Something was terribly wrong! Without understanding why, Amanda knew it was vital that she discover what it was. There was movement to her left, but she was unable to identify it. She heard voices but didn’t recognize those, either. Although still struggling with her own impaired reason, she managed to turn her head toward the speakers, fright helping to erase the mental fog cloaking her ability to think rationally. She unobtrusively wiggled her fingers and toes and was gratified to feel the sense of paralysis ebbing.
The first clear image she saw, from her prone vantage point, was her husband lying on his side on the ground, knees pulled to his chest. James! Now she remembered. They had been taking a walk in the garden—at her suggestion…
Oh no! A silent moan of despair floated up her throat.
James was viciously beaten and appeared lifeless. Blood covered his face. Two men stood nearby—one large, the other almost half his size—staring down at her husband. Their discussion was chilling.
“Maybe you better stop with the beatin’, Freddy,” the large man said. “We didn’t get orders to kill ‘em.”
Kill?
“He never said not to kill ‘em. You think he’s going to care if these two end up dead?” Laughter. “I wager there’s money in it for him if they both meet with a little accident.”
“I don’t want to be no murderer.”
“Aw, killin’ ain’t so bad. You might even decide you like it.”
Amanda was gathering her strength to scream when the big man’s next words stopped her.
“I still got a mum, you know. I don’t want her to see me die at the end of a hangman’s noose. You don’t kill a bleedin’ earl. I may be stupid, but I ain’t that stupid. We been here long enough. I don’t want to get caught. I’m leaving.”
“Hey, hey, wait a minute!” the smaller man said. “What about her?”
Amanda quickly closed her eyes, hoping they would think her still unconscious.
“What d’ya mean?”
“Damn me, you’re a thick-headed fool. Look at her, a fancy piece like that, all laid out like Sunday supper. Who’s to say we shouldn’t have a taste?”
A heavy silence ensued, one that filled Amanda with a dread quite unlike any she had ever experienced before. All movement—all breathing it seemed—stilled. She could almost hear the thoughts of the two ruffians, the attention of each intently focused on her. Her heart thumped so rapidly and with such force, she was certain they could hear it. Her only relief at the moment was knowing they no longer were arguing over whether or not to kill James and her.
“She’s wearing black.”
That was the big man talking and, to Amanda’s way of thinking, the one with more functioning logic. The smaller man clearly operated on impulse and, unfortunately, his impulses were deadly.
“You goin’ to let a little crape get in the way of the best woman you’ll ever have?”
Again, a thick, fear-ridden quiet.
And then, “Maybe…”
Amanda began to struggle to her feet. Her body felt boneless, her efforts feeble as she flopped ineffectually to and fro. Her ability to scream was nothing more than a frantic croak. In her mind she was praying, begging the Almighty to intercede.
“Lord Lonsdale?” a male voice called from the terrace at the back of the house. “Are you out here, sir?”
Winston! Oh, dear Lord, thank you! She huffed out a broken sob.
“Freddy” and his accomplice turned in tandem toward the terrace. They glanced at one another and both took off at the same moment, dashing toward the wall at the back of the property. She heard them thundering through the foliage, no longer concerned with subterfuge. Clearly, escape was the primary goal of those two villainous wretches.
Only then did Amanda find her voice. She shrieked, one high-pitched cry that shocked even her with its intensity. She settled onto her hands and knees, head down, nausea overtaking her. She retched repeatedly as she lost the contents of her stomach.
Feet pounded toward them on the path, coming from the direction of the house. Winston, along with two footmen, arrived in a rush of panic and consternation, bringing lantern light with them.
“My lady! What’s happened here?” Winston’s voice was sharp as he leaned over her, holding the lantern above his head to illuminate the scene.
“See to my husband!”
The butler turned to the two footmen. “You, Amos, carry her ladyship inside and call her maid and Lady Lindley.” He was waving his free hand as he gave instructions.
