A Dorset Girl

by Janet Woods

  He resisted the urge to touch the wound, giving it a perfunctory glance before it was covered up again. Although he knew the perpetrator of the beating, he needed to hear it from her own lips. ‘Who did this to you?’

  A shudder ran through her as she whispered, ‘Tom Skinner. He was waiting for me outside the infirmary.’

  The man was an animal. Francis tried to keep the growing anger from his voice as he said roughly, ‘Did he violate you in any other way?’

  Shame filled her eyes before the lids were lowered over them. For a moment he held his breath, then he smiled with relief when she gave an imperceptible shake of her head.

  Francis retreated behind an impersonal manner. ‘You’ll be pleased to hear the fracture is a simple one. The bone will knit cleanly once it’s splinted properly. As for your other injuries, you’re young and healthy, the grazed skin will heal before too long and some arnica will relieve the pain of the bruising.’

  The light went from her eyes as she said flatly, ‘I have no arnica. I have nothing. Tom stole my wages.’

  Daisy woke to gaze at him through eyes as blue as summer. Recognizing him as someone who’d been kind to her, the child smiled trustingly at him and went to sleep again. He remembered his own girls being innocent and tender little doves like this one. She was underweight for her age. It was unfair she should grow up in abject poverty.

  Although he’d grown up in a wealthy home, since doctoring had become his business, Francis had learned to despise the landowners for their greed, and the wealth which was earned at the expense of his patients. It was heartbreaking to watch human beings die from diseases which could be prevented by good nourishment and decent living conditions. He decided to tackle Edward about the sewerage in the village whilst he was here. There had been an outbreak of typhus.

  He frowned as he went about his work. Edward was not a philanthropist to take an idle interest in an impoverished girl like Siana. He would have a motive. Francis had a good idea what that motive was and began to examine the facts. Odd that Richard White had dispensed with her services, just as Daniel Ayres had been sent abroad. That time he’d seen Siana with Daniel they’d seemed closer than mere acquaintances.

  He took another look at her, calculating her worth through the eyes of a man instead of a doctor. Shining dark green eyes, fine, proud features and hair of lustrous ebony adorned a face of singular and slightly exotic beauty. He remembered the way she walked, graceful and unconsciously upright, her chin held high. She was long-strided for a female, the sway of her hips womanly.

  His eyes grew dark as his body reacted. He’d trained himself to ignore the effect the female body had on a man and drew in a deep breath. The thought of Edward using her was upsetting.

  Edward had always been the sensualist. Now he’d discarded Elizabeth Skinner, he would have a hankering for someone new. Damn you to hell, Edward Forbes, he thought. Why can’t you be content with the peevish Isabelle?

  Siana placed her free hand tentatively over his when he finished the splint. It was a strong, capable hand, the nails dirty and ragged. He should have drawn his own away, refused the contact. He left it there. ‘I was refused a place in the workhouse. There’s an epidemic, I believe.’

  He said nothing, but his blood boiled as Edward’s scheming became clear.

  She removed her hand, drew Daisy against her and gave a resigned sigh. ‘I don’t want to stay here, but I have nowhere else to go.’

  ‘Don’t think of that now. The squire’s not all that bad.’ Edward had better display a monk-like restraint towards this girl, though, he thought darkly.

  ‘He ordered Will Hastings’s arrest. Now the man is dead.’

  There was no disputing the truth of that, though Francis liked it not. ‘The squire acted within the law.’

  ‘There was no proof,’ she said. ‘Tom Skinner held a grudge against Will over Peggy. It was his word against Will’s.’

  He remembered the Hastings widow. She was an honest and capable woman. He nodded. ‘I’ll visit Tom Skinner and get your wages back for you.’

  Fear filled her eyes. ‘Be careful, Dr Matheson. He has an unpredictable temper. I don’t want you to be hurt.’

  He smiled at that, folding his hand around hers and squeezing it for a moment. ‘What makes you think I’m unable to handle myself? Now, get some rest, my dear.’

  Her eyes were turbulent and anxious, and she seemed on the verge of tears. ‘If you see Josh would you let him know where I am? I don’t want him to think I’ve disappeared with Daisy and left him to fend for himself.’

