A Lady Most Dangerous (Helen Foster)

by Caroline Hanson

  The man next to her spoke up, “No, no, the priest is already there. We’re waiting for the butcher or a hearse.”

  The maid made a sound. “Bad as all that, is it?”

  “Oh, it’s bad; it’s almost certain—” he flashed a look at Helen and whatever he saw on her face made him hesitate, as though he were choosing other words. “We don’t know yet. But Robbie saw his intended arrive, beautiful and cool as a cucumber.”

  “Was she sad?” the maid asked.

  The man shrugged. “Don’t know. She held a handkerchief up to cover her face as she went in.”

  “Oh, that’s awful,” the maid said. Helen stood rooted to the spot, not really understanding what was going on. There had been times in her life, too many to count actually, where she knew she was going to die. And during those times she had been scared, terrified even, but at least she’d had her wits about her. She’d been able to move, take action and get shit done. Edward. Edward was near death. Edward had been shot. And all she could do was stand there and not move.

  How? When?

  Do something! Her mind screamed at her. She inhaled sharply, surprised to find she had stopped breathing. She shoved hard through the crowd, pushing until she reached the front door. Helen took off her gloves and channeled all of her fear and nervous energy into her abilities, feeling the heat spread through her so fast it was like a match touching a fuse. She banged on the knocker, and dimly realized that everybody behind her had gone silent, waiting to see what she wanted. “Who’s that?” someone stage whispered. Silence. “Maybe it’s the mistress,” someone said, and the audience murmured in a wave.

  The door opened and she didn’t wait but shoved inside, grabbing the butler’s hand and shoving electricity into him before he could react. He gasped at the touch and his mouth opened, gaped. Helen shut the door with her foot and caught the butler as he fell, helping him to the floor so he didn’t crack his head open.

  She moved swiftly to the stairs, trying to be quiet. There were wet spots on the carpet going up the stairs, and she could smell lemon oil and vinegar if she had to guess. The spots were blood, and she could see that the staff had been trying to clean it. Blood. While they waited to know if Edward lived or died, they cleaned up the blood.

  She could see it in her head, him being found and taken upstairs. God, how much blood had there been, she wondered, eyes tracking every stain as she went up the stairs. He was going to live. Helen was making that decision right now. Whatever it took, he would survive.

  The top of the stairs was deathly quiet, but there was a bucket outside a set of doors, and she knew that must be Edward’s room. It was filled with cloths that were red with blood. Her hand shook as she touched the doorknob, and the most obscure thought came to her – this wasn’t how she’d expected to meet his family.

  With the briefest pause, Helen went into Edward’s bedroom. The room was dark. It was huge, probably her apartment could fit inside of it twice. There was a sitting area with a leather chair and a roaring fire; the drapes were a dark blue velvet, the bed a massive four-poster thing that had undoubtedly seen the conception of several generations of dukes. And maybe their deaths too.

  The room appeared empty except for a woman sitting on the bed, back away from the door. She could tell there was someone in the bed, but because of the angle, Edward was hidden. The woman turned and Helen recognized her. “Amelia?” she said, her voice quiet.

  Her face was blotchy. “You’re the woman that Edward loves, right? The American? Did mother let you in?” she asked, voice hoarse from crying.

  “No, I snuck in. Please don’t shout for help or anything. I just want to see him.”

  Edward’s sister stood, a weak smile on her face. “I imagine it would be a nice change. The only people he has seen all day are people he doesn’t like.” She turned back to him. “Edward, Helen is here,” she said softly. As if she were speaking to a child.

  “What happened?” Helen asked. Looking at Edward broke her heart. He was pale and dimmed, the vivacity and giant presence he had missing in his unconsciousness. She reached out to touch him, brushing a lock of hair back from his forehead. He had a fever.

