“I think that you have had too much to drink, Mr. Rossi, and that your judgement is impaired. I also think that it is getting late, and that I am leaving now. Excuse me.” James pushed past Stephano, but he took hold of James’ shoulder and spun him around.
Shoving his face close to James', Stephano said, “But I want to talk about it now. Just the two of us, alone, without a woman’s skirts for you to hide behind.” He pulled a pistol from his trouser pocket and pointed it at James.
James stared at the weapon for a long moment. “Do you intend to shoot me, Rossi?” he asked coldly.
“Yes and no. I intend to duel with you. A duel will prove who is the best man and who should marry Jemma.”
“Don’t be stupid, man. It doesn’t matter who the best shot is. What matters is what Jemma wants.”
“No, no, you are wrong there,” Stephano said, shaking his finger at James like a school master correcting his pupil. “A woman admires strength, and I think that you are weak. This is how brave men settle things. I will show Jemma that I am the better man, and that you are not worthy of her.”
He shoved the lantern at James and drew a second pistol from his coat pocket. “Come, we will walk a little further to the yard by the stable. There is more space there, and I will light some lanterns. We will duel there.”
“I will not duel with you, Rossi.”
A sneer spread across Stephano’s face. “I am not surprised to find that you are a coward, Wovington. Sadly for you, you have no choice.” He prodded James in the shoulder with the pistol. “Move.”
Back at the house, the women were finishing up in the kitchen while Antonio damped down the sitting room fire. He hummed a snatch of song to himself as he returned to the dining room and replaced the liqueur bottle in the cabinet. Turning to leave, his attention was drawn to a cabinet drawer that was ajar. Frowning, he pulled it open all the way.
“Clara, is Stephano back yet?” Antonio shouted as he rushed into the kitchen.
“No, Tony, he is still out at the stable. Why?”
“I was putting away the liqueur bottle when I saw that the drawer where I keep my gun was open. I looked inside, and my pistol was missing!”
“Your pistol?” Clara’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, that stupid boy! Hurry, Tony, we must stop him!”
Alarmed, Jemma caught Clara’s arm. “I am coming with you,” she said, and they ran for the front door with Cecilia racing after them.
They burst out the front door and sprinted along the side of the house. Before they had gone far, however, a shot rang out. Jemma gasped. In the distance, she could hear the dogs barking. She began running down the path toward the stable, her breath coming in little sobs. As she got closer, she could see two lanterns hanging from the stable rafters. She broke into the stable yard and saw Stephano, gun in hand, bending over James lying sprawled on the ground. Stephano’s head flew up as Jemma screamed, “James!”
Darting forward, Jemma pushed Stephano out of the way and flung herself onto her knees beside James. She cradled his head in her hands, and his eyes fluttered open. “Thank God,” she said.
Clara, Cecilia, and Antonio rushed into the yard and stopped to stare. Clara was transfixed for a moment before turning on Stephano, shouting at him and striking him on the head. He staggered back and raised his arms in defence, the gun still in his hand. Clara snatched it from him and threw it into the shadows.
Antonio knelt on the ground beside Jemma and held the lantern high to see James. He pulled back the cape, the material spilling on the ground around the fallen man, and muttered when he saw the blood oozing from James’ side. Antonio turned his head and shouted, “Clara, stop beating the boy. Come here and help me.”
He pulled a linen square from his pocket and pressed it against the wound. James flinched and clenched his teeth. Jemma’s eyes welled with tears.
“Jemma, hold that cloth there,” Antonio said. “We must stop the bleeding, but we can do nothing out here in the dark. Stephano, come here and help me lift him. We will carry him back to the house.”
Clara took the lantern while Antonio and Stephano lifted James between them. Jemma walked beside them, pressing the cloth against James’ side. Cecilia darted ahead to the house.
On the walk back, Stephano sobbed, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Forgive me, Jemma. I did not mean to kill him.”
“Hush, Stephano, that’s enough,” Antonio said sharply. Jemma said nothing, her lips pressed tightly together, her eyes fixed upon James’ white face.
