Disturbed by the thought of eyes watching her every move, Anne called to Max, standing where she left him, as uneasy as she, judging from the way he pawed at the ground. “Come here, boy.” He paced over, snuffled at her hair, and stood rock steady behind her. Grateful for the warmth, she leaned against his foreleg. Nicholas needed her jacket far more than she did, but the air was cooling as the day waned, and the ground under them already cold. How long would it take for someone to come to their rescue? They had not ridden much more than a half-hour and some of that at a walk. If Guy was able to trot the entire distance, say twenty minutes there, time for the men to saddle up, twenty minutes back…an hour? How much time had passed? It seemed like Guy had been gone forever, but probably not as long as she imagined.
“Anne? Are you…?”
Jolted from her thoughts, Anne touched a finger to Nicholas’ lips. “Hush, don’t try to talk. I am unhurt.” He stared at her, bewilderment crowding the pain in his eyes.
“I’ve been shot? Who…?”
“I don’t know who, but yes, you have been shot. The bullet is lodged in your shoulder and Guy has gone for help.”
“Good lad.” He stirred, a harsh gasp escaping him at the movement. “Help me to sit up.” He braced his hand against the ground, and Anne took advantage of it to wriggle more of her lap under him.
“Stay still. You’ve lost too much blood already. I don’t want it starting up again. A petticoat isn’t much of a bandage.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Is that what you used? What a resourceful woman you are. Very well, but at least take your jacket back. It is cold.” He turned his face into her palm, seeking her warmth, and his eyelids drooped and closed.
“I will in just a moment.” It wasn’t really cold, and that scare had her heart pounding heavily in her chest again. Anne tried to remember what she had once overheard the Army doctors discussing. She had nursed her father when he was dying of the fever, but all she knew of wounds was hearsay and that not being a pleasant subject, she had generally walked away or changed the conversation to something else. If only Maggie were here! She would know what to do.
It seemed hours before she heard the sound of hoof beats and excited voices, Bill Fenton’s among them, and a rush of relief brought tears to her eyes, hurriedly brushed away.
“Bill, I have never been happier to see anyone in my life. Westcott’s been shot and lost so much blood.” She had to swallow several times before going on. “Did you bring a wagon? I didn’t think to tell Guy. He had no trouble?”
“The lad did well and the wagon is right behind us.” Fenton knelt and nudged her hand aside. “Let’s have a look, Miss Anne. He lifted the bandage, replaced it immediately, and looked back at the approaching men. “Bring my bag here, Pete, and the rest of you get the board off the wagon. We need some blankets here, too.” He looked at Anne. “You’ve done just as you ought, child. I’ll see to him now. Let Donny help you to the wagon. You can sit with his lordship and keep him steady-like. The journey back will be hard.”
Anne struggled to her feet, and would have stumbled but for the groom’s strong arm, her legs were that numb. She stomped her feet several times to regain some feeling and climbed into the back of the wagon. Several blankets were laid out in the bed, and she gratefully wrapped one around her once she was settled.
Her lips taut and tongue tight between her teeth, Anne watched as the men carefully lifted Nicholas onto the wide board and carried him to the wagon. Once he was beside her, his head cushioned, and another blanket over his body, Anne stretched out alongside.
Interminable as it felt, the slow and frightful trip back, with Nicholas’ sharp intake of breath at every jar, finally came to an end. Anne sat up, eased to the end of the wagon, and with Bill’s help, climbed down. “Have the men take him to his bedchamber, Bill.” She bit her lip, picturing the long flight of stairs, but they were shallow and Westcott better off in his own bed. She moved out of the way and looked around at what appeared to be the entire household.
“Martin.” Anne called to the butler, who was hurrying toward her. “The doctor will need bandages and hot water when he arrives. Have them sent up, along with some candles and several lamps.” She glanced around again. “And have these people return to work. I realize everyone is concerned, but it is of no use to stand around. Word will be sent once the doctor has examined him.”
Under Anne’s watchful eye, the men took up the makeshift stretcher. Careful as they were, the movement jarred Westcott and he opened his eyes. “Anne?”