  “He’d had a visitor…and the servants heard the shot but by the time the staff got there, the man who’d shot him was gone out the window.” Amelia picked up a cloth and wiped Edward’s face with it. “The bullet passed through him thankfully, but he won’t stop bleeding and the doctor—”

  She could see the wound on his shoulder. High enough that it didn’t hit any organs. And the bullet had gone through him, so that was good. She went forward, peering at the dressing covering the wound. Perhaps the cloth had once been white, but the lightest parts were a dark yellow and most of it was brown with dried blood. The center of the cloth was dark red with the duke’s blood. “What is this?” Helen asked staring at it with growing horror. “This isn’t clean, is it? It’s been used, this is filthy!” Helen said and had to stop herself from jerking it off immediately.

  “The doctor put it on him. Don’t take it off!”

  “The doctor is a fucking moron,” Helen said, stomach heaving with revulsion and fear. She couldn’t explain germ theory to Edward’s sister even if she’d had the time. “Send down to the kitchen, we need water and clean cloths. They need to be boiled first and then brought up here.”

  Helen looked around for a glass of water but didn’t see anything. “Water. He needs water,” she said, and even to her own ears she sounded a little hysterical.

  Just then, the door opened and a whole host of people came in. The butler led the charge, blotchy spots of anger on his cheeks and a murderous frown on his face. Behind him was Edward’s fiancée, her blonde hair piled high on her head, her expression calm. A woman who had to be Edward’s mother was beside her, her eyes similar and their hair the same shade of darkest brown. And there was an older man, plump with bloodshot eyes and white hair. Was he the doctor? If so, he was about to get an ass-kicking even if he was old as dirt. Helen stood and put her back to Edward, as though defending him. She pulled out her gun and aimed it at the group.

  “Don’t come any closer,” she said, voice calm.

  Edward’s mother moaned in fright and her face went pale. Amelia was still standing near Helen, and she suddenly pointed at her mother and said, “She’s going to go! Somebody catch her quick!” And just like that, Edward’s mother swayed and then fell like a taffeta covered tree in the forest. The butler jumped in and caught her gracefully, and with an ease that made Helen wonder just how often the woman fainted. The butler staggered slightly under her weight and looked longingly at the couch near Edward’s bed.

  “No! Haul her out of here! I mean it; I’ll shoot anybody who comes close to him.” People in the doorway froze, blinked, and then there was a shuffling; people moving so the butler could drag Edward’s mother from the room, the fabric of her dress absurdly loud as it rustled along the carpet. Before the gap could close, an old woman shuffled through. She used her cane admirably, keeping the space before her clear, like an explorer hacking away at the jungle brush, and suddenly she was at the front of the pack.

  She appeared ancient and wizened, and the look of determination on her face made Helen groan inwardly.

  “I’m sure I won’t survive the winter anyway, so if you’re going to shoot someone it can be me. Now you better give me a good explanation of what you’re doing here, missy, or else you’ll feel the sharp end of my cane.”

  “Lucy!” Amelia said, outraged. She threw a beseeching glance at Helen. “This is our nurse. She raised us. She’s like a mother to Edward.” Amelia winced before continuing, “A good mother.”

  “I taught him everything he knows,” she crowed proudly. Then tried to peer at him over her shoulder. “Now let me by or shoot me, those are the only options you have.”

  “Oh, crap,” Helen said stupidly. “I want to help him too.”

  “Whatever services you provide, my dear, I don’t think he needs them now,” she
said, and the implication was clear – Helen was a whore.

  “You must be the woman who taught him how to cook,” Helen said, needing to get this woman on her side. She couldn’t shoot her, could she? And if she did, Edward would never forgive her. There was a collective gasp and the old woman shifted on her feet, peering more intently at Helen.

  “Cook? Whatever he did, my dear, I doubt we could call it cooking. Burning, perhaps.” Rather absurdly, Helen felt a smile tug at her lips. Just as quickly tears filled her eyes, and she swallowed down her sadness and fear that Edward might not survive.

  Lucy took a step closer, her gaze not on Helen but Edward. “What’s the plan, doctor?” she asked.

  “I have brought a poultice that will dry out the wound, allowing it to heal,” said the old man with pompous authority.

  “You have no idea what you’re doing,” Helen said. “You’re not getting near him.”

