Too Hot for a Spy
Page 14
She drew in her breath. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean…”
“Come here and show me how sorry.”
With a sly grin, she found his lips and kissed him. And kissed him. And kissed him.
“Enough! My body is rising to the occasion again, but I haven’t the strength for another tumble. Come back tomorrow night after I’ve had a day to rest.”
Olivia picked up the corner of the quilt, glanced at his new erection and laughed in delight. “My oh my. Who would have thought I could have this much power over you? If I knew that sooner, I’d have exercised it more often.”
He tried to frown, but grinned instead. “Try for a bit of sobriety, you ridiculous creature.”
“But I don’t feel sober at all. I feel like celebrating.”
“In that case, let us make this a real celebration. Give me your hand.”
“What for?”
“Good God! Do not, I beg of you, question everything I say. I’m not in a position to offer for you on bended knee, you odious girl. My hand in yours will have to do in the circumstances. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Your wife? You can’t be serious.”
“Never more so, my love. Well? What say you?”
“Oh, Sebastian! Yes. A thousand times yes!” She began to sob.
“Stop blubbering, dearest. You’re soaking my bandages. Now be a good girl. Summon Denville and go back to your own bed. I must have another dose of laudanum to ease the pain.”
She blew him a kiss as she opened the door to the main hall and whispered over her shoulder, “I love you, Sebastian. I love you spymaster. Whichever.”
Denville was about to administer a dose of laudanum, when he observed the condition of the bedsheets.
Sebastian let out a shout of laughter. “Yes, that’s it. Wish me happiness, Hugh. Fairchild has agreed to marry me. I have made the little hoyden mine. I wish you could have seen her duel! She’s magnificent!”
“That ‘magnificent’ hoyden nearly killed you,” Denville answered dryly.
Sebastian’s joy would not be dampened. “Nothing more than an accident caused by my own stupidity. The lady has accepted my hand. Heaven grant me strength. I shall need it to marry her, for I cannot live without her.”
Denville’s lips twitched. “Are you under the influence of too much laudanum, sir? Perhaps I should lower the dosage.”
“It’s not the laudanum, Hugh. Don’t try to dampen my happiness. I’m mad for her, but it’s wiser to keep the news to ourselves for the time being. All right?”
“As you wish, sir. In that case, let me be the first to congratulate you.”
Heatham—Lady Helena hurried across the lawn toward the garden. When she entered, she paced up and down, waiting for Chris to appear. Half an hour later, he arrived through the terrace door, a grim expression on his face.
“What’s wrong, dearest?”
“Trouble at the spy academy. I must go there to see what I can do.”
“Livy! Is my sister hurt?”
“No, my love. She stabbed the spymaster in a fencing duel.”
Helena paled. “She…what?”
“No need to be alarmed. It was an accident. Livy and the spymaster were fencing as part of a training exercise. I gather the protective ball on the tip of her foil fell off, but no one took any notice. The point of the foil lodged in his shoulder.”
“Oh, dear. How serious is it?”
“I don’t know. Sidmouth orders me to return to London at once. Say nothing of this accident to your father, dearest.” He took her in his arms to soothe her.
“No, of course I won’t.” She raised her lips for his kiss, disappointed in its brevity.
“My horse is waiting outside. Be brave, my darling. No, don’t see me off.” He took her arms from his neck, placed them by her side, turned and strode away.
Wilson Academy—It was rumored that the spymaster’s wound was not healing as it should. The news seemed to have subdued the academy. Only Riggs stood by Olivia now that she needed a friend. The other trainees ate their meals without saying a word to her. Study hall, boisterous in the past, was reduced to silence. And no one commented about the cancellation of the popular fencing program. At least not in Olivia’s hearing.
She took this as censure. Did the instructors also stare at her a moment longer than necessary during calisthenics, during archery, during martial arts? Olivia couldn’t be sure, for the slights were subtle. But she couldn’t rid herself of that sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She followed each day’s training program to the letter, yet her mind counted the hours until she could visit Sebastian.
When she was observed sneaking down to the spymaster’s chambers in the middle of the night, gossip buzzed like a swarm of bees denied entrance to their hive. Indeed, every one of her movements caused a hiccup among the staff.
“You have dark circles under your eyes, my love,” said Sebastian one evening. He traced them with his finger. “You aren’t getting enough sleep. I’m supposed to be the invalid. Not you.”
His face was flushed, which alarmed her. She ignored it and said, “Hurry up and get well and you’ll see how rapidly I improve, sir.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Sir?”
She smiled and said in a soft, seductive voice. “Sebastian, dearest.”
“That’s better. Care to tell me what’s troubling you, my foolish darling?”
It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m troubled?”
“Those circles, for one. And for another, you have frown lines on your forehead. Letting the rumormongers get to you?”
She laughed. “Of course not. Did the doctor examine you today? What did he say?”
“Don’t change the subject, my girl. What can I do to ease your worries?”
She played with the fingers of his good hand as she spoke. “If you were to be seen fully recovered, I might be able to hold my head up again.”
“I’m at the mercy of the doctor, my darling. I must remain in bed, and therefore immobile, for another week, he says.”
