by Em Taylor
“I did notice that. I was waiting for him to ask if I had any on my person.”
“He is an imbecile, obviously.” She sniffed disdainfully as if she had expected more. A higher class of highwayman maybe.
Aunt Gertrude nestled back into her seat and continued to “watch the scenery” as if nothing had happened. What a strange little occurrence. It almost was as if nothing had happened. They had been robbed but Aunt Gertrude had handed over fake jewels and gone right back to sleep.
Just wait until she told Sophia. She caught Martha’s gaze. That was more like it. The maid’s eyes were popping out of her head.
“Now we know how to deal with highwaymen, Martha.”
“We do indeed. Perhaps the Prince Regent should have sent Her Ladyship over to fight Mr Napoleon instead of sending The Duke of Wellington.” Emily stifled a laugh.
“Don’t say that in front of any gentlemen. They would be rather offended to hear someone suggest a mere woman to be braver than the Duke.”
“I’m sure the Duke was very brave and clever. I just think your aunt is too.”
“Yes, she is. And I am very pleased she came along as I would not have known what to do”
“We would have managed.”
“Perhaps but not with such aplomb and we would have had to give them real jewels and more money.”
“That would have been a shame.”
“It would have. We do still have one more night to pay the inn and what if one of the horses go lame. I do have sympathy if that man needs to feed his family, Martha, but we do need to get to our destination so that we can help my friend.”
“I know, my lady. I was not suggesting otherwise.”
Martha looked back down at her crochet and Emily turned back to her book. She understood that times were hard. This year in particular. She read the newspaper and not just the gossip columns. She knew the weather was impacting the crops and yields. She wasn’t heartless. Why else would she be making this perilous journey to comfort her friend?
Tears burned at the back of her eyes but she closed her lids and willed them away. Martha just had a different perspective. She hadn’t meant to sound harsh. Things would all seem better once they got to Little Foxton in Herefordshire.
Chapter 3
As had been the way of it all year, it was raining when they arrived at Beattie Park near Little Foxton. The grass was water-logged and the flowers had never quite managed to bloom. The gardens were in quite a sorry state, but that seemed to be the way for most of England. Though it did seem worse out here than it had nearer London.
Sophia had welcomed them with open arms. Though she had been a little taken aback by the arrival of Aunt Gertrude, she had been pleased that Emily had been accompanied on the journey—especially once Emily recounted their run-in with the highwayman.
“Oh, come now, Emily, he was just a boy. I doubt he knew how to shoot that pistol.”
“He seemed rather scary to me, Aunt.”
“That’s because you are just a girl yourself, dear. Once you have a few more years of experience you’ll see bravado for what it is.”
Emily doubted that she would ever be as calm and collected as Aunt Gertrude had been when having a pistol waved in her face.
Sophia had organised tea and cakes and they were all sitting in the drawing room, the fire blazing, warming them up after the long, arduous journey.
“Thank you so much for coming, and Lady Wardlaw, I do appreciate you accompanying Emily. I was quite beside myself when I received her letter to tell me she was visiting.”
“It was not well done of her to frighten you like that Lady Rutherford, especially not in your condition.” Aunt Gertrude looked at Sophia and it was then that Emily realised that Sophia’s belly was distended. Her gown covered it but there was definitely a baby bump there.
“You are increasing? But you had not told me.”
“I planned to tell you in my last letter but with everything that happened with Gideon, it completely slipped my mind.”
“How can a large belly completely slip your mind?”
“Emily! Please have some manners.” Aunt Gertrude was almost purple with embarrassment. Emily’s cheeks heated with shame.
“I apologise.”
Sophia laughed. “There is no need. We are friends and no one else is here. It is difficult to forget. I do wish it wasn’t so, but at least Viscount Rutherford has his heir even if he did not live long enough for me to tell him. His nephew is not best pleased with me.”
“How did he die, dear. I heard it was sudden.”
“He was rather old. They said it was his heart. Though I don’t think the cold winter helped. He had been suffering from a terrible cough for months.”
“I don’t know how you could have married such an elderly man, Sophia. I really do not,” said Emily, without considering her words. Sophia simply raised an eyebrow at her as Aunt Gertrude chastised her once again. “Oh Sophia, please forgive me. I seem to keep saying the wrong thing today. I believe I am so weary from the journey.”
“Do not concern yourself. Yes, Viscount Rutherford was elderly, but he was a good match for me. He needed a young wife to give him an heir. It was not a bad marriage. He was kind and, in the evenings, he would tell me about his travels in India. It was fascinating. Perhaps one day I shall write down all his stories and put them in a book.”
“Viscount Rutherford was quite the catch in his youth, you know,” said Aunt Gertrude. “All the ladies wanted to dance with him at the ton balls. Of course, in the end, he only had eyes for poor Sarah. What a tragedy that was. I’m glad he found companionship with you, in the end, dear and I do wish he’d known that he had an heir.”
“I like to think he does know, Lady Wardlaw.”
“I’m sure he does. Now tell us how your brother fares.”