They carried James into the house and laid him on the sofa in the sitting room. He was unconscious by then. Clara ran to fetch a basin, water, and towels. Cecilia had stoked up the fire in the hearth and lit candles. She stood at the head of the sofa, holding a candelabrum over James. Stephano hovered anxiously by the sofa while Jemma helped Antonio remove James’ cloak and jacket. The exposed shirt front was soaked with blood. Rather than trying to lift the garment over James' head, Antonio reached for his pocket knife and cut the shirt open. The wound was ugly, blood still oozing from his right side. Jemma clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering.
Clara hurried back into the room with her supplies. “Here, Clara, give me that,” Jemma said, taking a towel from her. She dipped it into the basin of water and began to wash away the blood.
“The bullet went in here,” Antonio said, pointing. “Here, Jemma, press the towel against it while I turn him a little on his side.” Antonio rolled James partway over and pulled the shirt away from his back.
“Look, here is where the bullet came out. That is good.”
He turned and waved at his nephew. “Stephano, run and saddle Cesar. You must ride over to Doctor Schmidt in the village and bring him back here right away. Hurry. There is no time to waste!” Stephano ran out of the room, and a moment later, they heard the front door slam behind him.
Clara hung over the sofa. “Does he feel hot or cold, Tony?”
Alberto laid his hand upon James’ forehead. “He is cold, Clara.”
“I will get some blankets to warm him. His clothes are damp from lying on the ground. Cecilia, boil some water and fetch the hot water bottle.”
Antonio left the room with the others to fetch clean water for the basin, leaving Jemma alone with James. She sank onto the floor beside him, her hand still pressing the towel to his side. With her free hand, she brushed away some gravel embedded in the side of his cheek.
“Oh, James, don’t die,” she moaned softly. Tears were streaming down her face as Clara hurried back into the room.
“Here, let me get the stool for you to sit on,” she said, helping Jemma off the floor and propping the seat beneath her. Clara covered James with the two heavy blankets she had brought and felt for a pulse at his throat.
“Clara, what am I going to do,” Jemma cried.
“Don’t talk like that, cara. Doctor Schmidt is a good doctor. He does not live far away. I know that Stephano will ride very quickly, and they will be back soon. Mr. Wovington is strong and young. He will survive this.”
“I cannot lose him, Clara. Not James, too.”
“Hush, now. We will pray and it will all be fine. Come, help me to take off his boots and wet clothes. Better to do it while he cannot feel the pain.”
Jemma and the family were gathered around James when Doctor Schmidt returned with Stephano. The doctor pushed his way past them and bent over his patient. He checked James’ pulse and heart rate. James opened his eyes when the doctor drew back the blankets to examine the wound.
“Ah, Mr. Wovington, you are with us again. My name is Schmidt. I am a surgeon. I am going to examine you and see what damage the bullet has done. We will have to move you to a firmer surface. Do you understand me, sir?”
James nodded, his eyes glassy.
“Good. Mr. Benelli, where is your kitchen table? We will carry him there. Mrs. Benelli, I will need sheets, a pillow, more water, and clean rags. And bring all of your oil lamps to illuminate the table.”
; Clara and Cecilia hurried to follow the doctor's directions. Stephano disappeared somewhere outside. When all was ready, the doctor and Antonio lifted James from the couch and carried him to the kitchen. Jemma followed them with the doctor’s bag.
Doctor Schmidt said, “Good, now everyone leaves except for Mr. Benelli. I will need you to help me turn him, sir. I will call out if I need anything else, ladies.” Reluctantly, Jemma left the room and waited with Clara and Cecilia in the dining room.
Dr. Schmidt worked on his patient for almost an hour. When he had finished, he and Antonio carried James to the guest room and put him to bed. Antonio left to confer with his wife just as Jemma arrived, Antonio patting her shoulder as they passed. The doctor turned away from the bed as she hurried up to him.
“You are Mr. Wovington’s fiancée, Mrs. Greene?”
“No, Doctor Schmidt, I am just a good friend from England.”