  Francis nodded, his heart too full to speak. He would do something for this girl. He didn’t know what yet, but he’d think of something.

  Francis was probably the only man in the district who would dare lay down the law to Edward Forbes. Much of his confidence was due to his breeding, which was a cut above most. He was blunt when he had to be, his ironic manner causing discomfort to many. He was also good at his profession. But, finding himself constantly disappointed by his fellow human beings, he’d learned to discourage attempts at close friendship.

  Francis considered the squire to have a likeable manner, although his character was not of the most admirable type. He was hard-working enough, but not particularly honest. Still, he was clever enough to manipulate others into serving his own ends. Edward was driven by self-interest, and he kept an exceptionally fine cellar.

  The drawing room was lit with a glow. Firelight lent a sheen to the timber panelling, as if it had been polished with gold dust. Holding a glass of brandy to his nose Francis inhaled the bouquet appreciatively. ‘I understand a gang of smugglers was apprehended last month.’

  Edward smiled slightly. ‘There has been some activity of late. Contraband has been turning up in the markets. How’s the girl?’

  ‘She’ll mend.’ His eyes came up to Edward in a frank and direct gaze. ‘What’s your involvement with her?’

  ‘I have no involvement, as yet. Actually, I was thinking of setting her up in the Dorchester house. She could do worse.’

  ‘Am I to understand you persuaded Richard White to dismiss her, and asked Tom Skinner to beat her up because of your desire for novelty? Why didn’t you just ask her?’

  ‘I did. She refused.’ A sullen expression touched his face. ‘I didn’t think Skinner would go as far as he did.’

  ‘You have conveniently bad eyesight if you haven’t noticed the bruises on Elizabeth Skinner.’

  Edward winced. ‘I misjudged the man. Now they’re wed, it’s too late.’

  ‘Skinner will kill somebody one day. I’m taking a personal interest in this girl, Edward. If you violate her in any way, I’ll personally strangle you.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so damned stuffy, Francis. I’m not a rapist and I won’t keep her here against her will. In fact, she can’t stay here long. Isabelle might get to hear of it and take it amiss. I’ve noticed my fiancée is inclined towards suspicion.’

  ‘As well she might be.’ Francis finished his brandy and set the glass down. ‘It’ll serve you right if she turns out to be a shrew. You don’t have to wed the girl, Edward. You already have a son.’

  ‘Unfortunately, he’s illegiti—’

  Francis cut him off, saying drily, ‘I’m going over to Croxley Farm to retrieve the money Skinner stole from Miss Lewis. She’s too frightened of him to press charges. In your capacity as magistrate, I’d appreciate it if you came along to read him the riot act. It’s no more than you deserve.’

  Edward’s eyes filled with chagrin and his lips pursed. Francis grinned humourlessly at him when he reluctantly nodded.

  Skinny legs pulled up to his chin, Josh buried his face in his knees and covered his ears with his hands. It didn’t block out the sound. Elizabeth was giving long-drawn-out sobs to wrench at his heart.

  At least the screaming had stopped – for the time being. Josh rocked back and forth, keening to himself, hating his brother.

  Tom had returned in a foul mood. He’d t
aken a lash to the mule, which had blood- flecked foam around its mouth and slashes across its flank. The door had not long slammed behind Tom when he’d loudly cursed. A dish had shattered, as if his brother had hurled it against a wall. Then Elizabeth had begun to scream. It had gone on a long time.

  In the stall beside him, the mule shifted nervously in the straw. Josh spoke soothingly to his companion. ‘He’s a devil, is our Tom. One of these days I’ll be big enough to take him on, then he can watch out.’

  He flinched as another scream rent the air, ‘Don’t, Tom. No!’ followed by a roar of rage from Tom.

  Josh jerked upright and listened. The mad bastard would kill her if he didn’t stop him. He had to draw Tom off so Elizabeth could get away from him. She’d shown him a hidey hole they could use if need be. One of the oak trees in the woods had a hollow trunk big enough to hold two. There was a blanket kept there in case of emergency. The entrance was concealed by an evergreen shrub.

