Blast, had she made the right decision? Garrett had agreed, but was he in his right mind to make any type of conclusion in his present state? This was not a wound they could bind and hope for the best.
Martin ordered a tray with tea and sandwiches, and Dr. Phillips immediately helped himself. Abbie could not think of food. Her insides tumbled and shook with worry and fright. The thought of losing Garrett tore her asunder.
At last, Martin announced, “Dr. Faraday from London.”
“Good God, a blackamoor!” Phillips gasped, clearly shocked.
The young man appeared to be no more than thirty. He had an air of self-confidence that Abbie immediately admired, and he did not flinch at what she considered a derogatory term.
“I assure you, sir, I am neither Muslim nor from Africa. I was born in Chelsea,” the young doctor stated, his tone even.
“There must be some mistake,” Dr. Phillips prattled. “This cannot be the earl’s personal physician.” He turned to face Dr. Faraday. “What are your credentials?”
“My father is white, does that suffice? Do I have enough Anglo-Saxon in me to warrant the consideration I am due?” Dr. Faraday kept the emotion in his voice under control, but Abbie could hear the annoyance nonetheless.
Dr. Phillips merely sputtered, mumbling unintelligibly.
“I graduated from Cambridge, and am a member of the College of Physicians, which I believe are adequate credentials by anyone’s standards,” Faraday continued. “Now, is this the patient?”
“Yes, Doctor. I am Mrs. Hughes. I have no credentials except that my late husband was also a physician. I demanded that we wait for your arrival; Dr. Phillips diagnosed removal of the arm.”
Dr. Faraday sat his large satchel on the table they had placed near the chaise Garrett laid upon. “Well, we will determine if amputation is necessary; however, an examination is in order first. Will you assist, Dr. Phillips?”
The older man seemed stunned at the request, then cleared his throat. “Yes, of course.”
“Mrs. Hughes,” Faraday said in a kind voice. “You may remain, as we may need your assistance. Martin as well. Allow me to see the wound.”
Nodding, she reluctantly stepped away from Garrett, and as soon as she released pressure, another spurt of blood thrust out, tricking down his chest.
“See how it pumps? Definitely an artery. A vein has more of a steady flow. I am assuming the artery is still intact or he would have bled out by now. How long since Mr. Wollstonecraft has been shot?” Faraday asked.
Abbie glanced at the mantel clock. “Two hours and fifteen minutes.”
“There is no time to waste. I will require boiling hot water to sterilize my surgical apparatus, and we will need plenty of brandy for the patient.”
“I will see to the water immediately.” Martin rushed from the room.
“Dr. Liston, at St. Bartholomew’s, is testing using ether, a compound from America. It renders the patient unconscious during operations and various procedures. Alas, we will have to dull Master Garrett’s senses with spirits,” Faraday stated.
“Ether? How fascinating,” Phillips murmured, temporarily forgetting his previous prejudice.
“Will you be able to assist, Mrs. Hughes? A warning: there will be a good deal of blood,” Faraday said as he unpacked his satchel.
Abbie nodded shakily.
“Then let us make preparations. Dr. Phillips, place pressure on the wound while Mrs. Hughes assists the patient in drinking a copious amount of brandy. I will prepare.”
Everyone went about their duties silently. With the knives boiled, and sleeves rolled up, Dr. Faraday insisted that they wash with carbolic soap before handling any of the sterile instruments.
The doctor placed a padded stick in Garrett’s mouth, and as soon as he made the first incision, Garrett moaned and passed out. Using clamps, he spread open the wound. “There. By God, he is lucky. There is a small tear in the subclavian artery. The surrounding veins are intact, and it appears that the brachial plexus is whole.” Faraday turned slightly toward Abbie. “That is the bundle of nerves controlling arm function. Whether he will have complete control of his arm remains to be seen.”
“The bullet must have passed straight through, nicking the artery on its passage,” Phillips stated.
“Yes. Will you clamp the artery closed, Doctor?”
Phillips gave Faraday an astonished look. “I have never done anything remotely like this before…”
“There is always the first time. Mrs. Hughes, pass me the curved needle.”
