by Joan Wolf
It was Adrian.
“Thank God!” I said. “Adrian, Harry has been shot!”
He was down on his knees next to his brother in an instant. I looked around for a weapon in case I needed it, and grabbed a spade as the most useful tool available. I stood next to Stade, ready to bash him again if he started to wake up.
Adrian had pulled off his neckcloth and was using it to stanch the blood from Harry’s wound. I felt intense relief when I heard Harry groan. At least he was still alive.
“You took a nice pop in the shoulder, lad,” Adrian was saying to his brother. His voice was perfectly calm. “It’s going to hurt like bloody hell when the sawbones gets at it, but you’ll survive.”
“You got... the note?” Harry gasped.
“I did. Thank you, Harry. You did everything right.”
They were such simple words, and they were spoken simply too, but I know that my throat closed down with emotion, and I saw the way Harry’s fingers closed around his brother’s hand.
Chapter Twenty-six
Adrian sent me back to the house to fetch help and to send someone for a doctor. I waited in the hall, and when they carried Harry in the front door on a hurdle, it brought back with a flash of painful intensity the day my father had died.
I huddled against the wall, looked at Harry’s white face and closed eyes as he was carried by, and prayed. Please God, not Harry too. Please, please, please. Not Harry. Don’t take Harry. Please...
The four stalwart footmen who were carrying Harry’s makeshift stretcher headed for the stairs. Adrian came over to me and put his arm around my shoulders. “He isn’t going to die, Kate,” he said quietly. “It’s just a shoulder wound.”
I pressed into his comfort and his strength. “You’re not just saying that?” I whispered.
“I am not just saying that. Now, I want you to come along upstairs with me. You’ve had a terrible shock and you need to rest.”
I let him move me toward the stairs. When we reached the first step I stopped and said, “They carried Papa in like that after Stade shot him.”
“Your father was shot in the chest,” he said in that same quiet voice. “Harry’s injury is in his shoulder.”
Slowly we began to climb the stairs. Four steps up, I stopped again and looked searchingly into his face. “Are you sure he is going to be all right, Adrian? You are not just saying that to make me feel better?”
He returned my look, his dark gray eyes level and grave. “Trust me, Kate. I have seen all kinds of wounds, and you may believe me when I say that Harry is not going to die.”
I did believe him. My eyes closed and my knees buckled with the intensity of my relief. He felt me sway, lifted me off the stairs and into his arms, and carried me the rest of the way to our bedroom.
“Take care of her ladyship,” he said to a startled Jeanette as he deposited me on the bed. He looked down at me. “I’ll come back after the doctor has seen Harry,” he said, and departed to see to his brother.
I let Jeanette undress me and I told her to make up the fire before she left. Then I wrapped myself in a satin quilt from the bed and curled up in the big rocking chair in front of the fire. I prayed for Harry.
It was several hours before Adrian returned. His first words when he saw me peeking around the back of the rocker were “You should be in bed.”
“I couldn’t sleep until I heard what the doctor had to say.”
He crossed the room slowly and leaned his shoulders against the mantelpiece so that he was facing me. He looked so very weary, and my heart went out to him. “The doctor dug the bullet out,” he said. “Harry was very brave. I gave him rather a lot of brandy and he’s sleeping now. I’m going to change my clothes and spend the night in his room in case he wakes and needs something.”
I said in a rush, “Adrian, I am so sorry. It’s all my fault that Harry was hurt. If I had not been so stupid this would never never have happened.”
He looked at me out of shadowed eyes. “It was a stupid thing to do, Kate. How could you have been so foolish as to go tearing off on your own like that?”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t thinking very clearly,” I said small voice. “How did Harry know where to look for me?
Lines of weariness bracketed his mouth; he looked like a man who has not slept in days. He said, “You took Miss Ellsworth’s cloak. She and Harry were going to go for a stroll in the gardens, and when they went to get her cloak, it was missing. In its place Harry found Stade’s note. Apparently you put it down when you picked up the cloak. It is nothing short of a miracle that Harry read it.”
