She fingered the red silk. Why hadn’t she chosen one of the less striking dresses? She’d been so delighted to be able to wear a beautiful dress for Colin, but the joy had gone out of it. Only an hour ago, she had dressed to please him, anticipating the wide smile, the appreciative glances. Even with Em’s reassurances, the last thing Lucy wanted was to appear to be encouraging their liaison.
She was already grown too fond of him. Otherwise, she would not have felt such hurt and disappointment when she’d thought him engaged. If she were set on leaving him after this trip, then she needed to protect her heart, however impossible that might be to do.
She had also grown frustrated with the way their stories had changed without notice. First, they had been engaged, then they had been a man and his mistress, and here they were only a man and his nurse. In the last two weeks, the stories had made her less and less important to him, as he had grown more and more important to her.
Em had placed them in rooms with an adjoining door. When Lucy retired early, she would make sure the door was locked.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next day, Lucy remained in her room until she thought it impossible for anyone to remain in the morning room. But when she arrived, dressed in the most demure of Em’s loaned walking dresses, Colin was waiting.
He set down the report he was reading and smiled broadly. “You are as beautiful this morning in green as you were last night in red.”
She did not answer, but he seemed not to notice. “Em’s gone out for her ride, but I wanted to see you. I kept myself busy.” He gestured at the reports lying in piles on the table. “It seems that we might not wait here long after all. The duke and Lady Wilmot will be joining us this afternoon or tomorrow, and we will leave with them.”
She deliberately chose a seat far from him. “Ah.”
His face changed from puzzlement to concern. “I must apologize. I should have considered how it might appear to you—my friendship with Em. When Em told me about your conversation yesterday, I should have come to you immediately. But Em has always been better with words, and I thought she would have explained it best. But you deserved better than that. Can you forgive me?”
Suddenly she wished there were not a river of table between them, but she also could not breach it. Her feelings were still too raw, her heart too engaged. But if she were to tell him her reservations, this would be the time. They were in a safe place, alone, as they would not be when his family arrived.
She took a deep breath. “Colin, I should tell you . . .”
In the distance, a single pistol fired. They both stopped, listening. Another shot fired, and Colin pushed his chair away from the table, his hands flat on the table as he listened, visibly counting the seconds. At the third shot, he paled. “It’s Em. Something’s wrong.” He raced from the room with Lucy hard at his heels.
At the stable yard, Sam and Jeffreys were already on their horses, riding hard in the direction from which the shots had been fired. The stable master and his boys were hitching two fast horses to a low wagon. Another stable boy was filling the back with blankets. A fourth shot fired.
“No one’s a better horseman than Em. She always carries two pistols loaded and two additional cartridges already packed. The first three shots told us she was in trouble. The gap between shots was designed to give the men time to mount their horses—the last shot confirmed the direction they were to ride.”
“Go to her, Colin.” She put her hand on his elbow.
“No.” He shook off her touch, brushing his hair back with both hands. “Sam and Jeffreys are more than capable. If there’s trouble, my obligation is here.” He looked up to the nursery window where Fletcher nodded, a rifle already visible in the gap of the casement.
Two more shots sounded in quick succession, and the stable master threw himself onto the wagon seat and began to drive, hard.
It felt like hours, but it was probably no more than ten minutes all told. Over the hill, the horsemen came into view, then the wagon, moving more slowly, but still at a good pace. Em’s horse followed behind—riderless.
Colin ran forward to meet them as they entered the stable yard, and Lucy saw the two riders shake their heads, silently conveying that the news was not good.
The wagon pulled in front of her, and Em was in the back, weeping, the broken body of Bess in her lap.
Colin rushed to her side to take the dog, but she refused.
“No! She saved me. I wouldn’t have seen the trap, but she did. If she hadn’t run under the horse, I’d be dead. But . . .” She buried her face in the bloody side of the animal. Bess cried out in pain.
The stable master took his pistol from his belt. “My lady, let me have Bess. She’s in pain, miss.”