The next several minutes passed in silence, as more oil lamps were brought in to cast further illumination while the sun set. Abbie watched, fascinated, as the two unlikely doctors worked in tandem to close the tear.
“My word. The neatest, tightest stitching I’ve had the honor to witness,” Phillips remarked, awe in his voice.
“Thank you, Dr. Phillips. Will you finish closing the wound?” Faraday stepped aside, and Abbie’s admiration for the young man increased. Regardless of Phillips’s rude tone and prejudicial comment, Faraday had kept his composure and included the older country doctor in the procedure.
“Despite our care, infection will be the next hurdle to overcome.” Faraday turned to face her. “May I say that I admire your instincts, Mrs. Hughes? By keeping constant pressure on the wound, I can honestly state that you saved Garrett Wollstonecraft’s life. Well done.”
Faraday joined Phillips, and together they addressed the exit wound, then bound Garrett’s shoulder with the torn, clean cloths.
She had saved Garrett’s life. Abbie exhaled shakily as she sat in the nearby wingchair.
Phillips passed her a cup of tea. “Well done, indeed, Mrs. Hughes.”
She gave Phillips a polite nod and sipped. Closing her eyes, she sighed as the warmth from the tea spread through her, giving comfort and calm as only a cuppa could.
While reveling in the quiet peace, a clamor rose outside. Loud voices grew closer, then the earl and viscount burst into the room with Martin and one of the footmen hard upon on their heels. Abbie stood, as did Phillips.
“My son. Bastian, tell us everything,” the earl said to Faraday, his voice shaking with worry.
The young doctor gave a compelling narrative, including Abbie and Phillips in the telling. “I gave your son a strong dose of laudanum, and along with the brandy, he will sleep for hours. We can only hope that infection and fever do not take hold. He should stay here for the night and may be moved to his room tomorrow.” He laid a hand on the earl’s shoulder. “Though your son lost a goodly amount of blood, my lord, I do not feel a transfusion is warranted. We have Mrs. Hughes to thank for ensuring the situation did not become dire, even fatal.”
Abbie blushed under the praise, and the earl and viscount came to stand before her. “How can I thank you, Abbie? May I call you Abbie?” the earl said, a shaky smile curving about his mouth.
“Of course, my lord.”
He clasped her upper arms gently. “No more of that. You are family. I am Oliver.”
Julian nodded as he clutched her arm, pulling her from his father and into a crushing embrace. Goodness. She was not used to such emotion from Garrett’s older brother, but this proved she did not know these men at all. Abbie found that she wanted to. Family. How utterly astonishing. “And I am Julian. Thank you, Abbie.”
Momentarily dumbfounded, she returned the embrace and basked in its welcoming warmth. They broke apart and laughed, more from the relief that Garrett would no doubt survive.
“Martin, see there is a light supper laid out for our guests in about an hour. Bastian, you will be staying the night?” Oliver asked.
“Of course,” Dr. Faraday replied. “I assumed as much and brought my valise. I left word at the hospital that I would be staying until Garrett is on the mend.”
“Brilliant.” Oliv
er turned toward Martin and said, “Riordan and his wife, Sabrina, are following directly behind us. He had to make arrangements for his students. See that rooms are prepared for everyone.”
Martin bowed. “At once, my lord.”
“Dr. Phillips, will you stay for a meal?” the earl asked.
“Well, I…” The older man was obviously flustered at being asked to dine at the earl’s table. “I would be honored, my lord.”
“Martin, please show the doctors to the library and offer them a drink. We will join you directly.”
With the doctors’ departure, Oliver turned his attention to her. “Can you tell us what happened?”
“I will, but first I must go to Megan. She must be wondering what is going on. It was she who rode for help.”
Oliver smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Ah, my stout-hearted lass.”
“Sit with Garrett and I will return shortly.” Abbie turned to leave, then halted. “I will take a light meal in here. I will not be leaving his side.”
“As I surmised,” Oliver said. “I will make the arrangements.”
Abbie lifted her skirts and hurried upstairs. Glancing at the front of her riding habit, she shuddered at the sight of the blood. The outfit was no doubt ruined, but she didn’t care. Garrett was alive. It was all that mattered.