Sophia sighed. “Sometimes I think he hears me and then I think it is probably just wishful thinking, but yesterday I clasped his hand and I was sure his fingers tightened around mine. I speak to him you know. It sounds silly of course. The apothecary told me he cannot hear a thing but I am not so sure.”
“I am sure he can hear. I do not know anything about such things, Sophia, but it is worth speaking to him just in case.”
“I have thought about sitting and reading to him. I wondered if I should read a book. He was reading Waverly by Walter Scott when he was hurt. I don’t know if I should continue or read something else that he would already know by heart.”
“What would he know by heart?”
“Parts of the Holy Bible I suppose.”
Emily grimaced. “You want to bring him out of his sleep, Sophia, not put him deeper into it.”
“Emily. I think it best you hold your tongue. You have now added blasphemy to your sin of rudeness this day.”
Emily turned to her Aunt. “You cannot tell me you have not dozed off during the vicar’s sermon, Aunt Gertrude. It is not the first time I have had to nudge you awake lest your snoring is noticed.” Aunt Gertrude had the decency to turn a little pink at this.
“That is the vicar’s words, not the word of God that causes me to fall asleep and don’t be impertinent.”
“Doesn’t the word vicar mean that he is here in the stead of the Lord Jesus Christ? Surely you should be awake to hear his words also.”
Emily knew she was being far too impertinent but she was always being chastised for speaking her mind and sometimes she could not help herself. She was chastised for being clumsy, for being too loud and for being disorganised. Her sewing box was messy and disorganised, her paints were messy, her brushes not properly cleaned. If it was not for the fact she had a maid, she hated to think what state her clothes would be in.
“Emily, would you come upstairs and see my brother?”
“Is that appropriate?” asked Aunt Gertrude.
“I shall be with Emily the entire time. It is completely appropriate since he is sleeping, probably dying. I
shall not tell the ton if you do not, Lady Wardlaw.” Sophia gave Aunt Gertrude a sweet smile and Aunt Gertrude resumed drinking her tea.
As they climbed the stairs Sophia spoke quietly. “I see you have not yet perfected the art of holding your tongue, Emily.”
“Alas, I have not. I try very hard but it just comes out. I do not mean to be argumentative or inappropriate. I believe it is why I have not yet found a suitor. They think I’m gauche and ridiculous. I fear I shall never find a suitor and Robert shall be left with me to be the maiden aunt to his children.”
“Do not give up hope yet. You may yet find someone who wants a young lady who is a little different from all the other simpering misses on the marriage mart. Anyway, here we are. This is Gideon’s room.”
They walked in and Emily was very aware that the room smelled like a sick room. The brown haired, handsome man was lying on his side, his eyes closed, his body unmoving.
“The apothecary told us to keep moving him onto his sides and back so he does not develop sores from being in one position. Apparently, even with a feather mattress, he is not immune to the ravages of lying in one position for three weeks. His poor valet is at his wit's end. He had been massaging oils into his limbs and his…” Sophia looked at Emily and blushed. “… his buttocks to keep the blood flowing. He says he has no idea if it does any good but he is hoping so.”
However, Emily was aware of a smell in the room that was not the liniment or Lord Beattie’s shaving soap. It was a slightly putrid smell. It was coming from the area around the bed.
“Did your brother sustain any wounds when he hurt his head, Sophia?” she asked.
“I don’t believe so. His hand was bleeding a little. I think he caught it on a nail.”
Emily moved to the bed and inspected one of Lord Beattie’s hands. It was perfectly fine. But when she lifted the other, she could see the problem. His hand was now infected and yellow pus was dripping onto the bedsheet.
“Sophia, we need to attend to this before your brother ends up with a fever, if he does not have one already.”
Sophia’s eyes were wide with horror. Emily placed her hand on Lord Beattie’s head. He was not warm. He was not particularly cold. She suspected he could do with another blanket.
“Ring for a maid, get soap and water and we shall clean it and find out how bad it is. Will your cook know how to make a poultice? I must confess I know they exist but I have no knowledge of how to make one.”
“I’m sure she does.” She walked over to the bell pull and rang. A few minutes later, a man appeared.
“Ah, Burke, we need very hot water, soap and some cloths. Lord Beattie’s hand is infected.”
“Of course, my lady.” The man bowed and left.
“Who was that?”
“Lord Beattie’s valet.”
“You should dismiss him. How he could have missed this is beyond me. The smell is putrid and I noticed it as soon as I walked in.”
“I didn’t smell a thing. Though I must confess my sense of smell has been a bit odd since I started increasing. The strangest things make me want to cast up my accounts.”
“You have an excuse. He is with your brother every day and for a large amount of the day. It is his job to ensure the welfare of Lord Beattie.”
Sophia’s eyes glistened and she lifted her hand to her mouth. At once Emily regretted her stern words. She lifted herself off the bed and hugged Sophia.
“I have let him down, have I not?” Sophia said against Emily’s shoulder.
“Not at all. The wound is small. We should be able to draw out the poison. Do not upset yourself, Sophia, dear. It is not good for you or the baby.”
Sophia managed to compose herself and when there was a slight tap on the door she was standing at the window gazing out over the parterre gardens discussing the dreadful weather. Emily could not help but smile to herself.