  There were gasps of outrage and Edward’s fiancée said, “How dare you!”

  “What are you going to do, my dear?” Lucy asked, her gaze going from Helen to Edward and back again. “I’m sure the police have already been sent for.”

  Helen licked her lips nervously. “I can…cure him. Where I come from, medicine is much more advanced. I want to help him. I—” Helen stopped herself, realizing with a certain amount of horror that she’d been about to say that she loved him.

  “You’re not the American who blackmailed him, are you?” And she slammed her cane down on the ground like a judge with a gavel. “I told him he should have had you hung! Blackmailers always come back for more.”

  “No, Nana,” Amelia said, and stepped closer. “He loves her. He wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.”

  “I can save him. I swear. Now get out. Everyone except…you,” Helen said, pointing to Amelia. “I’ll need you to help me.”

  “I’m staying too,” Lucy said.

  “No, that’s not a good idea,” Helen said.

  “It’s the cane, isn’t it? It’s very formidable indeed.”

  The cane had had nothing to do with why Helen hadn’t wanted her in the room. It was because she was a crotchety old woman and would undoubtedly be a pain in Helen’s ass.

  “Yes, that’s the reason. Now get out.”

  The old woman turned around, walking back to the group of people. She thrust her cane out to Edward’s fiancée who looked at it like it was a snake. “Take it, girl. Then I can stay. One of us should, don’t you think?” she said, voice hard, the dig unmistakable.

  Edward’s icy fiancée reached out and took the cane in her pale, dainty hand, her nails buffed to a shine. She had the grace to blush at least. “I am not a doctor,” the fiancée said to Lucy, her voice perfect and even sharper than Edward’s. “I wouldn’t presume to know what was best for him. But do not doubt my affection. I’ve been here all morning, and instead of making calls this afternoon I intend to go straight to the church and pray.”

  “Oh good,” Lucy said, tone gruff with annoyance. “Because that always works so well. Now everybody get out,” Lucy said, and miraculously everyone backed up. Lucy closed the door and looked around the room slowly. “Where the hell is the key? We won’t get far if we can’t lock the damned doors.”

  “Here!” Amelia said and reached into a pocket in her dress. She pulled out a single key and fitted it into the lock.

  “Why do you have it, clever girl? Chosen sides I see?”

  Amelia blanched. “No… Edward gave it to me. He told me to lock out the doctor, said the man would kill him because he was an idiot.”

  “And you didn’t do it!?!” Helen said, almost shouting.

  Amelia straightened and said defensively, “He said a lot of things. It’s just that that was the only one that made sense. And what was I going to do, let him bleed to death? He has to have a doctor.”

  Lucy turned back to Helen and nodded at the gun. “You can put that away now. Let’s see what this charlatan did to my boy.” And she walked past Helen and straight to Edward.

  “We need alcohol,” Helen said.

  “I agree with you completely. Brandy. Amelia, I want a large one.”

  “Not to drink! To put on his wound. It will kill the infection. At least some of it. Who knows what germs are in there,” she said, voice trailing off.

  “You love him, then?” Lucy asked. “Not just for his money?”

  Helen blinked, focusing on Edward’s nurse, the woman he thought of like a mother. “He already gave me money.”

  “Not all of it!”

  “Well, no. But more than I’ll ever need.” She couldn’t answer the question. “And he’s tried to give me a house in Hampstead, but I said no.”

  Lucy sucked in a breath. “He’s given you the cottage?”

  Amelia busied herself by the drinks, not looking up. “Well…he wants to.” Helen shrugged, “I won’t take it.”

  She squinted at Helen with rheumy eyes. “And is that where he cooked for you? When he dismissed the staff, it was apparently quite a shock.”

  “Edward said his servants wouldn’t talk!”

  Lucy smiled. “They don’t talk. Unless it’s to me. It was my house. Every summer, we went there. It was Edward’s favorite place in all the world. If he has taken you there and is willing to make such a spectacle of himself, then…” She shook her head, sighed. “He would want you here to—”

  “He’s not going to die,” Helen said with fierce determination. There was a knock on the door, the cloths and boiling water that Helen asked for arriving. “Amelia, bring the boiling water and cloths. Lucy, tell everyone not to arrest me and that the duke needs to be left alone. Also, if my friend Mary comes by to let her in. But no one else.”

