"What do opiates do, exactly?"
"Opiates tend to relax the user. They can also make them restlessness, nauseous and cause them to vomit. He certainly seems to be very thin. If he vomited they would have had to carry on giving him more and more to keep him in a state of torpor, thus making him even more ill.
"He was trying to take himself off them, which is why he appears coherent now, but it doesn't always last, and I really have no idea about these bizarre seizures of his. Or the hallucinations he said he saw. That could be opiates, or some other drug entirely."
"Those are too many ifs for my liking," Gabrielle said with a frown.
"Well, let's deal with what we can be sure of. The opiates. They cause a person to alternate from alert to drowsy, unless they drug him so heavily as to render him unconscious. Then you would see the signs."
"Which are?"
"A bluish tinge to the skin. Also, the pupils become smaller, the skin becomes cold, moist. The breathing slows down, and death can occur from an overdose."
"He's breathing normally, but the pupils are not much bigger than pinpricks, even with a candle shining right in them."
"He's well and truly an addict, then."
Gabrielle tried to fight back the wave of nausea which crashed through her. "Is he in a lot of pain?"
"No, I don't think so," Antony said in his most reassuring tone. "It's evident from the scars all over him that he suffered a great deal at some point, but they're not deep enough to have caused lasting damage to the muscles underneath. Whoever did it to him wanted him alive and relatively uninjured."
Gabrielle shuddered at that. She recalled with a pang all he had said about her as a young happy auburn haired girl, what, perhaps ten years ago judging from the details he had given her. Damn the war for reducing such a wonderful man to such an appalling state. If only she could remember him....
"In any event, he's probably been drugged ever since. Opiates produce a tranquil and euphoric effect. They slow breathing, heart rate and brain activity. They also depress appetite, thirst and sexual desire. The body's tolerance to pain is increased."
"He seems very thirsty, though." She didn't dare say anything about his rampant desires.
"That's not surprising," Antony commented. "If you look at the slackness of the skin you can see how dehydrated he is. He hasn't been consuming what they give him, in order to try to wean himself from the drug.
"And if he was suffering from nausea and vomiting, he would only have made his condition worse. Without water, the body becomes unbalanced, and he can have a whole host of other symptoms. I think we're seeing some of them now."
"For instance?" Gabrielle asked worriedly.
"Leg cramp, severe anxiety, confusion, or an inability to stay awake. Faintness that is not relieved by lying down, or lightheadedness that continues after standing for two minutes. Weak, rapid pulse. Cold, clammy skin. So we need to keep getting liquids into him, and need to build him up as much as possible before we have our next set of problems to deal with."
"And they are?" Gabrielle asked feeling more and more hopeless with every word her well-meaning cousin uttered.
"Opiates are addictive. The body comes to hunger for them much as it would regular food. Take them away suddenly, and he is going to start to go into what is called withdrawal. You already saw him with the bottle of laudanum.
"It's been a living hell for him, having to go ten hours from breakfast to supper without, and fourteen hours of the night until breakfast.
"He's been smart, pacing himself, not wolfing down the food, keeping a steady level of the drug in his body. It's like living on a knife-edge. We can give him more, but the more the body gets, the more it wants. He's tried to cut down. We have to try to keep him down if nothing else."
"Keep feeding him untainted food, you mean."
He nodded. "Yes, that's what it boils down to, but you're going to need to prepare yourself for the cruel too."
Gabrielle looked appalled. "What do you mean?"
"If you ever want to wean him off the opiates, he's going to have a whole host of symptoms, none of them pleasant. He is going to be little better than a raving madman at times if his dependency is as bad as I think it is."
"He's not mad, damn it! He saved me! Saved us. This isn't his fault. How can you..."
Antony shook his head. "I'm not, Gabrielle, believe me. I pity him. I'm not judging him. The intensity of the withdrawal symptoms so far as I can gather from what I've seen really depends on how much of the drug was taken, how often and for how long. I have no way of knowing any of those things."
"We'll just have to do our best," she said in a firm tone.
"It is very laudatory that you wish to help him, but you really have no idea what his care is going to entail."
"Then tell me."
He sighed. "It's going to take at least a month to get him back to something even approaching coherent. And we don't know what you're blundering into. He has epilepsy, these strange turns. You might make things worse."
"I can't see how it's possible. According to his poor man, someone grabbed him, treated him barbarously, stuffed him in Bedlam and has kept him an addict ever since. You can see what kind of people these are by the drugs, the scars, and that strange man who threatened us this morning."
Antony's normally open expression tightened. "True."