“No! Colin, please don’t put her down. Please,” Emmeline wept.
“It’s for the best, my lord. You can see from here—the leg. It’s bent and split.”
“Em.” Colin spoke low but firmly.
She turned on him ferociously. “No. No. No. She can’t die.”
Colin looked at Lucy. In other circumstances, it would have made her heart leap that he’d turned to her for help, but she couldn’t bear being the one who broke Em’s heart. “Em, Lucy stitched me up. Perhaps she could look at Bess.”
Em looked at Lucy with hope.
“I will look, Em,” Lucy offered. “Do you know how badly she is hurt?”
“I don’t know. The leg. Bess . . . she saved me.” Her voice trailed off.
“Do you trust me? If I look at her and tell you we cannot help Bess, will you believe me?”
Em bit her lip, but nodded yes. “But you will try to help her?” The dog whimpered in distress.
“If I can. I need a table somewhere clean.”
“The kitchen. If Cook objects, I’ll buy her a new table.”
* * *
The cook—a Mrs. Adams—took one look at Em, covered with dirt and crying and motioned to the maids to clear the harvest table.
“I don’t want to wash the whole dog. But I need the leg to be clean. Is it possible to have some warm water?” Lucy took an apron from the stool beside the table.
Colin started to give the order, but Cook had already moved to set the water on the fire. “What else do you need?”
Lucy pressed her fingers to the middle of her forehead and closed her eyes. “Ice to cool the leg and slow the bleeding. Whatever medicines they have . . . some laudanum to ease the dog’s pain, needles, silk thread—the finest available—if I can sew it up. And Fletcher. Tell Fletcher I need four sticks, whittled smooth for splints, and some heavy linen to tie them together.
Colin took charge, sending servants to gather the tools she needed. “Now what?”
“There’s a nerve here.” She demonstrated the location in the dog’s shoulder. “Press it until it relieves her pain.”
“How will I know?”
“You’ll know.” She began unwrapping the bloody petticoat from Bess’s leg, Em held the dog’s head, cooing to her and promising her the next piece of marrow from the biggest bone she could find. The pressure on the nerve calmed the dog, but Lucy also thought that the dog knew that Em was in distress and didn’t wish to upset her more.
Lucy carefully dripped warm water along the line of the wound. She had seen worse, but then most of the worse she had seen had not lived to heal from their wounds. The bone was visible down the long strip of the lower leg, and clearly broken. The dog was panting.
“Here’s the laudanum, miss.” Jeffreys was at her side. Handing her the drug, he moved to hold Em’s shoulders. Though his position was comforting, from the look he gave Lucy over Em’s shoulders, she knew he would pull Em away if necessary.
“This is risky, Em. I don’t know how much laudanum I can give her to make her sleep without killing her. But I need to try. If I try to set the leg with her awake, she won’t understand that I’m hurting her to help. But I can’t guarantee she’ll wake up either.”
“Try. You have
to try. I’ll understand if she doesn’t wake up because you were trying to help her.”
She’d given a grown man forty drops of laudanum over two hours to ease his pain. She tried to calculate the differential between a man and a very large dog. She gave the dog four drops, and waited, then another four.
Bess fell asleep and her body relaxed slightly. Lucy hoped not for the last time.
Em wept harder into Jeffrey’s chest. “Is she dead?”
Lucy placed her hand over Bess’s heart. “No, she’s still alive, but we need to work quickly.”
She began giving instructions to Cook, whose own eyes were wet with tears, and to Colin. Em she left stroking the dog’s head and whispering in Bess’s ear, Jeffreys a gentle presence behind her. Periodically Em would look up to meet Lucy’s eyes and mouth the single word, Please.
She had no idea how to save Bess.
“We have the ice, miss.” The stable master brought her a long slab about a thumb’s length thick and roughly the length of the dog’s leg.
“That’s good. Let’s rest her leg on it. But try not to put too much pressure on the shoulder.”