  “What are you going to do?” Amelia asked.

  “I’m going to see if I can get rid of the infection.”

  Amelia and Lucy left, eyeing her somewhat dubiously. She went over to him, pulling up a chair and sitting next to him. His head was turned towards her but he was out, unconscious, an empty glass with a white powdery residue sitting next to him. Probably a painkiller. Opium or something ridiculously addictive. Helen took a deep breath and let it out slowly, cracking her knuckles in the process and trying to get the jitters out.

  She needed to be calm and detached, to think of him like anybody else; no different than an injured soldier she would’ve helped back home. She wasn’t usually squeamish, but seeing him like this, fragile, unconscious, harmed undoubtedly because of her, made her feel…weak.

  “You look very cross,” Edward said, voice quiet and slightly slurred. Her gaze jerked to him, and she kissed him on the mouth, the heat of him burning through her.

  “I love you,” she said. “I do. I’m sorry about before.”

  “It’s as bad as all that, is it? A declaration of your love must mean I have mere moments…Jonathon.”

  “What about him?”

  “He shot me. Helen, your life is in grave danger. He’s going to kill you. That is his mission, to eliminate everyone who came back, his own people included.”

  “He told you this?”

  Edward nodded.

  “He’s worse at keeping secrets than I am. But why would he shoot you? You’re important.”

  A grimace of pain crossed his face as he lifted his hand and placed it over hers. “Because you’re important too, and I told him the only way I would cooperate is if he left you in England. He wouldn’t do it.”

  “Edward,” she said, and didn’t know what else to say.

  “Promise me you won’t leave this house.” He started to sit up and she pushed him back, putting one hand on his good shoulder. He hissed in a breath.

  “You’re not going anywhere. You’re a mess. You were shot; you have an infection. Your doctor is a quack, and I think he bled you. You have to eat a lot, drink a lot of water... boiled water and rest. In fact, let’s have you drink something right now.” She got up and walked back to the door, pausing as she looked at the door to his closet. It
was open, and she didn’t remember it being open. Hadn’t even noticed it was there.

  He watched her move around the room. “Promise me you won’t do something dangerous.”

  “Who me?” she asked innocently. She came back to him, supplies in hand. “This is going to hurt,” she said, wincing in sympathy with him. Helen took the bandage off, wanting to throw the damn thing on the fire. Fresh blood welled up from the wound and Helen picked up the brandy, hand shaking as she held it over his wound. She poured it on him, and he bit back a cry; eyes squeezed shut as the alcohol burned him.

  “This will kill the germs. Turn over, I have to do the back,” she said. Helen helped him turn over and then removed the other bandage, pouring alcohol on the wound. He hissed in a breath at the pain, his body clenched tight before suddenly going limp, passing out. And Helen was grateful he would miss the pain. She took a needle and thread, stitching the wound closed. She put a fresh dressing on his shoulder and did the same to the front of his shoulder, stitching, wiping away the blood and then putting a clean dressing on him.

  She touched his arm, wanting to stay with him, but she had to find Jonathon before he found them. The butler, Lucy and Amelia were all hovering outside the door, and even if they didn’t like her, they were willing to put that aside in order to keep Edward safe.

  Helen left Amelia, Lucy and the butler guarding Edward while she went downstairs to investigate the scene of the crime. Her mind raced as she tried to put together what the hell had happened, as well as the information Edward had given her. She had to assume it was true that Jonathon had come from the future with the goal of cleaning up the time travel mess. He’d needed their help to get rid of the Nazis, after all there were a lot more of them. But once they were taken care of, Mary and Helen became expendable. Edward’s demand to keep Helen with him and alive was apparently impossible. The possibility of her spreading futuristic diseases and wiping out half of Europe was apparently more of a concern than having Edward around to complete his life’s mission.