My eyes clung to his face. “Why did he?”
He shook his head slowly. “We’ll have to ask him that when he is feeling better. The information I have given you thus far I garnered from Miss Ellsworth.”
“So when Harry read the note, he grabbed a poker and came racing to my rescue?”
“Yes. And he instructed Miss Ellsworth to take the letter to me.” The shadows around his eyes and the lines around his mouth seemed to deepen. “Thank God he did not take the time to look for me himself, Kate. If he had, we would have been too late.”
I said, “Stade just wanted revenge, Adrian. He wanted to hurt me because I had exposed him to the Jockey Club.” I clutched the quilt closer against the sudden chill that made me shudder. “What an evil, evil man he is.”
“Yes,” he said bleakly, and was silent.
I longed, with an ache that was almost physical it was so intense, for him to hold me. But the distance between us was more than just physical. My thoughtless stupidity had almost killed his brother. How could I ask him to comfort me? How could I dare presume to offer comfort to him?
I tightened my grip on my quilt until my knuckles were white and said again, “I am so sorry “
He frowned at me. “What I cannot understand is why in God’s name you did not send for Harry as soon as you got Stade’s note.”
As upset as I was, I didn’t fail to notice that he had not questioned as to why I had not sent for him. The gulf between us was yawning wider and wider.
“I just didn’t think, Adrian,” I said wretchedly. “Once I was in the garden I realized I had made a mistake, but Stade caught me before I could return to the house for help.”
“He took you into the garden shed, I gather?”
“Yes.” My voice got a little stronger. “He was going to shoot me, Adrian. He did actually squeeze the trigger, but Harry came in behind him and made him miss. Then Harry hit him over the head with the poker, but Stade managed to get a shot off before he went down. That was the shot that hit Harry. They both fell to the ground at the same time.”
Silence. He rubbed his hand over his face.
“I am so very very sorry.” I said, repeating myself like a parrot that knows only one phrase.
He lowered his hand and gave me a strained smile that did not touch his eyes. “Well, at least one good thing can be said to have come out of this night,” he said.
“And what is that?” I asked in utter bewilderment.
“I believe you once told me that Harry wanted to be a hero,” Adrian said. “Well, he most certainly was that tonight, Kate. He saved your life.”
I blinked. “I had not thought of that, but you’re right, Adrian. If Harry had not come along when he did, I would most certainly be dead.”
“He was even wounded. Give him a day or two and he will be delighted.”
I stared into his unsmiling eyes. “Harry isn’t going to die, is he, Adrian?” I could not keep my voice from cracking,
“No, he isn’t going to die, Kate.” He pushed his shoulders away from the wall. “I am going to sit up with him tonight, however. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he developed a fever.”
“I would be happy to keep you company,” I offered tentatively.
He rejected me without a moment’s hesitation. “Go to bed, Kate. You look like a ghost. You’ve had a terrible shock, and you don’t want to run the risk of miscarr
ying the child.”
“No, of course I don’t want to do that,” I said woefully.
“Then get into bed,” he repeated. “You may safely leave Harry to me.”
* * * *
When Harry awoke just before dawn, he did have a fever. The doctor came back and prescribed some kind of a brew for him to drink. He suggested bloodletting, but Adrian wouldn’t allow it.
The day dragged by interminably. I went in to sit with Harry for two hours in the afternoon, while Adrian caught some sleep, and Harry’s fever-bright eyes and flushed skin frightened me badly. His brain was clear, however. He knew me, and he even made a joke about all the attention he was getting.
“I feel so bad that you were hurt, Harry,” I said. “It was all my fault. But I am so grateful to you. You saved my life.”
“The bastard was going to shoot you,” he said.
“He certainly was. I was never so glad to see anyone in all my life as I was to see you.” I repeated, “You saved my life.”
His eyes glittered. He said, “Could I have some water, Kate?”
“Of course.”
I sat beside him, and held his hand, and talked softly of this and that, but after a while his attention wandered. I saw his eyes going again and again to the door.