Cook placed a thick piece of flannel over the ice and under the leg, then folded a blanket and slipped it gently under Bess’s body as Colin held the dog up slightly. With the blanket, Bess’s shoulder and leg were even with the rest of her body.
Lucy soaked the silk thread in a plate of lavender water, hoping it would help protect the wound from putrefying.
She first investigated the bone. The break was a clean one, and she set the ends against one another, hoping it would knit. Then she pulled the muscles and flesh back around it. She sewed from the inside out in layers, first making small stitches to pull the muscle back into place, then covering it with the outer flesh. Colin helped her by bathing the area in lavender water, keeping it cleaned as best he could from blood. The ligaments were still attached and the arteries intact, so there was hope.
At the point of impact, the flesh was gone, and what was left was hanging in tatters. She was sure the dog would never walk on the leg again. She worked from the least injured point to the most injured, working to cover the bone and muscles as best she could. In some cases she had to stretch the skin where portions were missing, and she could only hope the stitches would hold.
By the time she’d finished sewing, Fletcher had carved four splints out of soft wood to hold the leg in place and cut twine and soft leather straps to make them hold together. She’d known he was the man for the task. Having been on the battlefield, he’d seen the often ingenious solutions the doctors had created.
The splint was in place, but the dog was still sleeping. She felt the dog’s chest, nothing. And her heart sank. She felt again, but the dog’s thick ruff got in the way.
“Do you have a mirror or a piece of clear glass?
Cook offered her a glass goblet.
She held the glass at the dog’s nose and waited. The glass fogged enough to show the animal was still alive. Lucy slumped with relief against the table.
Colin pulled her to him, and she leaned exhausted against the firm security of his chest.
Em looked up with hope.
“She’s still alive, Em, but . . .” Lucy couldn’t finish the sentence.
“No, buts.” Em raised her chin. “She’s alive. That’s all that matters. That’s enough hope for me.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“It was a damn man trap.” Sam spit out the words, his face mottled red with anger. “Hidden on the path on the other side of a hill she jumps, it was set in such a way that by the time Em saw it, she would be airborne and unable to avoid it. Em’s right. If her horse had landed into the trap at the speed they were riding, it would have killed them both.”
“Who do you think would do such a thing?” Colin watched Sam’s and Jeffrey’s faces. Aidan, who had arrived early that morning with Lady Wilmot, stood at his side.
“After Peterloo, the list has grown disturbingly long: disgruntled Levellers wanting revenge for the death of a friend or relative; criminal gangs taking advantage of the current political climate; and subversive Tories wanting to force greater constraints on the general liberty by whatever means necessary,” Aidan said. “The prime minister is already saying that he will call for more restrictive legislation in this next session, and though the Whigs will oppose it, I fear we will lose.”
“But her ladyship is uniformly liked in the county, respected for her work with the poor and for her care of her tenants.” Jeffreys shrugged, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t imagine who would wish to harm her.”
“Aidan has a point: this might not be directed at Em specifically, just at the estate,” Colin suggested quietly. “Sam, are you sure Em was the target?”
Sam shook his head in frustration, the muscles in his neck bulging. “I don’t know, but I have my suspicions, and when I find the culprit, I’ll beat him to a pulp. I’ve stood idly by for too long.” He fisted his hands at his sides. “I’ll be in the stables.”
“What does he mean?” Colin looked to Jeffreys. The butler’s face was inscrutable.
“If you require me, sir, I will be with her ladyship, watching over Queen Bess.” Jeffreys turned sharply and walked away.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lucy was in the morning room, staring out of the window. She’d stayed with Em through the night, measuring out the laudanum to keep Bess alive, asleep, and out of pain. Her hope was to keep Bess asleep or at least drowsy until the wound knit enough that the dog wouldn’t tear at it.
She’d only left her patient’s side when Lady Wilmot had relieved her shortly after she and the duke had arrived. But she still couldn’t sleep.
