Saints and Sinners

by Karen V. Wasylowski

  “Yes. Neither of us has left his side since the boy went to fetch you. Quiet, here comes your father now. Uncle Fitz, I really wish you would have stayed home. You look awful.” George could see the exhaustion, the anxiety there – however, the old man was as tough as iron, ready and able to tear apart the entire hospital to reach his child.

  “Out of my way both of you; do not even attempt to stop me!” Fitzwilliam pushed through, entering the hospital with a roar. “Where is my son!”

  “Uncle Fitz, just a moment. The Hospital Administrator asked to speak with you as soon as you arrived.”

  “I don’t give a shite what he wants. I am not seeing anyone until I’ve seen Mark. Damn it, George, where is he?” Fitzwilliam’s lungs heaved, straining for breath.

  “Are you determined to kill yourself, you fool!” Darcy turned to Harry. “Take him to the administrator’s office and make certain he calms himself. Fitzwilliam, you will wait there until we’ve seen Mark and are able to evaluate the situation.”

  “Who in bloody hell do you think you are, Darcy – my mother? I warn you, Harold, get your hands off me. Where is my boy? I want to see my son, and I want to see him now! You! Yes, you – stop gaping at me and bring me to my son! Now, goddamn it! Where are you going! Stop running or I’ll shoot!”

  “You’re behaving like a madman!” Darcy was the only one who ever dared speak to Fitzwilliam that way. “It’s no use. George, you had better take Fitz up to Mark before we’re all tossed out; I’ll find whoever’s in charge here.”

  Throwing off everyone’s hands Fitzwilliam was already storming off, barging his way through a set of swinging doors, forging forward as George kept attempting to grab his arm. “Make certain you tell them, Darcy, that I shall be taking my boy home with me, and that I demand to be provided with all notes, all reports of my son’s condition from the moment he was found until now,” Fitzwilliam shouted over his shoulder. “And, I want the name of the physician who cared for him! George will you stop yanking on my sleeve! What is it?”

  “You’re heading for the women’s ward! Mark is upstairs.”

  “Oh. Why didn’t you say so?”

  “This way, everyone,” George began jogging up the opposite stairway, taking the steps two at a time. Hastings rushed up the stairs behind them.

  “This is such an honor, to have you in our humble hospital – what I mean is, well certainly not under these terrible circumstances. We’ve moved your son into a more private area – less chance there of him coming in contact with disease, don’t you know.” The poor fellow had thought to impress Fitz with this statement, but it only terrified him more.

  “Disease! My son has been exposed to disease! Who in bloody hell are you?”

  “I am the Hospital Administrator, your lordship. I met a Mr. Darcy downstairs – such an elegant, distinguished gentleman – and, he said…”

  “The hell with that! What was your meaning before? Why are those nurses weeping? Has my son been exposed to disease? Listen to me – if he’s been further harmed in any way I’ll have this blasted hospital burnt to the ground! I’ll do it myself.”

  “No, no, your lordship, there was very little disease near him! None, I mean. No, of course not; nothing like that. The nurses are young, high strung. They often burst into tears over nothing. Not that death is nothing mind you. The hospital enjoys a relatively low death rate these days. Oh dear, what I mean is the Nightingale nurses are very good, constantly cleaning; everything is… here we are sir, right in here.” But before Hastings could reach for the door handle Fitz had shoved him out of the way and opened the door himself.

  Chapter 19

  Anthony leapt from his chair the moment Fitzwilliam entered the room. Throwing his arms around his old friend he began to weep. “Be brave, viejo.”

  Fitzwilliam began to gasp, his face crumbled. “No. Oh, merciful God. It is as I feared then. My beautiful boy is dead?”

  “What in hell are you talking about?” Anthony pushed him away. “Who said Mark was dead?”

  “You mean he is alive?”

  “Well if he’s not dead, what else would he be?”

  “Milagros, you idiot! You just took ten years from my life with your histrionics!”

  “Pudrete en el infierno!” Sniffling, Anthony dabbed an elaborate handkerchief across his eyes. “Mierda! Now look what you’ve made me do, you pendejo – this is silk, you know! It’s ruined.”

  “Just tell me my son is alive, Spaniard!”

  Anthony blew his nose and stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket. “Of course, he is alive; look for yourself – but, be prepared. He’s been badly beaten.”

  “I’m a veteran of the Peninsular War, of Waterloo, Milagros! I’ve seen horrors you could not even begin to…” Although he believed he was prepared for the sight of his child’s beaten body, he was not. When the screen was pulled away Fitzwilliam’s first look at his son nearly drove him to his knees.

  Darcy was there immediately and caught his arm, while Luke supported him from the other side. “Steady on, old man. Someone bring a chair.”

  “Dear God. Look at my boy,” Fitzwilliam whispered. “Look what they’ve done to my boy.”