“Hmm. Mr. Rossi had led me to believe otherwise. Well, Mr. Wovington is not too bad, considering. The bullet glanced off a rib, broke it, and exited through his side. I have stitched up the wound and taped his chest to protect the rib. He fainted during the procedure, which is to be expected, but he is sleeping now. His breathing is good. His pulse is a little fast, but not dangerously so. When he wakes up, he will be in pain. I will leave laudanum with instructions on its administration. Do not let him get up tomorrow or the day after that. Give him some broth and a little watered wine when he can take it. I will come back tomorrow afternoon to examine him again. If he becomes feverish, send for me at once. Take heart, Mrs. Greene. He is young and fit and I do not anticipate any problems.”
“Thank you so much, Doctor Schmidt, for taking such good care of him.”
“Not at all, Mrs. Greene.” He bowed and turned to Antonio, who had returned and was waiting in the doorway. The doctor drew him into the hallway and shut the door behind them.
“See here, Mr. Benelli, a man has been shot. I will have to report this to the police. I will describe it as an accident, however. Your nephew was intoxicated and overwrought when he arrived at my door. I understand that there was a quarrel and that they were duelling, but best not to share that with the police. Tomorrow your nephew must make his statement. Hopefully, it will all go well and he will not be arrested. But when the police are finished with him, I would advise you to get him away from here. He is an emotional and impulsive young man. Why not send him back to his parents?”
Antonio nodded his head. “You are right, Dr. Schmidt. We will do as you say. Thank you for what you are doing for Stephano.”
“Good, it is settled. Now, it is late and you should all get some sleep. I imagine that Mrs. Greene will want to keep watch with her patient tonight, but see that she gets some rest, too.”
“Yes. Thank you, Doctor.” Antonio led the doctor to the front door, where the family watched him descend the stairs to his waiting carriage. Nodding his head at them, Schmidt clucked to his horse and drove away into the night.
Stephano emerged from the shadows and climbed up the stairs. He had been crying and his face was dirty, like a child’s. He held out his arms to Clara, who drew him into a fierce hug. Rocking him for a moment in her arms, Clara suddenly reached up and tugged sharply on his hair. Stephano rubbed his head with one hand and stared sadly down into her face. She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. Antonio put an arm around Stephano’s shoulders and drew him into the house. Cecilia followed behind them and shut the door.
Chapter Twenty-Three – A Reckoning
Jemma would not leave James that night, so Clara set up a cot for her. James slept fitfully, and when he woke in the middle of the night, Jemma gave him some of the laudanum. Returning in the morning, Clara discovered Jemma asleep on the chair beside his bed. James was awake and turned his head toward Clara. His eyes were glazed, and his face was grey with pain.
“Would you like a sip of water, Mr. Wovington?” Clara whispered.
James nodded. Jemma stirred at the sound of Clara’s voice and woke. “How is James?” she asked, sitting up slowly.
“I was just about to give him some water, Jemma.”
Jemma rubbed her eyes and rose to assist her. Gently, the two women grasped James beneath the shoulders and lifted him, propping a pillow behind his head. James stiffened in pain before relaxing back upon the bed. Jemma supported his head while Clara held the glass to his lips.
“Thank you,” he murmured hoarsely after taking a sip.
They tidied up the bedclothes, and then Clara took Jemma’s hand and pulled her away from the bed. “Jemma, I have had my breakfast and will sit here with Mr. Wovington for a while. Why don’t you have something to eat and then go to your own bed?”
“I would be glad of something to eat, Clara, and a change of clothes, but I will come back here to nap upon the cot. I will be perfectly comfortable, and you mustn't concern yourself about me. I do not want to leave him until he is out of danger.” Clara nodded. “But Clara, I have been worrying about Stephano. What will happen to him?”
“Antonio has taken him into town to talk to the police. Antonio thought that it would be better to go to them rather than waiting for the police to come here. Hopefully, the police will be satisfied and Stephano will be free to go. Then we will send him back to Florence so his parents can deal with him. He said to tell you that he is sorry for shooting Mr. Wovington. He didn't mean to hurt him ‒ only to frighten him away.”