“Here.” She took his hand and walked alongside, relieved to have him conscious. The next few minutes were not going to be pleasant and at least he would know why he was being tortured. “We have to get you inside, Nicholas. It may cause you some discomfort.”
“I expect it will,” he murmured, and his eyelids closed.
His smile, so faint Anne would have missed it had her gaze not been fixed on his face, made a lump rise in her throat. A ridiculous understatement, and indeed by the time the men had maneuvered the viscount upstairs, Anne’s lip bled from the bite of her teeth.
Maggie, bless her, had the bed ready, her nursing bag on the table beside it. Choking down a sob, Anne dashed across the room.
“Maggie! Thank God you are here. Oh, Maggie, he’s hurt so badly. The bleeding wouldn’t stop and I didn’t know what to do!” Anne hovered close as the men eased the viscount onto the bed.
“Don’t be missish, girl. You did what needed doing,” Maggie said sharply. She, along with her husband, began to remove Westcott’s clothes. “You have other things to attend to.” She glanced around the room and scowled. “No one but Bill and his lordship’s valet are needed here, so first thing, get this room cleared. Then you best go to Miss Sarah.”
Sarah. Oh sweet heaven. The child must be frantic by now, and no doubt she had heard the tale from Guy if no one else. Reminded of her responsibilities, Anne’s heart steadied. She turned to the staff still milling around the room. “Go about your duties, please, and send Martin to me,” Anne ordered and then turned back to the bed where Nicholas lay, so still her breath faltered for a moment. His face was as white as the sheet covering his lower body; boots and breeches lay discarded in a heap on the floor. She watched as Bill and Harman, Westcott’s valet, removed his jacket. Working efficiently together, they began to cut away the ruined shirt, exposing his muscular arms. Blood matted the hair on his broad chest and Anne wished desperately to be in Maggie’s place—to wash the area around the petticoat bandage, smooth back the sweat-drenched hair falling across his forehead. She jerked her hand away and took a step back. She was useless here and knew it. “Where is Sarah?”
“In your sitting room.”
“Oh, no. So close?” Anne’s gaze went to the door separating the two bedchambers. Her sitting room lay on the opposite side, and it was impossible to hear anything coming from this suite from there, but nevertheless….
“My lady?”
Her attention drawn by the soft whisper, Anne went to the door. Martin waited outside, almost as pale as his master. She wanted to reassure him, but forcing out any platitude was beyond her. Instead she stared at the blood-soaked glove still on her right hand, and inspired by the gruesome reminder, felt a determination to see this gun crazy creature apprehended and punished sweep through her. She raised her head and eyes narrowed with a comforting anger, issued the necessary instructions in a steady voice. “Send to Lord Lynton and tell him what has happened. He will know what is to be done. I want every available man out searching that woodland but under Lynton’s orders, so wait for him.” Anne pulled off the glove, allowing it to turn inside out, and dropped it on a table. She looked down and her mouth tightened. “I must go. I need to change before I see Miss Sarah and the others.” The children were no doubt already frightened. They did not need to see her red-streaked clothing.
Now she found the strength to lay a hand on the stricken butler’s shoulder. “I won’t lie to you, Ma
rtin. It is serious, but his lordship is strong and healthy. Together we will see him through.”
Looking somewhat heartened by her words, and having the reassurance of duties to perform, Martin hurried away. Anne, with Nicholas’ bloodless face and garish wound in her head, sagged against the wall and buried her face in her hands. A moment to give in to the horror that threatened to unman her. Un-woman her, rather, and a hysterical sob escaped. If he should die....no! You will not even consider that possibility. Anne impatiently brushed away the tears with the back of her hand, pushed away from the wall, and went to her bedchamber to change. She was needed.
“Oh, my lady.” Clara’s face crumpled the instant she saw Anne. “This is terrible. The master...?”
“His lordship will recover, Clara,” Anne said in a voice that allowed no doubt, unfastening and removing her blouse as she crossed the room. “Help me change. I must get to the children. You knew they were next door?”
“Yes, my lady, and Miss Sarah beside herself with worry,” Clara answered in a low voice.