"Even if he is mentally unstable, who can blame him! It's not his fault. We have to try..."
He sighed and nodded. "I need to find out why he's here, and his history, which may have a great deal to bear on his case. You saw that huge woman in the common ward who claimed to be the Queen of England. Everything he told us could be the product of his delusions."
"Those scars aren't delusions, and neither are his pains," she insisted. "I don't want to the risk of him seizing again. But we need to speak to him, try to get some answers. And I want to know how to help him. Visit him if they will let me."
"Do you not have enough to do with your sister?" he chided.
"I'll make it up at the house and clinic late at night, I promise," she said with a lift of her chin.
"I don't give a stuff about the clinic."
"Well, I do." She gave a timid smile. "I'm very grateful for your help, and all you've taught me. Now teach me what I need to know so I can help this man who saved us."
He sighed and shook his head. "You can't save everyone, Gabrielle. Your months at the clinic should have taught you that by now."
"By the time they ever reach us, many of them have no chance. This man does, I'm sure of it. Please, help me help him?"
He hesitated for a moment more, then nodded. "All right, I will."
"Tell me all the things I am going to have to look out for."
Antony sighed. "It's going to be pretty ugly. They include uneasiness, diarrhea, abdominal cramps, chills, sweating, nausea, runny nose and eyes, irritability, weakness, tremors and insomnia. He can also do a great deal of sneezing and yawning.
"These symptoms are usually strongest one to three days after the drug has been withdrawn. They can persist for seven to ten days. His confusion and lassitude can persist for several months even after all the other symptoms have disappeared."
"Damn! I had no idea."
"No reason for you to."
"Those bastards."
Antony didn't even bother to remonstrate about her language. "I can give you some laudanum to have on hand just to make it easier for you, so you can prepare yourself for what's to come, but-"
She shook her head, determination etched in every line of her face. She sat back in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. "No! I'm not going to give the man more poison while I come to terms with his desperate state. I would never give it to him for my sake.
"But he needs to get a bit stronger. He needs food, water, broth or beef tea would be ideal. At least we have water. If the er, dehydration I think you called it, is as bad as you say, we can do something about it."
"I ca
n check his urine, see what he is producing, how much, how dark it is. Those are usually indications that the body is in trouble. I had one teacher at medical college who swore by urine."
"I'm sure," Gabrielle said, lifting one corner of her mouth into a smile at Antony's small attempt at levity.
"Any other diseases? Er, venereal?"
"I checked him again and found he was sweating and shivering, but there was no sign of any physical illness that I could see."
"All right, that sounds promising."
"Always the optimist."
She shot him an irritated look. "Better than being a pessimist all the time. He needs our help, and I'm not going to let him down."
But when they got back to Bedlam, there was no sign of Simon anywhere, and no amount of inquiries could yield any information as to his location or condition.
Finally her cousin pulled her over to one side and advised her in a low tone, "The harder you push, the less likely they are to tell you what you need to know. So just leave it for now. When they have less to fear, less on their minds, we'll find him."
"If he isn't already dead," she shot back, her skin crawling. "Not to mention the fact that he will be going through all those withdrawal symptoms you've described all alone. I can't bear the thought of..."
"You'll have to for now. If I find him I can give him some laudanum to help him temporarily. Just calm down. Find your sister and help her, and leave Simon to me."
"Are you sure..."
"I will get some answers, I swear. I'm not a Rakehell for nothing, you know."
She nodded and smiled slightly at the mention of their set of bold Radical friends. "All right. But if you do find him, well, tell him we're thinking about him."
Antony gave her a long look and suppressed a sudden fit of jealousy. Her lovely cousin and a madman? It was unthinkable...
But he had promised, and he was a doctor. He would find the mysterious inmate called Simon. But just how far they would help would depend very much on what he discovered about the man, and just how dangerous he could really be.
Chapter Seven
Antony had little time to worry about his promise to find Simon in view of the huge number of injuries they were confronted with once they arrived back at Bedlam.
Once he had found Lucinda and seen she was in no serious danger, he had come back down and set to work with a will.
There were so many in need of urgent care that Gabrielle even had to help with the stitching herself while Antony and Oliver tended to the more seriously injured. Very few of the Bedlam doctors were on site, a fact that they all found shocking. There had been a riot--why was the hospital's own staff not in attendance?
But when he asked the question, the few nurses each shrugged.
"Took the day off, I expect," one of them said.
"What, all of them? Do they not have a duty roster?" Antony demanded.
"We did do, but it sort of got changed this week. We were given a half-day yesterday out of the blue."