Hartshorn Hall had become a house of mourning. None of the servants believed Bess would survive, and most completed their work with tears wet on their cheeks. Lucy contrasted the servants’ affection for Em and Bess with the hatred her aunt’s servants felt for Lord Marner. When she fulfilled her obligation to her aunt, she would see what could be done to free the oldest servants—the ones most loyal to her aunt—from Marner’s employ. Soon, after Colin delivered William to his relatives, she would be able to put her plan into effect. But this was not the time to talk to Colin about her troubles, not when Em’s pressed heavily on his mind.
“Lucy.” Em stood at the door, the pup that Lucy had played with the first night of their visit at her feet, a line of red ribbon tied around his neck as a lead. “Jeffreys is with Bess. I wanted to thank you. But I couldn’t think of anything that would convey how much. . . .” Em’s voice trailed off.
“I need no thanks. Bess’s recovery will be enough.”
“You said you’d never had a dog.” Em brushed back a tear. “I thought, if you would like one of Bess’s pups, this one is the best of the litter.”
“I thought he was promised to Malmesbury.”
“When Malmesbury hears how you saved Bess, he won’t argue. But if you want something else . . .”
“No.” Lucy knelt and held out her hands to the pup. He ran to her, his red lead trailing behind him. She picked him up and nuzzled him. “I’ve always wanted a dog, a companion like Bess is to you. But”—she handed the pup back to Em—“I have some promises I must keep, and I can’t take him with me.”
“If you want him, he’s yours. You can leave him with me, and whenever you return, he will be waiting.”
Lucy held her hands out for the pup, holding him to her chest. “Then I want him. And I already know what I’ll call him. Boatswain, after Lord Byron’s Newfoundland dog.”
“Why?” Em laughed. “That’s an odd name for a dog.”
“I always thought I would want a dog like Byron’s, one who ‘possessed beauty without vanity, strength without insolence, and courage without ferocity.’”
“Then, Boatswain, it is.”
* * *
On the second day, Bess’s leg was already beginning to knit well enough that Lucy could feel some hope. Sam and Aidan h
ad built a hard-bottomed litter for the dog, then filled it with pillows and blankets, allowing Em to have Bess by her side at all times. And the whole group had spent the morning entertaining Em with faro.
Lucy took her opportunity as banker to watch the interplay among them all. Em and Sam spent most of their time watching Bess. Sophia and Aidan watched each other, and Colin—she had to admit—seemed to notice only her.
She pulled a card from the bank and laid it out on the green. Colin met her eyes; then, seeing that the others were focused on the display of the cards, he let his eyes caress her body. She felt her cheeks grow hot.
Sophia bet first. “Aidan has been encouraging me to open my own salon. After the troubles we faced this fall, I’m not interested in something frivolous or purely intellectual. I would like to create a salon where each woman can be useful, where we can to contribute our talents to help each other and those around us.”
“Only women?” Sam objected, waiting for his turn. “I’m pretty useful in my own way. I made Bess her litter.”
“I suppose we could admit some men.” Sophia smiled at Aidan, who met her eyes, then turned back to his cards. “Like the ancient muses, I’d like for us to inspire each other. I thought we could call it the Muses’ Salon—a play on the idea of muses as inspiration and of museum, the place where we meet. As for my skills, I can draw, and I know plants, their seasons, and their medicinal properties. In that way, Lucy and I share some interests, and Lucy has—I think—already joined my endeavor. The Muses’ Salon’s first muse.”
“Second muse. You are the first, darling.” Aidan placed his hand over Sophia’s, the heat in his glance visible to all.
“I can attest that Lucy has the gift of healing.” Colin stood up and playfully pulled at his shirt. “Anyone want to see her work?”
“NO!” Em, Lucy, and Sophia answered in unison. Colin, playing dejected, sat back down.
Lucy was grateful for Sophia’s gracious compliment—it hid her response to Colin under a demure blush. “I’m not sure I would qualify as an inspiration to anyone. I simply know battlefield medicine . . . how to sew a wound, how to stop bleeding, how to ease a man’s death. So, unless one of you is shot . . .”
Chasing the Heiress Page 21