  Picking up a stick, he opened the gate to the mule’s stall in case Tom decided to take it out on the poor creature, then headed for the house at a run. He peered through the window. Elizabeth was cowering against the wall. Blood oozed from her nose and her eyes were swollen.

  Tom was standing over her, a knife in his hand. Eyes maddened, he swayed back and forth, glaring at her.

  He’d have to be quick. His heart beating fit to bust, Josh picked up a wooden pail and swung it at the window. Glass shattered into the room. Tom turned towards him.

  ‘You bullying pig’s arsehole!’ Josh shouted.

  He was on the run before Tom opened the door. Racing into the barn, he pushed aside a loose plank and scrambled through. He doubled back just as Tom entered the barn at a run, and headed for the house.

  ‘Quick,’ he said to Elizabeth as he reached the cottage, and snatched up her shawl. As they fled across the meadow towards the copse, the mule started to squeal and hee-haw. At the back of his brain Josh registered the mule was angry rather than hurt. The beast’s hooves stomped the floor a couple of times and there was a couple of dull thuds, as if it had kicked Tom.

  Looking back, Josh saw a shadow stagger towards the pigsty. It made contact with the rail and pitched over the top. As the pigs set up a cacophony of squeals, Josh managed a shaky grin. ‘Best place for him, I reckon.’

  Elizabeth was staggering when they reached the woods. He put an arm around her for support. Lad and woman slowed down and, making their way to the hollow oak, scrambled inside. Panting, they sank to their knees in the dark, pulled the blanket over them and held each other tight.

  It was silent, blissfully silent and dark in the womb of the oak tree. Nothing could hurt them here. In the bare canopy above, an owl softly hooted.

  Back at Croxley Farm it was also silent. The pigs had settled down now, except for the satisfied grunts pigs make when they’re tucking into a meal.

  There was the sharp sound of a bone crunching, then a scream rent the air.

  10

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Francis whispered.

  Skinner was lying half across the doorstep in a pool of blood, making a gurgling noise.

  Edward took one look at him and his face drained of colour. Clapping a handkerchief over his mouth he turned away. Francis could hear him gagging as he knelt beside the filthy and bloodied figure.

  Francis didn’t blame him. Skinner was covered in pig’s ordure and the tip of his nose was missing. Shards of bone glistened amongst the shreds of one calf. The right leg would have to be amputated if he was to be given a chance to live. Even so, if the shock didn’t kill him, infection from the wound would more than likely finish him off.

  For a moment Francis wondered if the man was worth the effort. He was tempted to let Skinner die – this bully who ill-treated women and children without compunction. But Francis had also taken the Hippocratic oath, swearing to preserve life. That noble cause had to take precedence over his natural repugnance and reluctance to treat such a creature.

  ‘Sorry, my stomach is usually stronger than that,’ Edward muttered a few moments later. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘You can help lift him onto the kitchen table. I need to clean him up and examine him properly.’

  At least Edward wasn’t too fastidious to get his hands dirty. Whilst Francis removed the man’s clothes Edward went so far as to strip down to his shirt sleeves. Filling a bowl full of water he slopped the dirt from Skinner’s body with a sopping towel. He repeated the process with soap, rinsing it off in clean water. As bloody water scummed into pools on the floor, he fetched some sheets from a cupboard to dry the man’s powerful body.

  ‘I used to be an army officer so I’m not totally useless,’ he said, managing a wry smile when Francis gazed at him in surprise. ‘You’re going to have to remove the leg, aren’t you?’

  Francis nodded. ‘A lower limb amputation is a fairly simple procedure. He’s unconscious at the moment, partly from drink by the smell of his breath. If he comes round he could be fighting mad. I might need you to hold him down. D’you feel up to it?’

  ‘No,’ Edward said shortly, then he grinned. ‘But I’ll make sure he’s securely tied down to start with. I’ll fetch your doctoring bag from your horse.’

  Francis was examining his patient when Edward came back. He pointed out further injuries to him. On Skinner’s head, a livid swelling was revealed. ‘He’ll be concussed from that, but I think his skull was thick enough to absorb the blow without serious damage to the brain.’ Another wound on his chest bore the clear outline of a hoof print. There was a second set on his back.

