The Heir

by Catherine Coulter

  Elsbeth fell to her knees on the floor. She began to cry, then shook her head, and dashed the tears away. “No,” she said. “No, I won’t cry. You’re right, Justin, he’s not worth it. But I wasn’t crying for him. Please tell me that Arabella will be all right. Please, Justin, don’t let her die. Please. It is all my fault if she dies.”

  “No, Elsbeth, she won’t die. And none of this is your fault. I will strangle you if you ever say anything so stupid again. Now, I swear to you again that Arabella won’t die. She is my life, you see. I cannot let her die or else I am nothing at all.”

  He turned from Elsbeth then and pressed harder on the wound. He searched his wife’s pale face. She was deeply unconscious, thank God. He prayed that she would continue unconscious. There was pain to be borne. He knew the bullet hadn’t gone through her shoulder. It would have to be dug out.

  He wished that Gervaise was dead.

  When Crupper came into the room, carrying both a basin of hot water and towels piled over his right arm, he said, “I don’t believe anyone else should be allowed in here, my lord. I understand that Dr. Branyon will arrive soon. As for Miss Elsbeth, I have told Grace that she is to assist the young lady to her bedchamber. Oh, Mrs. Tucker, you’re standing right at my elbow. Well, my lord, I could hardly tell Mrs. Tucker not to come in now.”

  “I know,” the earl said.

  Mrs. Tucker looked ready to faint and join Elsbeth on the floor. He said very gently, “Please, Mrs. Tucker, see Miss Elsbeth to her bedchamber. Then Grace will attend her. Thank you. I know I can trust you to keep everyone else away.”

  “But, my lord, what of the Frenchman?”

  “Does he still live, Crupper?”

  “I don’t know, my lord. I will go ascertain his condition. Hopefully it is not a good condition.”

  “Thank you, Crupper.” Justin pressed down harder. The cloth beneath his fingers was soaked with Arabella’s blood. He began his prayers again. After he was certain that the bleeding was sluggish, he placed his hand on Arabella’s breast to feel her heartbeat. It was rapid, but, he thought, steady. He looked down at her pale face, the heavy black lashes laying still against her cheeks. It was the plan of his own face. Except for the cleft in the chin. She didn’t have it. He remembered that long ago day when he had first met her, how she had told him she didn’t have the cleft. He remembered her bitterness, her anguish, her deadening grief for her father.

  But now she was his. Now everything had been resolved. He wouldn’t let her die. He wouldn’t.

  Finally, he slowly lifted the pad from the wound. He breathed a sigh of relief, for the bleeding had slowed to a trickle.

  The earl did not again look up until Dr. Branyon hurried into the room. “Good God, Justin, what the devil has happened here? Giles told me that Bella had been shot by the comte. What the hell—”

  The earl gently lifted the wadded pad from Arabella’s shoulder, his eyes meeting Dr. Branyon’s.

  Dr. Branyon abruptly turned and held up his hand for Lady Ann to stop. He said curtly, “Ann, I do not want you in here. Go downstairs or go to Elsbeth and keep her with you. We will find out exactly what has happened later. I will come to you as soon as I can.”

  “No, damn you, Paul, no! She is my daughter!”

  The earl said calmly, “Please, Ann, if Paul wants you gone, please go. Gervaise shot her thorough the shoulder. He himself is very likely dead now. Please, do as Paul says.”

  “Please, my darling. You would distract me. Please let me tend to your daughter as I should, Ann. Send Giles up when he arrives with my instruments.”

  The earl didn’t say another word. He watched as Lady Ann turned slowly, grief and fear clear in every movement she made, and walked to the open door.

  Paul called out, “She will survive, Ann, I promise you.”

  Lady Ann nodded, then thought: Elsbeth was already here? She had witnessed some of this? She would speak to her. Lady Ann picked up her skirts and ran full-tilt down the corridor.

  As Dr. Branyon cleaned the wound and probed the area to determine the depth of the ball, the earl told him all that had happened. His voice was low, his choice of words placing entire blame upon himself, which Paul said, even though he never raised his face to look at the earl, was utter nonsense. “No, it’s true. I was an idiot not to carry a gun with me.”