When at last it opened and Adrian came in, the relief on Harry’s face was unmistakable.
“How are you doing, lad?” Adrian asked as he came to stand on the opposite side of the bed from me.
“Good,” Harry said. “Kate is taking good care of me.”
“I thought she would, but you are going to have to put up with me for a while. Kate is going to go for a walk in the garden with Lady Mary.”
Walking with Lady Mary was absolutely the last thing I wanted to do, but I said, “That will be nice,” and got to my feet. Adrian put a competent hand on Harry’s forehead.
“I’m still hot,” Harry said.
“This kind of fever very often accompanies a gunshot wound,” Adrian said. “I’ve seen it hundreds of times. You’ll be right as rain in a few days, Harry.”
Harry’s eyes were clinging to Adrian’s face. Adrian grinned at him. “Don’t complain, little brother. You are in a nice warm house, in a nice warm bed, with a beautiful woman to tell you what a hero you are. Let me tell you, it’s a great deal better than a muddy tent in Spain!”
“I wasn’t aware that I was complaining,” Harry retorted.
Adrian glanced at me and nodded his head toward the door. I bent to kiss Harry’s forehead; it was too hot. “I’ll look in on you again later,” I said.
He nodded.
“Time for another dose of medicine,” Adrian said.
Harry groaned.
I went out.
* * * *
Lady Mary was indeed waiting for me at the head of the stairs. I decided it would be too much trouble to try to think up an excuse as to why I couldn’t walk with her, so I went. We were joined on the terrace by Mr. Bellerton.
“Did you have a fever after you were wounded, Mr. Bellerton?” I asked him as we walked along one of the multitudinous gravel paths that wound through Lady Barbury’s gardens.
“I certainly did, Lady Greystone,” he replied.
I felt a trifle better. “My brother-in-law has a fever and it worries me,” I confided. “He seems so sick.”
“Where was he shot, Lady Greystone?”
“In his right shoulder.”
“Did the bullet lodge itself inside him?”
“Yes. The doctor had to dig it out.”
“That’s why he has a fever,” Mr. Bellerton said. “It happens every time a bullet is dug out.”
“But the patient always recovers;?” I could not hide my anxiety.
“Usually,” Mr. Bellerton said.
I stopped walking. “Usually? My husband told me that he was certain Harry would recover.”
“If Greystone told you that, then you have nothing to worry about, Lady Greystone,” Mr. Bellerton said. “He has seen enough wounds in his time to be a judge.”
That, of course, was what I kept telling myself. But I had seen the worried line between Adrian’s brows when he looked at his brother. I was not sure.
“I am certain that many of the deaths in the Peninsula resulted from lack of good nursing care,” Lady Mary said. “That will not be the case with your brother-in-law, Lady Greystone.”
Much as I hated to accept comfort from her, I had to admit that her comment was comforting. I nodded and walked slowly forward once again.
“What precisely did happen last night, Lady Greystone?” Lady Mary asked. “We have heard all sorts of rumors today. Do you know that they carried in Lord Stade after Mr. Woodrow?”
I was outraged. “Is Stade still in the house?”
“No,” Mr. Bellerton said. “He went home by chaise this morning.”
They did not press me again, but they were both looking at me so hopefully that I had to ask, “The rest of the household really doesn’t know what happened?”
They shook their heads.
I reflected that it would probably be better for people to know the truth. If we tried to maintain secrecy, all kinds of speculation was likely to ensue.
“Well, I wasn’t trying to elope with Stade,” I said tartly.
Lady Mary and Mr. Bellerton exchanged glances.
Damn, I thought. People were speculating!
“Of course no one thinks that, Lady Greystone,” Lady Mary said.
Hah.
“I think I will tell you exactly what happened,” I said, and proceeded to do just that. Their eyes were popping by the time I finished my tale.
“What a villain,” Mr. Bellerton said feelingly.
“I hope they hang and draw and quarter him and stick his head on London Bridge,” I said.