“No, no, take care of James first!” Amanda cried.
Winston ignored her. “And, Lucas, I need you to return to the house and send more servants out here. Wake anyone who is sleeping. Tell them to bring something that will work as a stretcher. I’m going to need some help moving his lordship. And go for the physician immediately as soon as you alert the others. We also need to contact the authorities. I’ll wait with Lord Lonsdale. He looks to be in serious condition. Please hurry. We haven’t a moment to lose.”
Lucas nodded once and headed back down the path toward the house, running furiously, arms pumping at his sides.
As Amanda was scooped up off the ground by the other footman, she pounded her fist once on the burley man’s shoulder. “Stop, please stop!” she wailed. “Winston, I think they’ve murdered James.” Her voice was frantic as she verged on hysteria.
Winston went very still, gaze slipping to his master. He set the lantern on the ground next to James’s prone form. The butler drew in a deep breath, seeming to steel himself, and lowered his ear to her husband’s chest.
He looked up at her, expression grave. “His heart is beating, my lady. Let us be thankful for that much until we know more. Please let Amos take you inside. Becoming hysterical will not help you or his lordship right now.”
Tears spilled from her eyes and coursed down her cheeks “He’s not dead? You are certain?”
The butler nodded.
Amanda, too relieved to speak, gulped back another sob. After a moment she punched the footman on the shoulder again, this time lightly. “All right, Amos, I’ll go. And Winston,” she said as she and the footman started down the path, “please, I beg you, keep me informed.”
Winston and she shared a fraught look as she moved away from him. “Yes, my lady. When I know, you will know.” He turned his attention back to James.
Amanda continued to watch James and Winston over Amos’s shoulder as she clung to the servant’s neck, until the two figures on the ground were nothing but a lump highlighted by the glow from the lantern. As they entered the house, she felt the nausea return, and she said as much to the footman.
“Perhaps you’d best put me down so I don’t soil your uniform.
Amos looked at her kindly. “Not to worry, my lady. My uniform has been soiled before, and it will be soiled again.”
That kindness was her undoing. Amanda laid her face against the footman’s chest and wept.
***
CHAPTER 20
Aunt Henry was already in her bedchamber as were two maids—her abigail Betty being one of them—when Amanda and Amos came rushing in the door.
“She’s queasy,” the footman said.
“Lay her on the bed, please.” Was that Aunt Henry sounding masterful? “Do you know her condition? Any broken bones?”
“She’s awake—was when we found her—but nothing broken as far as I’m aware.”
The footman laid her gingerly on the coverlet, backing away after he did so. “My prayers are with you, my lady,” he said solemnly then left the room.
“Let’s get her undressed.” Aunt Henry again. She loomed over Amanda. “Do you need the basin, dear?”
“I think the moment has passed.” Amanda was shocked by how weak her voice sounded.
“If we remove your clothing are we going to hurt you in any way?”
Amanda had to stop and take an assessment of her body before she could answer the question. “No, I don’t think so. My head hurts abomi
nably, though.”
As Aunt Henry and the two maids unbuttoned and slipped off her gown, the old lady asked her questions. “Are you able to tell me what happened?”
“James and I were set upon by two ruffians.”
All three women stopped what they were doing to stare at her.
“Are you serious?” Aunt Henry’s expression was horrified. “In our own garden? How did they get in there?”
“Over the wall, I assume. They hit me on the head. But James—” Amanda’s voice broke on a sob. “They beat him terribly. I feared he was dead. He still might—” She couldn’t say it, she simply could not say it.
While Amanda spoke Aunt Henry’s face turned ashen, drained of all color. The older woman brought a shaky hand to her mouth. “Why would anyone do such a thing? Were they robbers?”
Amanda’s chin continued to tremble with emotion. “I think their sole purpose was to hurt James.” She turned her attention to the second maid. “Please, see if there’s any news on his lordship.”
“Yes, my lady.”