  “No, you feared for Arabella’s safety. Now, is that all?” Dr. Branyon asked, his eyes hard upon the earl’s face.

  The earl thought about it. “No, there are other things, but it is not for me to tell you. I think it only fair for Arabella to tell you the rest of it and that only if she wants to. All right?”

  Dr. Branyon nodded. Then he straightened. “You know that I must remove the ball when Giles arrives with my instruments. You have had experience with wounded men in battle, Justin. You must assist me.”

  “Yes, I will assist you. She will live, won’t she, Paul? She must, you know. She is my other half.”

  “I know,” Dr. Branyon said, looking at the young earl’s face, a face he had come to know and like during the past weeks, weeks veiled in mystery and danger. And now, his Bella was lying here, close to death. But he wouldn’t say that to her husband.

  The earl realized that he was clasping Arabella’s hand. He did not release it.

  Arabella moaned.

  Both men stiffened at the sound, their eyes meeting over Arabella’s still figure.

  “It isn’t fair, Paul,” the earl said, his voice harsh, raw with anger. “It isn’t. It is too much for her to suffer you removing the ball from her shoulder.”

  For an instant Arabella felt only a great weight upon her chest. With an effort she forced her eyes to open and focus upon the faces above her. She felt bewildered. “Justin—Paul? You are both here? How very odd. Oh dear, I cannot bear this.” She gasped, her back arcing. “I’m so sorry to be such a coward.”

  The pain was unbearable, deep and rending. She pressed her head back against the pillow as hard as she could, again arcing her back upward, trying vainly to escape. She felt a damp cloth being daubed against her forehead, strong hands clasping her shoulders, holding her steady.

  Slowly she began to gain control over the dizzying, scorching pain. She bit down on her lower lip until her mind focused itself where she wished.

  “My dearest, can you understand me?”

  Justin’s voice. He sounded so worried. She hated to hear him sound so very worried. She forced her eyes open. “Yes, my lord, what can I do for you? Just tell me and I will fix anything you require.”

  “Do for me? Bella, you must be brave now. Do you understand me? The ball in your shoulder must be removed. Dr. Branyon is here. He is quite perfect, you know. He will shortly be your step-papa. He loves you a great deal. He will do a good job of it. He will keep you safe.”

  “Gervaise distracted me, Justin. Otherwise I would have killed him. I bungled the job. I am sorry.” Did she hear a laugh? Then suddenly, she was no longer aware of him, only of the vast blackness of the pain that engulfed her.

  The earl did not look up from her face until Giles entered on tiptoe bearing Dr. Branyon’s surgical case. He gazed at the sharp, slender scalpel and the array of other equally unpleasant instruments and said in a shaking voice, “God, how I wish we could spare her this.” He had seen so many men in battle, crying out their pain until their voices were but raw sounds in their throats.

  Dr. Branyon’s voice was curt. “Justin, you must hold her firmly. I shall remove the ball as quickly as possible. You cannot allow her to move or I might kill her. Hold her very still.” He added more gently as the earl hesitated, “Your pity cannot help her, only your strength.”

  The earl balanced himself over her, placing his hands upon her shoulders, unwilling at first to bear his weight upon her. He thought perhaps that she had fallen again into unconsciousness until Dr. Branyon, in a sudden sure movement, dug the scalpel into the wound.

  She writhed suddenly beneath his hands, a choking cry torn from h
er throat.

  “Damn it, hold her!” Dr. Branyon shouted.

  Suddenly, Arabella saw herself whirled away, back into time, years ago. Her father stood above her, his lips curled derisively, his voice mocking. “A simple fall and you shed tears and cry out your foolish pain. I am disappointed in you, Arabella.” And he had boxed her ears. “You will not act the girl again. I will not put up with it.”

  Gradually, her father’s face because Justin’s. And he was here and she knew he wouldn’t leave her. She was biting fiercely down on her lower lip, tasting her own tears, trying to swallow her screams. She licked her dry lips and tasted a drop of her own blood. She gulped convulsively and gritted her teeth. She whispered to the face above her, “I will not be a coward.”

