by Mary Nichols
Jonathan did not like that idea and it was not only because he did not like to think Louise was a liar; there was more to it than that. He shook himself, unwilling to probe his own weakness where she was concerned. ‘Let us get tonight’s work over with and tomorrow might reveal all,’ he said, turning into the drive of a considerable mansion and knocking on the door.
His name and the mention of the Society for the Discovery and Apprehending of Criminals was enough to gain them admittance and he was soon telling the magistrate all he knew of Mr Jed Black and soliciting his assistance. ‘He is a slippery customer and no matter what we do, he has always managed to escape,’ he explained. ‘I would like two strong men, two sets of manacles and a heavy chain, and a secure vehicle to bring him to the prison. I am assuming you have strong walls and doors to your dungeons.’
‘Yes, indeed. I will send for Fletcher and Maxwell. One is a butcher and the other a black smith, both big, muscular men. He will not escape from them. But, forgive me, do you know where he can be found?’
‘Unfortunately not. He was seen in Coney Road earlier this evening and I imagine he is still in that area.’
The magistrate offered them some Flemish wine while the two con stables were fetched and then all four set out to comb the roads and alleyways around the Black Swan. They did not find him there, but assuming he would have to find somewhere to stay, they began a systematic search of all the inns and taverns. They had almost given up when Joe spotted him, sitting in the parlour of the Star, playing cards.
‘We cannot tackle him in there,’ Jonathan said. ‘Other people might be hurt. We need to lure him outside.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Joe said and before he could be stopped had swaggered into the inn and ordered a pot of ale. Then he turned round and surveyed the company. Jed glanced up at him and then down at his cards, but then recognition dawned and he scrambled to his feet. ‘Sorry, lads,’ he said to the other gamesters, ‘I’ve got some urgent business to attend to.’
Joe pretended shock at seeing him and took to his heels. Black followed. Joe dodged the startled on lookers and made for the street where Jonathan waited. Letting Joe pass him, Jonathan dropped his sword and flung himself at Black, bringing him to the ground. The man had no intention of allowing himself to be taken without a fight and he put up a good one. They rolled on the ground, trading blows, while Joe and the constables looked on, unable to help for fear of hurting their own man. By now a crowd had gathered and were taking sides. Jonathan thought he had the man, but he was slippery as an eel and managed to fetch a knife from his boot and before Jonathan realised his danger, he was hacking about right and left, cutting him about the face and arm. Jonathan tried to reach his sword, but could not grasp it.
It was then Joe intervened, grabbing the sword and holding it over the struggling men with both hands, ready to plunge it into the convict whenever the opportunity presented itself. ‘I want him alive,’ Jonathan gasped, rolling to one side, his strength spent. But so was Jed Black’s. He tried to rise, but Joe felled him again with a punch. The constables rushed forward and fastened the manacles about his wrists and ankles, joining them with the chains they had brought with them.
Jonathan sat up, holding his hand over his bleeding arm. ‘Whatever happens, do not take those chains off him,’ he commanded. ‘He’s to be locked in the deepest dungeon you can find and watched night and day until someone comes to take him off your hands.’ And then he slid back on to the cobbles, too weak to rise. Joe commandeered a passing chair and helped him into it.
‘Stop fussing, man,’ he said, asserting himself. ‘’Tis only a scratch.’
Nevertheless he allowed himself to be conveyed to the Black Swan with Joe running alongside. By the time they arrived, he had re covered sufficiently to walk into the inn and make his way slowly upstairs, while Joe went in search of bandages and brandy.
Louise was roused from a light sleep by a noise outside her room, a small sound as if someone were creeping past so as not to wake the sleeping guests, but it was too early for the servants to be stirring. Then she heard a rattle and an oath. Curious, she rose and padded over to the door and opened it a crack. Jonathan, candle in hand, was bending down to retrieve the sword he had dropped. As she watched, he straightened up and his features were lit by the flickering candle. He looked gaunt. Blood had run down his face from a cut on his forehead and there was a rough handkerchief tied about his upper arm over his shirt, which had been little use in stemming the flow of blood. He had a black eye and a livid bruise on his chin. His coat was slung over his shoulder, he had lost his hat and his hair was matted with blood. She ran out to him. ‘Jonathan, what has happened to you?’