A single tear ran down her cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb. “Through no fault of yours, the point of the foil came dangerously close to severing the most important muscle in my arm. The doctor calls it the median nerve. If you had intended to render my arm useless, you missed the mark. No, no, I’m only teasing. Don’t cry, my foolish darling. I assure you I shall be right as rain in no time at all.”
She was relieved when Chris Darlington arrived at Wilson Academy, but he was not alone. He brought with him a London physician, Sir Clive Davis, to examine Sebastian. When Chris had suggested the famous doctor to Sidmouth, the home secretary urged Darlington to escort him to Sebastian’s bedside as soon as possible.
Sidmouth made this decision as he did so many others, not so much for humanitarian purposes, but for political purposes. There were delicate ramifications for a man who owed his current position by appointment of the Regent. His record as prime minister had not been sterling. Simply put, he feared damage to his career should the news spread that the daughter of the Duke of Heatham, an influential member of Parliament, had seriously wounded a war hero. That Sidmouth had personally approved her admission as a spy trainee, added to his anxiety.
“How are you feeling, Sebastian?” asked Chris. “Allow me to present Sir Clive Davis, a much respected London physician. I’ve brought him to examine you.”
Sebastian was polite, but indifferent. “How do you do, sir? I wasn’t aware that I had requested yet another physician.”
Sir Clive Davis, a short round man with a jolly disposition, laughed. “That tells me you’re not too fond of doctors, my boy, eh? Can’t say I blame you. We are a bloody nuisance to all our patients. Be that as it may, will you allow me to take a look-see at your wound? I’ve come such a long way to examine you.”
Sebastian warmed to him at that remark. “Of course, sir. Wouldn’t want to waste your valuable time.”
When Chris returned, he took him aside and said, “I don’t like the smell of that wound. It’s festering. Not a good sign. You’ll need to have a cot set up for me in this room. I shan’t leave until I’m convinced he’s well on the way to recovery.”
As if it had been asleep since the accident, Wilson Academy came alive under the doctor’s brisk orders. A table was brought in for the physician to lay out his tools. And when he sent back the first batch of water, proclaiming that it had not been boiled thoroughly enough to suit him, the footmen hurried away to obey.
Davis ordered everyone out of the room as soon as he was satisfied that all preparations suited his exacting standards. When Denville lingered, he raised an eyebrow at him, put his hands on his hips and waited until the aide scurried out of the room like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
The sight made Sebastian laugh. “Since you can terrorize a martinet like my aide, you shall have my full cooperation, sir.”
Davis smiled as he removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He took one of the water pitchers, sprinkled powder from a large jar he’d brought with him and proceeded to scrub his hands.
Sebastian observed this ritual with awed respect. It took the doctor five minutes to scrub. He rinsed them thoroughly in the cooled water that had been boiled, wiped them dry and discarded the used linens in a sack on the floor.
The doctor approached Sebastian with the largest pair of shears he had ever seen and proceeded to cut away the bandages wrapped around his patient’s waist. “These country doctors use too many bandages,” the London physician grumbled as he worked. “Such unnecessary waste.”
Sebastian yelped when the last bit of bandage sticking to his open wound was removed. “Bloody hell! That hurt!”
The physician paid him no heed while he took up his magnifying glass from the table and examined the fissure with intensity. “Just as I thought.”
“What is just as you thought, sir?”
“When Darlington said your wounds had not healed, I suspected infection and I was right. Country doctors pay little heed to the value of cleanliness around a wound. Unfortunately, when it festers, the patient becomes feverish, the result of a serious infection.”
“Comforting thought,” muttered Sebastian. “And after that?”
“What do you think? The patient dies, of course. I shall have to open the wound and clean it out if you are to live. The point of that foil may well have been rusted and therefore full of harmful germs.” He looked around him.
“Bell pull is by the door, sir.”
Denville nearly fell into the room at the first ring.
“Make yourself useful and bring me an unopened bottle of brandy, more boiled water and more clean sheets torn in strips,” the doctor barked. When Denville disappeared, he turned to Sebastian and said, “I’m going to render you unconscious with a combination of brandy and laudanum. You won’t feel a thing after that, believe me.”
Sebastian tried for a bit of humor, but he was alarmed nevertheless. “Take care not to cut off my arm, sir. I’ve grown fond of it.”
“I doubt I’ll have to, but I can’t guarantee it. You may become feverish. I’ve seen such a result linger for days, in fact. Let us hope I can remove enough of what’s causing the infection to render its effects harmless and leave your arm right where it was always meant to be.”
When Denville knocked, the doctor took the brandy bottle from him and shut the door in his face. Again Sebastian watched, fascinated, as the doctor washed the outside of the bottle with his special powder and rinsed it off. He removed the cork and wiped the neck thoroughly. Davis poured it into a goblet, filling it to the top and added laudanum from a tiny vial. He raised Sebastian and held him up, putting the goblet in his good hand.
“Take your time, but you must drink it all, son.”
While his patient drank, the doctor chatted in a conversational tone, as if they were enjoying a pint in a cozy tavern. “Among my colleagues, I am a laughingstock. They ridicule me, you know. They mock my methods. I am known as the cleanliness maniac, but I don’t mind.”