Antony and Gabrielle looked at each other. It was all so strange, but for the life of them they couldn't grasp why anyone would want the whole common ward to go mad and kill each other.
Unless....
Gabrielle shoved the thought to one side. No, it was just too horrible. Perhaps what Simon had said was right, the doctors experimenting with the patients, and that was bad enough. But her own suspicions that it would be easy to hide one dead body amongst many was just too gruesome to contemplate.
She asked quietly for Simon whenever she got the chance, but they all stared at her blankly.
In the end she gave up and asked for directions to Lucinda's new room. Once there, she was relieved to see that her sister's color was better. She got her cleaned and changed, and checked her linens.
Everything seemed to have settled down with her pregnancy. There appeared to be no fresh blood on the wadding, and she was sleeping peacefully. Once she was sure that her sister was resting comfortably, Gabrielle looked around the small cell.
A private room. It was almost a small miracle. She couldn't leave anything valuable in it, but at least she could be certain that no one but the staff would come in or out and bother the mainly unconscious Lucinda.
She rubbed her shoulder and side where the violent man had injured her. Funny how she hadn't noticed them aching when she had been with Simon.
She longed to feel his heart beating against her, his long length pressed up along the whole of her body. She wondered again what might have happened if they had not been interrupted by the men all charging in trying to come to their rescue. Ironically, that was the last thing she had wanted.
But Simon had been right about one thing. It would have been extremely risky to go through with the act and then have to worry about pregnancy.
She had certainly learnt enough about preventing conception at the clinic. When she took a lover, it would simply be a case of getting some sponges and vinegar or lemon juice. Or some of the sheepskin prophylactics which also prevented disease.
And Simon would not be shocked. After all, he had said he lived in a brothel....
Then she shook her head. Listen to her, planning for her own seduction at the hands of a madman with all of the finesse of an army general. A French army general, she thought with a giggle.
For the French were reputed to be superb lovers, and she was sure Simon had to be at least partly French from his musical accent.
What she had seen of Simon had certainly more than confirmed the magnificent lover part. His every touch and kiss had been a devastating onslaught, even though he had been doing his best to hold back.
Curiously, he didn't even seem to be aware of his own power. In fact, he seemed to think that she was the one who was bewitching him. Even her slightest brushing against his loins had rendered him unable to hold back his... What was it he had called it? Orgasm? Pinnacle.
She suddenly understood a few things that had puzzled her in the past. It had to be what she had overheard the girls at the clinic calling ‘coming.' It was something they tried to get their clients to do as quickly as possible so they could move on to the next customer.
She also knew some men couldn't contain themselves, while others couldn't manage at all. And a couple of the women had even said something about stopping the men from doing it at all so the woman could catch up.
Gabrielle had tried not to listen, for indeed relations between men and women had seemed so far removed from her own life, worried as she was about her sister, that it had not mattered. She had certainly never imagined herself having a lover.
Lover. She hugged the word to her like a warm blanket as she went about her chores back down in the common ward, cleaning wounds, stitching, bandaging.
She had always been afraid of the word. But the reality had been so incredible. How could she fear something that had felt so perfect despite all of the appalling circumstances?
But she knew what Antony would say. And she had to acknowledge that he was right to a certain extent. Lucinda had believed she'd known Oxnard well, that he would be a wonderful lover and husband, and look how she had ended up.
What did she really know about Simon apart from the fact that he was in Bedlam, epileptic, and absolutely huge in every sense of the word? He was certainly large enough to be dangerous if he ever turned violent.
But then, Oxnard was not a large man and she had seen Lucinda shrink from his touch as though he were a plague-carrier.
No, Simon had seemed, gentle, kind, and certainly not selfish in any way. He had gone out of his way to help two perfect strangers, and done everything he could to protect them. Except they were not strangers after all... He remembered them even if she couldn't recall him as of yet.
Perhaps that was why she had felt so safe with him, and yet thrilled, excited too. He was from her past, her happier times. Only now, there had been a certain tension between them, a half-knowing, a little frisson of fear...
Or was it just nerves, a bit of reser
ve such as existed between a man and a woman who were aware of each other as such? It was not exactly flirtatious, more like a consciousness of each other's every move. A sort of instinct, a special connection with the other person's breathing, thoughts, posture and movement. Like leaning into each other to speak so only that person could hear. A certain intimacy.
Yes, that was it. She had never encountered such a feeling herself before, but she had seen it in her married cousins Michael and Randall, though certainly not between Lucinda and Oxnard. If she was being brutally honest, she and her sister had envied their dashing cousins and their wives with all their hearts.
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection 6 Page 9