‘It is nothing of any consequence.’ Even in his weary state he became acutely aware that she was wearing nothing but a night gown, a flimsy affair he remembered buying for her, and her hair was loose about her shoulders. Like that she was more than ever desirable. He gave her a weary smile, meant to reassure her. ‘Go back to bed.’
‘No, you need looking after.’ She took his arm and pulled him into the room.
‘Louise, what are you about?’ he protested. Although he could easily have pulled himself away, he did not do so, but allowed her to push him on to a clothes chest, which stood at the foot of the bed. ‘Have you no thought for your reputation?’
‘I fancy my reputation is already past redemption,’ she said. ‘And I could not let you go, knowing you need help.’ She went to the wash stand where a jug of cold water stood in a bowl. Pouring some out, she dipped a cloth in it and began gently bathing his forehead. He suffered this without speaking, wincing only once when she dabbed too close to the cut ‘We need some salve to put on it.’ She turned and shook Betty. ‘Wake up, Betty. Wake up!’ Then, to Jonathan, ‘I do believe she would sleep through an earthquake.’ She shook the girl again.
At last a tousled head surfaced from the heap of bedclothes. ‘Wha’s the matter?’
‘The Viscount has been hurt. Go down and see if anyone is about. It must be nearly time for someone to be stirring. Ask for some salve for a cut and some clean cloths for bandages. Hurry up, before he starts bleeding again.’
Betty’s eyes opened in astonishment when she saw Jonathan sitting in his shirt sleeves at the foot of the bed. ‘What happened?’
‘A slight fracas,’ he said. ‘Nothing serious.’
‘Where? When? Is Joe hurt too?’
He smiled. ‘Joe is indestructible. I left him going in search of brandy.’
She scrambled out of bed, clothed from head to toe in a long linen night gown. She threw a cloak over it and disappeared.
‘Now for the arm,’ Louise said and began peeling away the makeshift bandage. It had stuck his shirt firmly to his skin. Carefully she wet it and, taking a pair of scissors from her portmanteau, cut the sleeve away and then took off the shirt, remembering with a wry smile that he had been like that not six hours before, but in very different circumstances. There was not time to think of that now; there was work to be done. The wound was ragged and deep. ‘Was it a sword?’ she asked.
‘No, a knife. He had it in his boot.’
‘I suppose you mean Jed Black.’ She threw away the reddened bowl of water and poured a fresh one before continuing with her ministrations.
‘Yes.’ He smiled. ‘You make a good nurse. Have you done this sort of thing before?’
‘My brothers were always falling into scrapes and hurting them selves. I helped Mama to clean them up. She said it was as well to learn about such things. You never knew when the skill would come in useful.’
He laughed, though her gentle probing was hurting like hell. ‘You never cease to amaze me.’
She ignored that. ‘What happened?’
‘We found him staying at the Star—’
‘We being you and Joe?’
‘Yes and two beefy con stables. Joe lured him out, but he was wary, that one, and put up a fight. But we got him in the end.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘The constables have taken him, manacled hand and foot, to throw him into the deepest dungeons they can find.’
‘And then, I suppose, you will escort him back to London,’ she said quietly.
‘Why, my dear, I do believe you would be sorry if I were to leave you to do that.’
‘You did before,’ she reminded him.
‘And regretted it.’
‘Because he escaped?’
‘Yes, but also because you needed me and I was not there.’
‘You feel responsible for me?’
‘Yes.’ He flinched because she was probing dirt out of the cut.
‘Sorry, but it has to be done.’ She tried to be more gentle. ‘Why do you feel responsible for me? And do not give me that nonsense about being in loco parentis, I want to know the truth.’
‘The truth, my dear Miss Vail, is that I do not know. It may be that I hate to see a young lady make a cake of herself, or it may be that, in spite of your courage and show of independence, you are vulnerable. I should hate to think anything bad happened to you when I could have pre vented it.’