Anne forced herself to stand still while her skirt and petticoats were removed and a clean house dress was slipped over her head. Boots next, and she sat, quivering with impatience, while Clara pulled them off and she was able to slide her feet into a pair of soft shoes. Anne rose and touched the maid’s shoulder. “Thank you. Please go to the kitchen and make sure Cook has plenty of hot water to hand. Don’t go into the master’s room, but I want you to stand ready to aid Mrs. Fenton, if necessary.”
“Yes, my lady.” Clara’s wan expression lightened, and like the butler, she dashed off, girded by the opportunity to help in some way.
Her hand on the doorknob, Anne hesitated. No more than seeing Westcott’s blood on her clothes did they need to be greeted by a wild woman. A few deep breaths, shoulders squared, and her expression composed—there, she was ready.
Sarah sat facing the door, silent tears rolling unheeded down her pale cheeks. “Is he dead? Is my Papa dead, Mother Anne?” She held out her arms, every line of her straining body screaming for it not to be true.
All her intentions of remaining calm thrown to the winds, Anne ran to her. Kneeling, she grasped Sarah’s hands. “He is not dead, Sarah. Hurt, yes, and we will need to take good care of him for a time, but he will heal, child, I promise you.”
“They said he was shot,” Sarah said with a sob.
“So he was,” Anne said, “and I will not tell you he is not badly hurt, but he will get better.” She turned her head to Danielle, similarly white-faced, her hands twisting in her lap, and laid a hand against the girl’s cheek. “Child, it will be well.” She looked up at Nurse, standing mutely behind the girls. “Westcott will require careful tending, Mrs. Timmons. You may be called upon to help, but right now Mrs. Fenton is assisting the doctor.” Anne stood, gave Sarah a hug, and glanced at Miss Caxton. “Where is Guy? He told you the whole, I suppose, and scared everyone needlessly, but I cannot scold him as he was very brave.” She leaned over to place a kiss on the top of Danielle’s head. “You can be proud of your brother.”
“Guy has gone out with Banks to see to his pony,” Mary Caxton explained. “I thought it might be wise. Banks is a sensible sort and might reassure the boy. He was very shaken, my lady.”
Anne nodded, grateful for the woman’s calm good sense. “Not at all surprising! A bad experience for a child, but he did admirably.” She smoothed Sarah’s hair and forced a small smile. “I must go. Nurse and Miss Caxton will take you back to the schoolroom. I want you both to try to eat a little supper. I promise to come to you after I talk to the doctor. Once your father is resting more comfortably you can see him for a few minutes.”
“Can’t we stay here? We will be very, very quiet. Please,” Sarah begged, clinging to Anne’s hand.
Anne looked at her tear-stained face, and Danielle’s frightened expression. Better they were a distance away, but if she were in Sarah’s place….
“We can read quietly, Lady Westcott, but if it’s found we are disturbing anyone, we promise to go to the schoolroom immediately.”
The governess gave Anne a look that clearly said she felt it better for Sarah to remain close to her father. “Stay then, if you wish,” Anne said and gently detached Sarah’s hand from hers. “Child, I must go.” Anne knew her mouth was tight-lipped with impatience and tried to smile. “Truly, he will recover.”
Sarah stared at her, hope and despair warring in her eyes, but Anne had no more time or patience, every fiber of her being concentrated on what was happening in the nearby bedchamber. Her heart a lead weight in her chest, she hurried through her room and slipped into Westcott’s. The doctor must in attendance by now.
Chapter Nineteen
Candles blazed throughout the room, throwing a harsh light on the faces of the four people ranged around the wide bed where Westcott lay, propped up now with Maggie’s arm under his shoulders. Harman stood at the foot of the bed with an almost empty decanter, while the surgeon removed a variety of instruments from his bag and placed them on the side table. Dear heaven, what were they planning to do? Hesitant, but too anxious to stand back, Anne went to stand beside Maggie, her gaze never leaving Nicholas. His face was flushed, unnaturally so, and she mouthed a question at Bill. “His colour?”
“‘Tis the brandy, my lady. The bullet has to come out and the less aware his lordship, the easier for all.”
“I see.” Anne felt the blood drain from her face. She clutched a bedpost until the momentary weakness passed.