  The earl looked down at her helplessly. She was staring up at him. Yet she made no sound.

  “Thank God, there, I’ve found it. Hold her firm, Justin, I must draw out the ball.”

  As the curved knife closed under the ball, Arabella felt a shattering explosion in her head. It was pain that was beyond anything she could possibly understand. She tried desperately to jerk away from the excruciating pain, to somehow escape it, yet she could not move. She gazed hopelessly into the blurred face above her, choked back a sob, and slid away into merciful blackness.

  “Arabella!”

  “She’s not dead, Justin, merely unconscious. It is amazing that she bore the pain for so long.”

  The earl forced his eyes from his wife’s pale face and gazed at the bloody ball. “It did not splinter?”

  “No, thank God. My little Bella is very lucky.” Dr. Branyon placed the blood-covered ball and his knife upon the table beside the bed. He straightened and ran his hand over his perspiring brow.

  The earl wet a strip of linen and gently bathed away the blood from around the wound, and then with a grimace, washed away the purple rivulets from between her breasts.

  “Hand me the basilicum powder, Justin. Then we will bandage her and fashion a sling for her arm.”

  The earl did as he was bid, surprised that his hands went so calmly about their tasks. Soon the bandage was in place around her shoulder and her arm supported in a sling of white linen. Dr. Branyon rose and placed his hand upon the earl’s arm. “Well done, Justin. The bleeding is nearly stopped. With luck all we have to fear now is a fever.”

  The earl suddenly became aware that Arabella was still naked to the waist, her gown in shreds around her. “Her nightgown, Paul. I must dress her. I don’t want Lady Ann to see her like this.”

  “No, not yet. Help me remove the rest of her clothing, then we will place only a light coverlet over her. I don’t want to take any chances that the bleeding could begin again. No nightgown as yet.”

  After stripping Arabella, who lay as still as a statue, a white coverlet to her throat, the earl straightened. “I’ll stay with her, Paul. Perhaps you should go speak with Lady Ann and Elsbeth.”

  “Yes. Then I will bring Ann up to see her presently. Ann’s solid. She won’t break over this.”

  The earl nodded and turned his attention to his wife.

  34

  The earl took a deep drink of the strong black coffee Lady Ann handed to him. He set the cup in the saucer, never looking away from Arabella’s face. He said finally, forcing himself to look away from her, “You look very tired, Ann. Why don’t you go rest for a while? I’ll be here. I’ll fetch you if there is any change at all.”

  “No, Justin, I can’t leave her, not yet. Just look at her—so utterly still. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Arabella still in her life. Even sleeping, she is so brimming with life, that you can practically see her moving even though she’s really not. Her father once said that if she were a military man—and she would have been a general—soldiers would follow her even in her sleep. But now—oh God, I can’t bear it.” She broke off and lowered her face to her hands.

  “Paul said she would survive, Ann. Both of us must believe him. Go rest.” She got control of herself. She was not a woman to collapse. She wiped the tears off her cheeks. “I’m all right now. It’s just that I love her so very much.” She rose and walked to the windows. She flung open the long dark blue velvet curtains, tying them back with the thick golden cords. Sunlight flooded into the earl’s bedchamber.

  She turned to let the warm sunlight shine upon her face. “You know, Justin, Elsbeth has surprised me. I had thought that she would be quite upset, distraught really, for she is very sensitive, so delicate, yet she has been strangely calm. Until Paul came down, she sat in front of the fireplace gazing silently into the flames. It was Grace who was twitching about behind her. I thought the poor girl would weep when I came into the room, she was so relieved. It was Elsbeth who told me what happened, that Gervaise had come to Evesham Abbey to steal the emeralds, and for no other reason. She also told me that he had been her lover, but that he had told her she was merely a diversion for him, that she should just consider this summer as a brief affaire de coeur, nothing more. She said he told her that she must grow up now. She finished by saying that he’d been right. Now she was well on her way. I couldn’t tell her that I’d already known, but it was difficult. I hated the pain in her, Justin. But it wasn’t pain for herself, or for the mistake she’d made, no, it was something deeper, involving Arabella.