‘Which is all very chivalrous, my lord, but—’
‘Hell’s bells, woman, what are you doing?’ he yelled. ‘That felt like a hot needle.’
‘There is dirt in the cut and it must be got out. A knife, you say. The man must have been cutting up his dinner, or skinning a rabbit. Heaven knows what he used the implement for.’
She finished cleaning the wound and slipped into a dressing gown just as Betty returned with salve and bandages. She was closely followed by Joe with a bottle of brandy and a glass, and any further discussion was broken off. While Joe poured the spirit, Louise smeared the salve on the wounds and bound Jonathan’s arm. ‘That’s the best I can do,’ she said, standing back. ‘I suggest you go to bed.’
He took the glass from Joe and knocked it back in a single swallow. ‘And what will you be doing while I sleep? Creeping off to your rendezvous?’
‘It is not a rendezvous,’ she protested.
‘You are not expected then?’
‘No, I am not expected and for that reason, delaying my arrival yet again will not matter. I will not leave you until I know you are well and strong again.’
‘Well and strong!’ he ex claimed. ‘What a deal of fuss about a little cut. Why, it is no worse than you gave me with your sword point.’
‘It is far deeper and, I’ll have you know, my sword was clean.’
‘Come, my lord,’ Joe said, bending to take his good arm and raise him to his feet. ‘Miss Vail is right. You need to rest.’
He allowed himself to be led away. Louise set about tidying the room, throwing out the bloodied water and the cloths she had used to clean the wounds, picking up his shirt and the cut-up sleeve, holding it a minute, savouring the feel of it, still slightly warm from his body. She was beginning to worry that her feelings for him were growing stronger and that could not be allowed to happen, more especially since she had learned that he was a Viscount. There was no hope of a happy outcome there. She ought to take advantage of his in disposition and take herself off, but somehow she could not do it. She flung the shirt down beside the slop pail for the cleaning maids to clear away, and turned to dress, ready for the day ahead.
At noon, when Louise went to enquire how Jonathan was, a worried Joe told her his master had a fever and he had sent for a doctor. Alarmed, she pushed past him and went to the bed, where Jonathan lay drenched in sweat, his head moving from side to side. He was mumbling incoherently. Her heart went out to him.
She pulled up a chair beside the bed, fetched a bowl of cold water and a cloth and sat to bathe his forehead. ‘Please God, do not let him die,’ she prayed and then set about talking gently to him, about anything that came into her head. She had no idea if he heard or understood, but her voice seemed to calm him.
A doctor came and examined his wounds. The cut on his forehead was not deep and was beginning to heal, but the arm was another matter. ‘There is a putrefaction there,’ he said, after poking about in it and making Jonathan swear horribly. ‘Clean it out and bind it up again. It is all that can be done. Your husband is young and strong, madam, so we must pray that will pull him through. My fee is a guinea.’
Joe, who had been hovering in the back ground, produced a guinea from Jonathan’s purse and gave it to the man, who pocketed it and left. Louise, who had not corrected the doctor over her relationship with the patient, thought it was a guinea easily earned. The man had done nothing except confirm the rightness of what she herself had done.
She set about washing the wound out again. The surrounding tissue was inflamed and swollen. She did the best she could and bound it up again, then went back to bathing his face with cold water. Then she bathed his arms and hands and opened the neck of his nightshirt to cool his throat. That done, she sat and watched him.
His eyes were shut and she noted how long and thick his lashes were, how well shaped were his brows, how strong his chin, now sporting a day’s stubble. His mouth was well shaped and firm; in all he was a very handsome man. He must be about twenty-five or-six, she surmised and still single. Not averse to marriage, he had said, simply cautious. His caution must be particularly deep-seated to have kept him unwed for so long, his requirements exceptionally difficult to fulfil. She wondered about those. His bride would have to be a lady of indisputable breeding, one of his own kind, and she was certainly not that. Even the daughter of a country parson would be far beneath him, let alone the daughter of a mismatch. He would probably expect a dowry, and no doubt required her to be beautiful and with no bad traits to be inherited by his offspring. One thing she was sure of: she did not qualify in a single instance.