As the door closed, Aunt Henry spoke. “I don’t think the doctor has had enough time to arrive. There is probably little the maid can discover yet.”
At once Amanda struggled to sit up. “Get my wrapper. I have to see if James is all right.”
Aunt Henry pushed the younger woman’s shoulders back against the mattress. “You can do nothing for him right now. We need to take care of you.” She signaled to Betty. “Bring me a basin with water and a cloth.”
“Please, let me go!” Amanda began to weep in earnest. She ignored the dizziness that assailed her as she tried to raise her head.
“You have blood on your face, my dear. We can’t let James see you this way.”
Amanda went limp then grabbed the old woman’s hand, holding on for dear life. “He mustn’t die, Aunt Henry. What will I do if he dies?”
***
It was more than two days before Amanda was allowed to see James. She cajoled, threatened and finally begged to no avail. They would not let her see him, and it was driving her batty. Apparently the consensus was that she would be unable to cope with his condition. And knowing that that was the accepted opinion frightened her all the more.
At least she had been assured that he still lived. But in what state? Aunt Henry’s eyes were perpetually red, her attitude kind but evasive. “Don’t worry, dear. He’s coming along.”
“Is he conscious?” Amanda asked.
“Well, no…not exactly. He’s still sleeping. But that’s probably for the best, as he is mending while he sleeps.”
That evasion thing again. Amanda was so frustrated, she nearly yelled at the older woman.
In the meantime, she had done some mending of her own. Aside from a large swelling on the side of her head over her ear, she had received no injuries. She still had a dull headache and had developed a large bruise—seeming to expand by the hour—that had migrated from the swelling to her eye, forehead and cheek. Other than that, according to the physician, she had escaped serious harm.
But James…
On the third morning after the attack, Amanda demanded that she be taken to her husband. No longer would she tolerate being denied access to him. She was strong enough now to force the issue, to make it clear who was ultimately in charge. Amanda sent a message to Winston that she was to be informed when the attending physician Dr. Chilcott arrived that afternoon to check on the patient.
Perhaps in retrospect she should have listened to wiser counsel.
James had been placed in one of the large guest suites not far from her chamber. Amanda made her way down the hall, wearing a silk wrapper and slippers, Aunt Henry on one side of her, Betty on the other. She’d thought she had her energy back, but her weak legs begged to disagree. As she reached her husband’s threshold she grew lightheaded. She honestly didn’t know if it was the weakness she was feeling or the sudden fear that consumed her as she prepared herself for what lay on the other side of that door.
The room was dark and dreary. It brought back recent memories of her father’s illness and with it a sickening dread. Amanda found herself leaning heavily on Betty’s arm as the rest of what was left of her strength seemed to ebb from her body. As she approached the bed, the dread increased. She was aware of Nurse Bitters who had been hired again—this time to care for James—and Dr. Chilcott, who backed away from the bed as Amanda approached. But her eyes were locked on the figure lying motionless on the mattress, pillows under his shoulders and head. The gloom obscured her ability to see him clearly.
“Open the drapes,” she snapped. “It’s like a morgue in here.” Not the best choice of words, Amanda realized. She sounded impatient and knew it was fueled by the distress she was feeling.
Betty looked to the doctor, who nodded, then slipped quickly across to the window. Light flowed into the room.
Amanda’s indrawn breath was harsh, filled with shock. “Oh, James,” she whispered brokenly. Now her legs trembled—from anguish not weakness—as she moved to the side of the bed. Betty quickly placed a chair where Amanda could sit down. For long moments Amanda simply stared at the mangled man who was her husband.
His handsome face was bruised and swollen. There was a cut over his left eye, covered in dried blood, that had to be sewn, most likely leaving a scar. One of his arms wore a plaster cast to the elbow. Both of his hands looked injured as well as though he had used them for protection.
Amanda glanced over her shoulder at Dr. Chilcott who stood behind her. “Do I see the extent of his injuries, or is there more?”