“Why is that, sir?”
“Sheer stupidity on their part, if you ask me. However, I always have the last laugh, you see, for I rarely lose a patient to infection.” He poured more of the brandy mixture into Sebastian’s goblet.
“We’ve known for near on fifty years that infection, caused by lack of cleanliness in my view, can be deadly, but do doctors pay attention to this information?” He poured more brandy. “Not at all. Far too many of them do not even bother to wash their hands.”
Sebastian’s eyeballs fluttered in an involuntary fight to keep awake. Davis kept on chatting and pouring until his patient’s head drooped to one side. The doctor removed the empty goblet from Sebastian’s limp hand and said softly, “Pleasant dreams, son.”
Davis kept his tools steeped in the boiled water until he was ready to use them. He sprinkled more of his powder on all of them, rinsed them off and began to clean out the poison festering in Sebastian’s wound.
Chapter Thirteen
Wilson Academy—Monday, The Nineteenth of August
Doctor Davis was a demanding taskmaster. Olivia was no longer able to sneak in at night to visit Sebastian. Even Denville was kept at bay. The only person allowed into Sebastian’s chamber by the good doctor was Mrs. Hunnicut, who acted as Sebastian’s nurse whenever Davis felt the need to sleep.
As Davis had predicted, Sebastian began to run a high fever. He ranted and raved in delirium, shouting orders to his men, for he believed himself to be back with Wellington’s army, in the thick of the battle of Waterloo. Davis applied cool wet dressings. In this task, he had the efficient help of the housekeeper. He was delighted to find that her zeal for cleanliness in a sickroom matched his own.
By the end of the week, Davis shook his head and said to Mrs. Hunnicut, “I had hoped to see some extrusion from the wound by now. Such leakage would be a good sign, but this infection’s a stubborn one. Not good for a man to run such a high fever for so long a time. I’m afraid I can’t guarantee his survival.”
“Will it help if we sponge him more often, sir?”
“I don’t know, to be frank. We can only try.”
Gossip ran riot in the academy. The most optimistic rumor was that the spymaster was healing. But when it was rumored that the spymaster had taken a turn for the worse. Many believed that the spymaster was at death’s door.
Why hadn’t the spymaster recovered, everyone wondered? The customary boisterousness of a lively staff was reduced to hearsay, often groundless. Talk of the spymaster’s persistent illness filled the air. Everyone from the lowliest under maid to the haughty butler had a surefire cure to offer.
“I hear tell there’s a woman in the village who swears that hot wax poured on the wound will cure it of the disease in his system,” an under maid declared.
“Mayhap she knows better than that uppity London doctor,” snorted a footman in reply.
“Starve a fever. That’s what I always say.”
“You’re wrong. Feed a fever does the trick better.”
“My uncle was saved once by a man who lives alone in the woods hereabouts. He makes his own special miracle potion. Swears it will cure any ill.”
Yet beneath all the rumors lay fear. The service staff feared they would lose their positions if the spymaster were to die. What if the academy were to shut down, as a result?
Olivia was faced with so many accusing stares wherever she went, she kept her eyes downcast. Backs were turned when she approached and sullen silence greeted her questions.
The worst of it was that she was not allowed to visit Sebast
ian. The first time she tried to sneak down the back staircase, she faced two angry footmen who blocked her way and sent her scurrying back to her room.
She pleaded with Riggs, her only friend in this terrible crisis, to discover news of the spymaster. To no avail, for the doctor had insisted upon a veil of secrecy to counteract the rumors. In his experience, sickroom news frequently became distorted in such a large establishment. He believed it made his task more complicated than necessary. To his relief, he found a staunch ally in Mrs. Hunnicut. That wise woman knew how to keep her own counsel even though she could not scotch the exaggerated rumors.
“Good evening, Mrs. Hunnicut,” said Olivia. She rose from a chair in the housekeeper’s sitting room, the one she had been resting in for hours.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed, Fairchild? You need your sleep, you know.”
“You know why I’m here, don’t you? Is the spymaster going to live? I’m mad with worry. You must give me reason to hope, for I am to blame for all this.”
Mrs. Hunnicut sighed. “It was an accident, Fairchild. Everyone knows that.”
Olivia frowned. “They may know it, but they don’t believe it was an accident. Behind my back, people whisper that I deliberately stabbed the spymaster. Oh, don’t shake your head in disagreement, Mrs. Hunnicut. You know how deadly hearsay can be.”
“You must forgive those foolish enough to repeat such ridiculous lies. You know very well that they do this out of ignorance. Most of our service staff were raised with little education. As for the spymaster’s condition, I can tell you nothing, my child. The doctor has sworn me to secrecy and I must respect his wishes. Rest assured that Doctor Davis, a most admirable man in my estimation, is doing everything he can to save the spymaster’s life.”
“Save the spymaster’s life? Do you mean to tell me he’s near death?”
“I tell you this in the strictest confidence, my dear. Have I your word you won’t repeat what I say?”
“Yes, of course, ma’am. Go on.”