He was thrashing from side to side, flinging off his covers, revealing a very short nightshirt rucked up round his thighs. Strong, firm thighs. Long, shapely calves. Hurriedly she covered him again and tried to soothe him. ‘Hush, Jonathan,’ she murmured. ‘Hush, my dear. All will be well.’ She looked across at Joe, who was pretending to be busy with something in the corner of the room. ‘He will get well, won’t he?’
Joe looked up and saw the anguish on her face. ‘Course, Miss Vail. Constitution of an ox, he’s got. When he comes to his senses, he’ll need some nourishment. I’ll see what there is to be had, shall I?’
He left the room, leaving her to resume her watch on Jonathan. She fetched more water and changed the dressing on his arm again. He muttered something that sounded very like, ‘Lou.’
‘I’m here.’ She did not know whether he heard her or not. ‘Would you like a sip of water?’
She fetched water in a cup and sat on the bed to help lift his head so that he could drink. Then he lay back and went to sleep, with her hand in his. She dare not move for fear of disturbing him. ‘Get well,’ she commanded. ‘Get well.’ She lowered her head and brushed his lips with her own. It was only a featherlight pressure, but she fancied he smiled in his sleep.
It took three days before he became fully conscious, three days and nights of constant nursing, turn and turn about with Joe. One morning he opened his eyes to find her draped across his bed. He turned his head, wondering where he was and what she was doing there. It came to him that she had been sitting by his bed and fallen asleep across him. He reached out and took her chin in his hand, to turn her face to his. ‘Oh, my dear, you really do have no sense of propriety, do you?’
His voice woke her and she scrambled up. ‘Oh, I did not mean to fall asleep. And you are awake. Oh, thank the Lord.’
Her eyes, still sleepy, were particularly seductive; the sharp green was softened to smoky sage and he pictured waking up beside her every morning and seeing that look. ‘How long have you been there?’ he asked, impatiently shaking the image from him.
It had been night when she had relieved Joe and come to sit with him. It was fully light now. ‘I don’t know.’
‘All night?’
‘Yes. You have been very ill.’
‘How long?’
‘Three days. This is the fourth.’
‘I seem to remember something about a fight and a knife and you…Yes, you came…’
‘Of course I came. Did you think I would abandon you?’
He smiled. ‘I was in no case to think rationally, my dear, but I am heartily glad you did not.’
‘How could I? It was no more than you did for me when I was sick.’ She tried to sound off-hand, but he was not deceived. If she had sat so long with him she could not keep awake, it was devotion above the call of duty or gratitude. It lifted his spirits.
He looked about him. ‘Where is Joe?’
‘I sent him to his bed. He will no doubt be here directly. He has been as worried as I have been.’
‘Have you, my dear?’
Why did he keep calling her his dear? It was most upsetting; she could never be his dear anything, unless it was a nuisance. He would never have been wounded if it had not been for escorting and protecting her, and telling herself she had not asked him to made no difference. ‘Everyone has been worried. You have been at death’s door. Your arm…’
He looked at the neat bandage and tried to lift his arm and found it painful. ‘I thought it was nothing but a scratch.’
‘It became infected. If the putrefaction had set in, you might have lost it.’
He shuddered. ‘Thank God for your nursing skills then. Once again I am indebted to you. I have no idea how to repay you.’
‘You will repay me best by getting well and being your old good-natured self.’
He grinned. ‘Was I a very bad patient?’
‘You swore a lot when I changed your dressing.’
‘Oh, dear, then I beg your pardon.’
‘Granted.’ She smiled.
‘I’m devilish hungry.’
‘Good. I will have some beef broth made up for you.’
‘Broth! I don’t want broth, I want a good big steak with potatoes and cabbage and a fruit pie to follow. And a pint of ale. Then I am going to get dressed.’
‘But, my lord, you must not—’