  ‘Stubborn brutes, mules,’ Edward muttered. ‘They never forget ill-treatment, and always repay a wrong when given the chance.’

  Blood seeped from the twin holes on Skinner’s face. ‘If he survives the amputation, all I can do is clean the nose up and hope it heals. It looks as if he got the worst of this particular fight. See if his wife is around, would you? She might need attention, and could be able to throw some light on what occurred here.’

  ‘It’s obvious. The man is insane. After Skinner attacked Siana Lewis, he got drunk on the money he stole from her, then came back here and started on Elizabeth. There was a fight and she ran away. When he went looking for her, the mule kicked him. My guess is he was dazed and wandered into the sty, where the pigs got at him. There will be marks in the mud. I’ll look at the situation in the morning.’

  Francis gave him a steady look. ‘No need for charges to be laid, then?’

  ‘Of course not. The evidence is clear. I don’t know why you’re bothering to doctor him. It will be a blessing for everyone if he dies.’

  ‘No doubt it will be convenient for some, hmmm? Elizabeth deserved better than this, Edward.’

  Edward didn’t need reminding. He glowered at Francis, then went off to search the house and the barn whilst the doctor prepared for his task. The barn was empty except for a black and white cow, and a mule which flattened its ears at the sight of him.

  ‘It’s old right, old boy,’ he soothed, noting the bloody stripes on its flank. ‘But it’ll be the knacker’s yard for you. Nobody will want you when word gets around, and if Skinner recovers, he’ll flog you to death.’

  When he went back to the house he gazed thoughtfully at the smashed plates and overturned chairs. He remembered the state of Siana Lewis. ‘I hope Elizabeth isn’t injured.’

  Strolling to the door he gazed across the paddock to the line of trees, darker shadows against the dark sky. He would come back before dawn, search for her if she wasn’t back.

  There was a faint glow, signalling the moon’s intent to travel up behind them. He cupped his hands around his mouth, ‘Elizabeth! Don’t be afraid. It’s me, Edward.’

  ‘She’ll be all right. My guess is, she’ll have Josh with her.’

  Edward turned to gaze at the doctor. ‘Josh?’

  ‘The young Skinner lad. I’ve heard the pair look out for each other.’ Francis handed over some strips of she
ets he’d torn up. ‘Tie Skinner down good and tight, will you?’

  Guilt tore through Edward’s guts and he couldn’t meet the doctor’s eyes as he hastened to do his bidding. He watched uneasily as Francis set out his instruments. Two keen-bladed knives, a saw, tweezers, needle and surgical thread. He pointed to a strange-looking apparatus of straps with a plate and screw attachment. ‘What’s that thing?’

  ‘A screw tourniquet. It compresses the wound and helps prevent bleeding.’

  The operation was messy. Edward tried not to look, but the sound of the saw on bone set his teeth on edge and made him feel squeamish. Blood dripped through the loosely joined planks on the table top.

  Thankfully, Skinner remained quiet, except for giving a low, animal groan now and again. Francis grunted with the effort, brow glistening with perspiration. Edward paled a little when the doctor picked up a knife and began to neaten the flap of skin left over. Turning his face away, Edward gulped back his nausea and guiltily wondered where Elizabeth was.

  Afterwards, he helped to lift Skinner onto the cart. ‘I’ll stay here and clean up,’ he said to Francis. ‘I can’t leave the place in this state for Elizabeth to find.’ Fetching a pail, he headed for the pump.

  Snug in the tree-trunk hideaway, Elizabeth cuddled the sleeping Josh close and cried with quiet despair as she felt his bones sharp against her flesh. Josh was a child, and Tom had him working like a man. It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t fair!

  Tom had degraded her, stripped her of her pride. She couldn’t take much more of his treatment. Her affection for Josh was the one shining core left of her spirit. The boy had become important to her. They supported each other with an exchanged look, a touch or a smile. She had to get them away from here before Tom killed them both.

  Carefully, she reached upwards, feeling for the ledge – for the bag. It was a frivolous thing of pink satin embroidered with fine golden thread and hanging from a ribbon. She remembered the gown she’d worn it with. It had been Edward’s favourite, the bodice exposing her neck and shoulders, its three-tiered skirt scalloped and embroidered at the edges.