.
“Your hand is bleeding again as well, Your Grace,” Oliver remarked motioning with his head toward Felix’s offending appendage. “It is certain that each of your blood has entered the other’s wound.”
“Blood of my blood and flesh of my flesh,” Felix murmured gazing down into the unconscious face of the woman he loved more than all else.
Oliver nodded in agreement. “And you are hers.”
Chapter 35
When Marybeth awoke, she found herself surrounded by a wall of men. Felix, Oliver, Mr. Wheatly, and all seven of her surviving brothers stood with matching troubled expressions. Pain shot through her abdomen and she reached up to find herself covered in bandages. Her mind was fuzzy, and she attempted to remember what had brought her to such a state. “What has happened?” she asked attempting to sit up but failed.
“You were shot by the Earl of Bredon,” Felix answered, coming to sit beside her. He took her hand in his and kissed it tenderly. “What is the last thing you remember?”
Marybeth closed her eyes in pain as everything came rushing back. “What happened after I was shot?”
“Are you certain that you are up for such a gruesome tale? Perhaps you should rest a bit more?” Mr. Wheatly suggested handing her a cup of water.
“No, I want to know.” Turning to Felix she asked, “Did you get him? Did you get the Earl of Bredon?”
“Yes, he is with the magistrate now. He and his men will be swinging at the end of a rope very soon,” Felix answered, rubbing his thumb comfortingly over the back of her hand.
“And Lord Enfield?” She could not bring herself to refer to him as her father.
“He is dead,” Alexander answered stepping forward to stand at her feet. “I killed him.”
“Good,” Marybeth replied. Relief washed over her entire being at the news. “I am sorry that it had to be you, Alexander, but I cannot deny that I am greatly pleased that he has finally met his end.”
Alexander nodded his head in acknowledgement of her words. “As am I.”
“The magistrate is aware of all that transpired?” she asked concerned for Alexander’s safety.
“There was a clear case for defense, so no one will be charged for Lord Enfield’s death,” Felix explained. “Or should I say, the former Lord Enfield,” nodding in acknowledgement of Alexander’s new title.
“So much death leading to a title I have never wanted,” Alexander admitted, shaking his head.
“You will make the name to be that of an honorable estate, I have no doubt,” Felix reassured him. “You are a good man and more than worthy.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Alexander bowed graciously.
“Please, call me Felix. We have become brothers in this,
you and I.”
“Indeed, we have,” Alexander agreed. He reached down and laid a hand on Marybeth’s foot squeezing it affectionately. “We will leave you to rest now, but will return upon the morrow. When we do, I would like it very much if you would consider coming to live with us at Enfield. You are our sister, and with Father dead there is no reason why you cannot be with our family.” He and Felix exchanged a look Marybeth did not understand. “At least for a time.”
“Thank you, but I do not know that I could ever feel at home at Enfield. I fear all I would ever think upon would be our father’s heinous deeds. I cannot countenance the reminder that I share the same blood with such a man. ‘Twould be better if I simply returned to my croft, alone.”
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