  “And that’s because she still believes it’s all her fault that Gervaise shot her sister. That gave me something to sink my teeth into, let me tell you.” Lady Ann told him the rest of it, thinking as she spoke back to the previous night, with just her and Elsbeth alone together. “I am proud of you, Elsbeth. You’re strong, much stronger than I had ever imagined. You will live your life now a much wiser woman. You will accompany Dr. Branyon and me to London. There is life awaiting you, Elsbeth. You will do whatever you wish to do. Now you will look at people differently. You will judge them according to your new insights. But you mustn’t be afraid or feel guilty, or any other destructive emotion. No, you must ready yourself to embrace life, only now you will perhaps see things a bit differently than you would have before.”

  “And do you think she will, Ann? Do you think she will recover from this and move ahead? Heal?”

  “Yes, I do. As I said, Elsbeth seems stronger to me. She also told me she wasn’t pregnant, thank God. That would have posed a problem even for me.”

  He smiled at that until he realized he was smiling and it fell from his lips.

  Lady Ann just shook her head at him and took a turn about the room to stretch her stiff muscles. She poured herself a cup of tea, disliking the black coffee, and walked to the bedside to look down upon her daughter. She placed her hand lightly on Arabella’s brow. “Thank God, there is still no fever. I would dread Paul bleeding her, for she has lost so much blood already.” She laughed, an actual laugh. “Do you know that Paul must have reminded me at least three times last night that Arabella has the constitution of a horse—a Lucifer-type horse?”

  The earl said more to himself than to Lady Ann, “She was braver than most men I have seen wounded in battle. The pain was dreadful but she held herself in control. She was remarkable, Ann. I’m a very lucky man. And you are a very lucky mother.”

  Lady Ann said slowly, a reminiscent smile in her eyes, “She was always brave. I shall never forget the last time she was seriously hurt. Her father was in a black rage, ranting at her for falling like a clumsy idiot from her perch in the barn, yelling at her that it was unsafe and she wasn’t ever to go there again.”

  The earl, who she had thought was not paying any particular attention, suddenly looked up. “The barn, Ann? You mean that private place of hers?”

  “Ah, has she taken you there yet, Justin?”

  He shook his head. “Not as yet, but she will. She has told me a little bit about it.”

  “It’s one of her favorite haunts, as I’m sure you know. She never took her father seriously in his order and she was right, it was his fear that had made him try to protect her.

  “It’s this speci
al hideaway in the very top of the barn. There is this ladder just inside the front barn door that leads up to the crawl way. She used to say it was the most perfect spot for being alone—even better than the old abbey ruins—for no one could hear her or see her, and the stable hands could be milking cows below, chattering away, but she wouldn’t hear them. Yes, as a child she would climb up the narrow crawlway whenever she wanted to be by herself. I shall never forget that day—she could not have been more than ten years old—when one of the boards gave way and she fell some twenty feet to the ground, breaking her leg and cracking two ribs. She was very lucky, for a broken limb can result even in the best of circumstances in a horrible limp.”

  “Is that when you fell in love with Paul Branyon? When he managed to keep her leg straight and strong?”

  “No, actually, I fell in love with him when I was in labor with Arabella. It was a very long labor, but Paul never left me. I do not believe I would have survived it if not for him. He convinced me to fight, you see. He has done so much for us over the years.”

  “Yes,” the earl said. He set down his empty coffee cup and sat close to Arabella again. “I believe he is at this minute trying to save the comte. No, he isn’t a comte, he isn’t an anything, but a damnable bastard—”

  “What is this, Justin? What do you mean that Gervaise isn’t the Comte de Trécassis?”

  He cursed under his breath. He was so tired he was no longer in control of his brains. He had simply forgotten that there were still several facts not known yet to everyone. It was difficult to keep them all straight. Well, now it was too late.

  “Justin.”

  He gave it up. “Very well. When Arabella was trapped in the old abbey ruins, she found a very old letter in the skeleton’s pocket. His name was Charles. He was Gervaise’s father. Magdalaine was his mother and this man’s lover.”

  She stared at him stunned for some moments before she realized what it meant. “Oh, no,” Lady Ann said. “Oh, no. Elsbeth must never know, Justin, never.”