Jemma lowered her eyes and shook her head.
“I hope that when Mr. Wovington is better, you will find it in your heart to forgive Stephano, cara. He had this stupid idea in his big head that you might marry him if he could make Mr. Wovington leave. Now he will pay a big price for his stupidity.”
“I do not want him to pay too high a price, Clara, but even if he intended to miss James, he still might have killed him.”
“I know, Jemma. He is not very smart, especially when he has had too much to drink. And maybe his heart is not so much broken as his pride is hurt. But there is something else I want to say. I hope that what has happened to Mr. Wovington will not change the way you feel about us. We love you and we want you to stay with us for as long as you want. Mr. Wovington, too.”
“Oh, Clara, of course my feelings for you have not changed. I do not blame you for Stephano’s actions. You did everything that you could to help James last night, and I thank you most heartily for that. I am sure that your swiftness in getting him into the house and sending for the doctor saved James’ life.”
The women had been speaking in hushed tones. Glancing back at the bed, Jemma saw that James was asleep again.
“I'll slip out while you stay with him, Clara. I am glad that he is resting now. He was in pain last night and did not sleep well. If he can just stay strong and avoid infection, all will be well.” She kissed Clara on the cheek and quietly left the room.
James spent most of the day sleeping. When Dr. Schmidt returned to inspect James in the afternoon, he declared himself satisfied.
“There is no sign of fever or infection,” he told Jemma. “He is not out of danger yet, but he is progressing well. No doubt it is because of the excellent care he is receiving.” James overheard the remark and managed a smile.
The patient’s convalescence progressed apace. Two days later, James was allowed to sit up on the side of his bed. He attempted to shave himself while Cecilia held up a mirror and Jemma held a basin of water. When Clara tried to comb his hair, too, however, he nearly toppled over, and Jemma shooed the other women from the room. James grinned, and Jemma caught his expression.
“No doubt you are enjoying having your own little harem, James.”
“I cannot remember having three beautiful women assist me with my toilette before, but I will not really enjoy it until I am a little more fit.”
“Until that happens, sir, you will have only one nurse to help you – me.”
“That sounds hopeful,” James said. He encircled her waist with one arm, but the movement caused a
spasm of pain. Jemma gently disengaged him.
“Now, James, you are growing tired. You have been up long enough. Let me help you back to bed.”
James allowed Jemma to help him, pulling the covers up to his chin and closing the curtains to block out the morning light. He grumbled something to himself.
“What was that, James?” she asked.
“I said that I feel as weak as a babe, and that is just how you are treating me. But one day soon I will regain my strength, Mrs. Greene, and when I do, you and I shall have a reckoning.”
Jemma smiled. “I am rather enjoying having the upper hand with you for a change, James. You are much less trouble to me in this condition. But do not worry. I am also looking forward to the day when you are yourself again.”
He scowled and was about to fold his arms over his chest when he remembered his injury and laid them down on the bed instead.
She kissed his forehead. “Get some rest for now, Sultan, and I will look in on you later with some lunch.” She left the room in high spirits and he snorted as he watched her flounce away.
A week passed. Stephano and Antonio managed to satisfy the police that James had been shot as the result of too much drink and tomfoolery. Stephano was made to pay Dr. Schmidt’s bill, but Antonio lent him the money. Stephano begged Jemma for her forgiveness, and when she granted it, he kissed her fingertips in gratitude. Still assured of his superiority, Stephano had not given up hope of winning Jemma’s hand, but decided to wait for developments while biding his time in Florence.
James entered the kitchen fully dressed and looking more like his usual self on the Monday morning a fortnight after the duel. Jemma looked up from drinking coffee at the table and smiled.
“Good morning, Jemma,” James said. “The house is unusually quiet today. Where is everyone?”
“Antonio has driven Clara and Cecilia to town to see about the wedding clothes. They are going to visit with Alberto’s family afterward, so I expect them to be gone all day. Clara left some breakfast for you. Would you like some potatoes and sausage?”
The Marriage Market Page 19