“If you are planning to stay, make yourself useful,” Maggie said in a no-nonsense voice as bracing as a slap of cold water. “Wash your hands, thoroughly, mind you, and you can hand Mr. Jameson whatever he needs.” She narrowed her eyes and stared critically at Anne. “If you are going to faint or fall into hysterics, then this is no place for you.” She pushed aside the pillow and laid the viscount flat on the bed.
“Anne.” Nicholas focused on her with obvious effort. “You shouldn’t be here. Stay with Sarah.”
His voice was slurred with the drink. Anne smoothed back the lank hair from his forehead. “Sarah is fine. I’ve promised she can see you later, so best to get this over with quickly. Go to sleep, Nicholas.” She waited until his eyes closed, unsure if he had heard her, and turned to Mr. Jameson. “I will do whatever I can.”
The man, middle-aged, with a reassuringly competent way about him, looked her over, taking her measure. Donning a calm expression she prayed disguised her inner turmoil, Anne met his gaze straightly. “I will not falter, Mr. Jameson.”
Jameson raised a brow, but there was humour in his piercing black eyes. “I don’t believe you will, Lady Westcott.” He jerked his head at Harman. “You can put the brandy aside. It’s done its job. Bring some of those candles closer and make sure there are plenty of bandages to hand.” He turned to the Fentons. “Hold him as still as possible. The faster we get through this, the easier it will be on him. I won’t tell you your job, since I suspect you’ve done this before, but it’s a painful matter, and Westcott is a strong man.”
Anne washed her hands and took her place beside the surgeon. Nicholas was asleep, thank God, snoring heavily, and she watched with horrified fascination as the surgeon took up his probe.
“Hand over the smaller probe, my lady, on the left there.” The man’s voice seemed to come from some distance away. Blessedly so, Anne thought in some corner of her mind. Nicholas, aware now, and twisting under his captor’s hands, was again pale as death, and she clenched her teeth together, heartsick to see him in such pain.
With a grunt of satisfaction, Jameson held up a bloodied piece of metal and tossed it onto the table. “There’s the culprit. Now we’ll just make sure there is nothing else in there.” He pressed around the oozing wound, probing gently, and picked out several tiny bits of Westcott’s shirt. “You’ll do, my lord. Give him some water, Fenton, if he wants it. Harman, a clean cloth and some basilicum powder, please.”
Mr. Jameson cleaned the wou
nd, dusted it generously with the powder, and applied a bandage. “Laudanum as needed for the next few days, if you can get him to take it.” He glanced down at the viscount, who was awake enough, just, to mutter “No.”
“I’ll call in tomorrow to see how he does, but I expect a full recovery. He was lucky. If it had hit just a few inches lower and nicked a lung….” Jameson nodded curtly, put his instruments in his satchel, and picked up his coat. “Mrs. Fenton, walk outside with me, please.”
Vaguely wondering why he wanted to speak to Maggie, Anne dipped a cloth into the remaining water and sat on the edge of the bed to wash her husband’s face. “Go to sleep, Nicholas. I will bring Sarah to you in a bit.” He lay quiet, sleepy-eyed, until she set the cloth aside and went to rise.
“Anne, I am sorry.” He fumbled for her wrist. “This has been horrible for you.”
She smiled, faintly perhaps, but an actual smile nevertheless. “It has been far more horrible for you.” Which was true. No need to tell him how scared you were at the thought of losing him. She wrapped her hand around his for a moment. “Will you rest now?” But his eyes were already drifting shut, and she lowered his arm to the bed and pulled the sheet up before getting wearily to her feet.
“He will be fine, won’t he, Bill?” Fenton had used this time to remove the bloodstained bandages and douse some of the candles. Anne moved the nearest candelabra further away, and with Bill’s help, set a screen near the bed to dim the light.
“Should be, my lady. Westcott’s a strong, healthy man, but it all comes down to the fever. That’s what kills, more often than not.”
“Of course.” No, no, please don’t tell me that. The memories of her father’s death from the fever were still fresh in her mind. “Is there nothing we can do to prevent it?”
“Maggie has some potions she will start giving him, and he’ll need careful nursing. No, Maggie and I will take tonight’s watch,” he added, guessing her intent. “You can take some of the time tomorrow, to spell Harman.”
An Inconvenient Wife Page 17