“Come,” she called. The valet came in holding an ewer of hot water which steam was billowing out of and a cake of soap. He had a couple of towels over his arm.
“You said his hand is infected, my lady. Which one?”
Emily rolled her eyes. “His left one. The one that smells putrid, Mr Burke.”
The valet’s eyebrows raised in astonishment. “I was unaware of any smell. He had a cut on his hand but…”
Emily waved him away.
“My lady, I shall do it. He is my responsibility.”
“No, Burke. I shall do it. Lady Rutherford’s stomach is too weak given her condition and I want to make sure this is done properly.” What in the devil’s name was she saying? She had never done anything like this in her life, but she was so irritated with the valet, she was not going to allow him to touch that wound. She looked at Sophia, whose eyebrows nearly reached her hairline.
“Thinking of becoming an apothecary if your brother ever gambles away his vast fortune, are you, Emily?” she said, with a teasing smile.
“One never knows when a skill like this may be handy. Best to try on a sleeping patient first. Would you not agree?”
“Oh, I would indeed. Most definitely.”
“I shall turn him onto his back then, my lady. If you wait on that side of the curtain.”
“Really?”
“He is in his nightshirt, my lady.”
Emily blushed. “Of course. I was not thinking.” She turned to her friend who was hiding a smile behind her hand.
“Perhaps the weather will perk up now that you are here,” Sophia said.
“I doubt I shall have any effect on the weather. It has been dismal since Christmas.”
“What are they saying about it in London?”
“Oh, some are claiming that the four horsemen of the Apocalypse are due to arrive any day now, that Napoleon and all his armies were but a foretaste of what is to come. Not that most of them were anywhere near the war. The ladies flap their fans and weep over the hems of their gowns which are all ruined beyond repair and the gentlemen discuss how to keep their boots more watertight for longer. Of course, the newspapers discuss the riots over food, but there is still plenty of food to be had in town.”
“That is good for those in town. Sadly, out here, it is becoming quite dire. I do worry what will happen if Gideon does not recover.”
Emily laid a hand on her friend’s arm. “I am sure he will.”
“It has been three weeks, Emily. I do despair of him ever waking.”
“Oh, Sophia, he is but a young man. Surely he shall recover.”
“He was found under a large pile of debris with a large contusion on the back of his head. Who knows what damage has been done and if he will be in his right mind when he wakes. If he wakes. You hear of men coming home from the war with injuries to their minds and behaviour. What if Gideon is like those men.”
“He has not been at war.”
“But his injuries may be just as bad as if he was in the blast of a cannonball. Who can tell?”
“I have every faith he shall make a full recovery.” Emily knew that she spoke from a position of ignorance. She knew nothing of the sort but she hoped fervently for her friend’s sake that she spoke the truth.
“His lordship is ready, my lady,” said Burke, appearing from the other side of the bed. “He is decent…or as decent as a gentleman can be when he is in repose.”
“I promise you shall not be needed to fetch the smelling salts, Burke. I am not one of those ladies who swoons at the very thought of a gentleman removing his gloves.”
Why she had said that, she had no clue. The most inappropriate things were just being blurted out of her mouth today. She did, however, always look at a man’s hands when she met him. She was not sure why. Usually, they did wear gloves. One could tell a lot by the type of gloves a man wore. When he had no gloves on, by his fingers. She liked strong hands with well-manicured fingernails and slight signs of being weather-beaten, but not too much.
She moved around the bed and lifted the vis
count’s hand. It was perfect. She almost sighed with appreciation. Then she remembered that the other side of his hand had an infected wound. She shook her head. She was such a ninny.
She turned Lord Beattie’s hand over and grimaced at the smell and at the pus that oozed from the wound.
“Are you sure you would not prefer me to do it, my lady,” asked the valet.
Emily squared her shoulders and drew in a deep breath.
“No thank you, Burke. I am sure I am quite capable.”
“Then may I suggest that you cover your gown with a linen first—to protect it from any dripping water.”
“Oh, of course.”
The valet held out a large linen, the size of which one would use after a bath. It was folded, she laid it gently on her lap, then she laid Lord Beattie’s hand on the linen. He made no movement or noise. It was rather disconcerting to have a gentleman’s hand so close to her and it not be scandalous. Though she supposed that she would have several Grande dames reaching for their smelling salts if they were to witness her behaviour now.
Burke had dipped a smaller linen cloth into the hot water and rubbed some soap onto it then he passed it to Emily. She gave him a tight smile before turning her attention to the viscount’s hand. She was beginning to regret her impulsive decision to clean the wound.
“Are you sure he will not feel this?”
“I accidentally cut his chin while shaving him a week ago, my lady, and there was no reaction. I did not mean to, of course, but it is difficult when he is unable to hold his head still for me.” Burke suddenly looked worried about his admission.
“Do not worry, Burke. I know it cannot be easy caring for a man who is perpetually in a state of sleep.” Emily glanced up to see her friend move nearer to the bed while reassuring the valet.
“No, my lady. It is not. I am sorry about not noticing His Lordship’s hand.”