Megan stood as soon as Abbie entered the room. “Is he…”
“Alive, yes. The earl’s physician arrived from London and stitched the artery closed. Garrett is resting.”
Megan exhaled and sat on the edge of the bed. Abbie joined her and slipped her arm about her daughter’s shoulders. It was then the floodgates opened. Abbie cried, sobbing piteously, allowing all her pent-up emotions free.
Megan hugged her. “Oh, Mama. You do love him.”
Abbie laid her head on her daughter’s shoulder. “This has hit me hard. I do have deep feelings for Garrett. Yes, I love him. Perhaps I never stopped. Are you upset to hear this?”
“No,” Megan hedged.
“You don’t mind?” Abbie sniffled as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“I admit that finding out Garrett Wollstonecraft is my father was, and is, shocking. Upsetting, even. However, I believe we will become friends. I’ve also gained a grandfather, uncle, and cousins. Megan laughed lightly. “And if you do decide to marry him someday? We can live here at the hall, with horses and servants. And with Jonas nearby? How exciting!” Megan sobered. “How selfish I sound. Truly, your happiness comes first, Mama. I do wish you to be happy above all else. The decision is yours to make. I will not stand in your way.”
“My, you are growing up. How very wise of you, my dear,” Abbie replied softly.
“I’d like to do something for Garrett. He sounded sad when he spoke of his grandfather and the Scotch collie. Is it possible for us to buy him another? Having a new puppy will help him recover, I’m sure of it. And it will keep him company when we return home.”
“How considerate,” Abbie smiled. “I will broach the subject with the earl.”
Abbie hugged her daughter. Thank God she was softening toward Garrett at last, enough to make a thoughtful suggestion. It was a good start. First, Garrett had to recover before anything else was decided—and Abbie would not get a moment’s rest until he did.
* * * *
Garrett could not make sense of where he was. His mind was fuzzy; his surroundings lay in shadow and chaotic confusion. Last he remembered he was out riding with Abbie and Megan. I was shot. Yes, he understood he’d been wounded. Drifting in and out of consciousness, he’d managed to pick up snippets of conversation. Arguments. Talk of amputation. Possible infection. Fever. And of death.
A narrow band of light lay ahead of him. Walking toward it, he realized the light was actually a wall of flame. He was carrying something, a log for the fire? He glanced down and screamed.
He carried his own severed arm.
His eyes popped open and Abbie wiped his brow, speaking soothing words. His arm! He found it was still attached, though he couldn’t move the damned thing. Bloody hell, why wouldn’t his eyes focus? There were people in the room, but they all disappeared in a swirl of mist. Stay awake. But he could not. Fatigue washed over him and all grew dark.
* * * *
“Is there anything we can do, Doctor?” Abbie asked, her voice filled with anguish over Garrett’s delirious state.
“Unfortunately, we must allow the fever to run its course. There is much we can do to assist it along. I am not a believer in sweating out a fever. Garrett must be kept cool. Keep the windows open. Put out the fire. We will need tarps to lie across him and the bed. And we will need ice. Plenty of ice to lay on the tarps. We must bring his temperature down,” Faraday stated, his voice grave.
“Martin, see it done. Bring enough ice from the ice house to cover Master Garrett and the bed itself,” the earl ordered.
“I will prepare a nostrum that I often use for fevers,” Faraday said. Oliver nodded and the doctor exited the room, closing the door softly behind him.
Riordan also stood nearby, an apprehensive look on his face. He’d arrived later the first night, and Abbie had been immediately struck at the weariness etched in his countenance. First, to hear of his twin, Aidan, and now his uncle. Gazing at Riordan, it was clear that he loved his uncle fiercely.
“I will do the ice collecting,” Riordan murmured. “I need something to do.”
“Very well,” the earl said. He watched worriedly as his grandson departed. Turning to Abbie, he said, “He took the news about Aidan hard, but this. Sabrina has been a rock. As are you, Abbie.”
Already she and Sabrina had become fast friends, though the socializing came to an abrupt halt when Garrett succumbed to this lingering fever. Abbie continued to wipe Garrett’s feverish brow. “There has certainly been a good deal of drama in the Wollstonecraft men’s lives of late. And it appeared when women entered your sphere.”
Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying that this is the curse? It affects the women, not the men.”
Abbie met his steady gaze. “And you think that we are not affected by all this?”
“No, that is not what I meant,” he snapped. Oliver shook his head. “Forgive me. My nerves are balanced on the edge of a knife, the same as everyone else’s. The curse is a sensitive subject. We do not speak of it if we can at all help it, but it hovers over us nonetheless. A curse of the broken-hearted.” Oliver frowned. “What disturbs me is that this was a deliberate act. I would call for the constable, but there is nothing to report.”
“I understand. It is frustrating. At first, I thought that it could be a hunter or poacher. But why the second shot so quickly after the initial one, and in the same general vicinity? Too much of a coincidence.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Abbie dipped the cloth in the basin of cool water and continued to wipe the perspiration from Garrett’s flushed face. “To change the subject, Megan mentioned she would like us to purchase a Scotch collie puppy for Garrett. Do you know of where we could procure one without traveling to Scotland? Do you believe Garrett would welcome such a gift?”
Abbie saw doubt flicker across his face—doubt that Garrett would recover. But as quickly as it appeared, a resolute look replaced it. “When you told me that Alec Mackinnon had passed, I experienced a genuine sadness. Garrett adored him. Though I extended numerous invitations through the years, both before and after Moira died, he remained a creature of habit and loathed traveling. So I allowed Garrett to spend several summers in Scotland with his grandparents.” He smiled. “Alec gifted Garrett with a collie years ago. A collie puppy would be welcome, not only to assist with recovery, but a remembrance for his grandfather. Permit me to make inquiries.”
Abbie gave him a warm smile. “Thank you, Oliver.”
“Alberta Eaton has made overtures. I thought to invite her and Jonas this even
ing. Company for you and Megan. She also wishes to assist, and I do not have the heart to refuse her.” Oliver laid a hand on her shoulder. “Join us for an hour or two. You need a short respite. Bastian can sit with Garrett while we share a meal.”
The thought of leaving his side filled her with fright, but what better person to watch over Garrett than a competent doctor? “I thought Dr. Phillips would suffer apoplexy when he strode into the room. How do you know him?”
Oliver clasped his hands behind his back. “He is impressive. Bastian is the son of a ship builder and a lovely lady from the West Indies, more specifically, Jamaica. She is the daughter of a successful sugar producer. Even though the Faradays are rich in their own right, I wished to sponsor someone at Cambridge. Someone outside Society’s accepted norm. It was a particular achievement, seeing Bastian’s maternal grandfather was a freed slave.”
“I abhorred the existence of a slavery trade. I am relieved it was finally abolished in the commonwealth.”
“It should have passed long before 1838. A stain upon the empire, and I fear it shall be for generations to come. Despite his achievements and the successes of his mother’s family, Bastian, for all his tall, good looks and intelligence, will never fully be accepted into Society. I aim to do all I can to further his cause. Hence the reason I made him my personal physician. Well, that and the fact that he is highly capable.”
“He certainly took charge and saved the day.” Abbie stared at Garrett. “Though this fever worries me.”
“I believe it will pass. Garrett is strong and has much to live for.”
Oliver left her alone. The room was quiet except for Garrett’s ragged breathing. As she trailed the cool cloth across his broad, muscled chest, a distant memory filled her thoughts.
By this point in her summer visit she had fallen desperately in love with him. One afternoon she took a walk. She and Garrett had made plans to meet later in the evening, but she longed to see him—even if it was only a distant glimpse. Her journey had been rewarded. Garrett stood outside the stables, shirt removed, giving his black stallion a wash. Hidden behind a cluster of shrubs, she watched as the play of muscles in his back rippled with each swirling rub of the horse’s glossy coat. Garrett wore a large glove, rubbing in the soap, talking in a quiet tone. Midnight Thunder whickered the occasional response, showing how relaxed he was in Garrett’s presence. Garrett was as finely muscled and sculpted as his stallion. Arousal gripped her as she continued to observe man and beast in perfect harmony.
Scandal with a Sinful Scot Page 19