The doctor cleared his throat. “No, my lady. Your husband was beaten severely. He has two broken ribs, along with the broken arm,” he motioned to the cast, “and bruising everywhere. I’m worried that his kidneys…ah, other organs may have sustained some damage—”
She winced.
“He’s fortunate to be alive.”
She glanced up at the physician, holding his gaze. “Is he? Fortunate?”
He frowned. “Beg pardon?”
She huffed an impatient breath. “Is he going to wake up?”
The silence was deafening, the occupants of the room neither moving nor speaking as everyone waited for the doctor’s edict. She was conscious of the others waiting as she waited, but Dr. Chilcott had her full attention. He appeared disconcerted by her direct question, and for a moment he hesitated.
Amanda spoke again. “I want you to tell me what you really believe, not what you think I want to hear.”
He nodded, moving closer to the bed. “Fair enough. Truth is I don’t know, my lady. I’ve seen it happen both ways. My instincts tell me that he should recover. But truthfully, I have no way of knowing for certain. The longer he remains unconscious, the less his chances of making a full recovery.”
Well, she had asked for plain speaking. But now that he had been fully honest, she wanted him to take back those frightening words. Perhaps she did want him to lie, to pretend so she could feel better. She was aware of her facial muscles beginning to quiver as she tried to control her emotions. But there were too many people in attendance, and it was her duty to present the ever-expected stoical facade, a custom that seemed patently unfair when one was on the verge of having an emotional breakdown.
Amanda pulled a calming breath to steady herself before speaking. “Do you suppose it would be all right if I spent a little time alone with my husband? I’ll call if any problems arise.”
“Yes, of course,” Dr. Chilcott replied.
Everyone turned to file outside the room.
“Not you, Aunt Henry,” Amanda said. “Please stay.”
“Yes, of course.” The old lady returned to stand by the bed.
Once they were alone, Amanda said, “What am I to do?” She reached for James’s hand then pulled back, afraid to touch him.
“Take his hand, dear.”
She looked up at Aunt Henry with eyes that swam with tears. “I’ll hurt him…he’s…been pummeled over and over. The
re’s not a place on his body that hasn’t sustained damage.”
“You won’t hurt him. He’s beyond pain right now. But he’s not beyond the love he’ll sense through you holding on to him. Never underestimate the power of love to heal. There are stories of those who have been brought back from the very brink because someone cared too much to let them go.”
She wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe there was something, even something as seemingly inconsequential as a caring touch, which could make a difference. Amanda slid her hand across the coverlet and gingerly laid it on her husband’s.
“How could anyone do such a thing?” Amanda asked.
“I don’t know. Truly, it’s a mystery. You have no sense of what they wanted? Did they try to steal anything?”
Amanda shook her head. “I don’t think so. I was unconscious briefly so I can’t say absolutely.” She was unable to admit that they may have wanted to despoil her person. The very thought caused her skin to creep with revulsion.
Aunt Henry patted her on her shoulder. “He’s going to be all right, dear. I feel it in my heart.”
“When Papa died I thought I understood what it meant to lose everything.” She looked up at James’s aunt, letting the old woman see the pain in her eyes. “But now I realize that no matter how terrible you believe things to be, something worse can happen. I loved Papa. But his life came to a natural conclusion, and because of that his death was easier to accept. God’s will and all that. James, however, did not deserve this evil that was set upon him.” Her voice broke. “If he dies, I don’t know if I’ll be able to go on.”
***
Is this what dead felt like?
No, surely dead was pain-free—at least physically. If one were in trouble with the Almighty due to bad behavior in the corporeal realm, well…that was a different kind of pain altogether.
James wasn’t certain when he felt his mind engage. One moment there was nothing, the next he was enduring a level of discomfort that could only be described as excruciating. A deep breath sent a sharp stab of agony through his chest.
In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) Page 23