“I don’t blame you,” Lady Mary said. If I hadn’t seen Adrian kissing her hand last night, I would have quite liked her.
“I don’t believe we do that to criminals anymore,” Mr. Bellerton murmured with amusement.
“Too bad,” I said.
“Rest assured that he will be called to account for his attack on you, Lady Greystone,” Mr. Bellerton assured me. “Thanks to that piece of viciousness, he will be looking at a much more severe punishment than a simple banning by the Jockey Club.”
That news would have made me happy, if only I were not so worried about Harry.
* * * *
As the day waned, Harry’s fever rose, and Adrian spent yet another night sitting by his side. The doctor came with more potions and another offer to bleed Harry, which Adrian once again refused.
The following morning, Harry’s fever broke. His brow was cool and he was sleeping soundly when I came into his room at seven in the morning. Adrian, who had spent the night in a chair drawn up close to Harry’s bed, was sleeping too, his feet resting on an ottoman. His hair was rumpled, there was stubble on his cheeks and chin, and he was wearing a coat but not a neckcloth. He did not look comfortable.
I took advantage of his unconscious state to bend and kiss him on the forehead. His eyes flew open. “Kate,” he said groggily.
“Yes. Harry’s fever has broken, Adrian! Feel him—he’s cool.”
“I know. It broke about two hours ago.” He struggled to extricate himself from the knitted blanket he had wrapped himself in. A piece of the wool was caught on one of his buttons, and I disengaged it for him. He didn’t stir until I had removed my hands. Then he got up and walked to the bed. He nodded with satisfaction at what he saw, turned back to me, started to say something, and was interrupted by a huge yawn.
“This means that he will be all right, doesn’t it?” I asked anxiously.
“Yes.” He rubbed his hand up and down over his face, obviously trying to wake up. “It’s just a matter now of waiting for the wound to heal.” He rubbed his head, further rumpling his hair.
“Adrian,” I said gently, “go to bed. I will remain here with Harry until he wakens.”
“I’m all right,” he said. “I got some sleep in the chair.”
“You look exhausted,” I told him.
He shook his head, and yawned again.
I walked to the door and opened it. “Go to bed, Adrian,” I said.
He tried vainly to stifle another yawn. “Perhaps I could do with a few hours’ rest,” he admitted.
I looked at his stocking feet. “Where are your boots?”
He looked vaguely over his shoulder. “By the fire?”
I went and fetched his Hessians, put them in his hand, pointed him toward the door, and gave him a gentle push.
He resisted long enough to say, “Be sure and call me when the doctor comes.”
“I will,” I promised. He went out into the hall. I softly closed the door behind him and went to sit beside Harry.
He awoke at nine o’clock grumbling that he was hungry. I ordered him some broth and fed it to him, since he could not manage the spoon. Then he went back to sleep.
He woke again shortly before noon, when the doctor was due to arrive to change his bandage. When I told him about the doctor’s projected visit, he scowled.
I bit my lip and said, “I feel so guilty when I see you suffering like this.”
The scowl disappeared. “There’s nothing to feel guilty about, Kate,” he said gruffly. “It’s just a pop in the shoulder. I’ll be right as rain in a couple of weeks.”
I rested my elbows on the edge of the bed and said earnestly, “If you hadn’t come in when you did, Harry, I would be rotting in the ground by now.”
He pretended to shudder. “You have the most descriptive vocabulary.”
“Well, it’s true.” I leaned my head closer. “Adrian told me that you found the note Stade had sent me on top of the pile of cloaks. We have been wondering—whatever induced you to read it, Harry?”
“I saw your name on it,” he replied slowly. “I don’t usually read missives that are not addressed to me, you know, but I got the strangest feeling when I saw that note. I didn’t even think about it. I just picked it up and read it.”
“And then you decided to come after me?”
He nodded. “I gave the note to Miss Ellsworth and told her to find Adrian, then I picked up the first heavy object I could find and ran like hell. I got a very bad feeling when I read that note, Kate. A very bad feeling.”