  The requested chair materialized immediately and a shaken Fitzwilliam sat beside Mark, took hold of his hand and kissed it. Darcy turned to Anthony. “What is his prognosis, Tony?”

  “Much finer than he looks, fortunately. His heart and his pulse are remarkably strong. I am told he suffered with a fever which is gone now. Despite his appearance I believe he was well cared for; and, I doubt any of these bruises were inflicted here.” It was then Anthony noticed that Matthew, standing silently behind his father for support, was struggling to suppress his own emotions. “Matthew, I am certain he shall experience a full recovery.”

  Matthew gave a short nod, cleared his throat. “We shall be taking my brother home with us tonight. Will you see that he is ready to be moved, Uncle Tony?”

  These boys were like family to him, Matthew so like his father in all the worst ways, his temper always at the ready, his insistence on controlling every situation whether for good or ill, his absolute certainty he knew best. “I should prefer we wait a while; however, we may move him if that is truly your wish. Have you brought a suitable carriage?”

  “It is outside the front doors, judge for yourself. However, suitable or not my son is coming home, even if I must carry him. He’ll not lie here another moment!”

  “If I find the carriage acceptable, I shall send two orderlies up with a stretcher. Have you blankets and hot bricks to keep him warm? Good. I shall meet you all downstairs then. George, can you come with me?”

  After they left, Bridges and Hastings came to the door with all documents and reports in hand. “I’ve that information you requested, your lordship,” said Hastings. “Although, I really cannot permit them to be removed from the hospital premises.”

  Fitzwilliam motioned for Father Ted. “Son, would you take those papers down to Anthony, have him look them over. Place them somewhere safe in the carriage.”

  “Of course, Papa.”

  “You must not have heard me, your lordship. You cannot…”

  Fitzwilliam turned to Mr. Hastings. “Listen to me well, sir. I am removing my son from here immediately and taking those records with me.”

  “Very unwise.” Bridges stopped speaking the moment Fitzwilliam’s eyes met his. A cold chill ran down his spine. Damn me, that creature really is his son.

  “You? I don’t give a shite for what you think, sir. From what I’ve gathered you believed him to be some drunkard and therefore unworthy of medical care. It that true?”

  “Not I, your lordship!”

  “Really? Was I being lied to then, by my own family?”

  “Well, you see, they weren’t here to witness what truly happened – oh, it’s all a terrible misunderstanding. I have been plagued by a certain nurse who consistently impeded my attempts at care. I had already complained to Mr. Hastings about
her high-handed interference before this. A consequence of the new Nightingale School of Nursing here is that the hospital has given these women more and more authority. The publicity has gone to their heads – they believe they know more than physicians who have spent years in medical training. It’s outrageous.”

  “Mr. Bridges, you forget yourself!” Hastings was furious; if this version was spread about it could end their nursing program and set the hospital back years.

  “Where is this woman? If this is true. I shall want a word with her immediately.” Fitzwilliam rose slowly, the look in his eyes telling – he wanted blood. “Anything short of prison will not be tolerated, believe me.”

  Hastings could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “I am afraid she suffered some injury when she attacked Mr. Bridges. I was informed that they may have been, um, fatal.”

  “What did he say?” Darcy couldn’t believe his ears.

  “She’s probably dead.” George replied.

  Chapter 20

  Throughout the following two weeks Mark improved quickly, despite the loving care and devotion of his sisters. He had little memory of what happened to him between the moment Matthew’s carriage drove away from the tavern and before he awoke to the shouts of his brother Luke and his cousin, George. He agonized over the many days missing from his life, over his dreams of a lovely woman with soft lips and a gentle touch, of kisses and whispers. In fact, if it wasn’t for the obvious physical remnants of his severe beating, his bruised head and eye, his sprains, breaks and multiple stitches, he would have thought his family was playing an elaborate joke on him.

  Fitzwilliam rapped cautiously on the door to his son’s bedroom then stepped inside. “How are we this afternoon?” He looked first to his frazzled looking daughter, Kathy, then to his equally frazzled looking son.

  “Well, we finished our soup finally, although that was quite a struggle, I can tell you. I prepared it myself, you know, from one of Mama’s old receipts. It took me hours.” She smoothed her mussed hair back into its tight bun. “Interesting aside, Papa… soup – in fact, most food preparation – is evidently much more difficult to concoct than I had originally imagined. Sad to say I may have mixed up a few ingredients; and, a few others – well, I had no idea what they were actually.”

  “Understandable. Mark, how are you feeling?”

  “Like a laboratory experiment gone very wrong.”

  “What is that on your face?”

  “Ham.”

  Kathy tsked and shook her head. “He squirmed about so very much you see.”

  “Nah, not really. I spit it out at her.”

  She turned to her brother. “YOU’VE A BIT OF HAM IN YOUR MOUSTACHE.” After picking large food chunks from his face, Kathy dabbed at the additional liquid remnants on his nightshirt arms, in his ear… “Such a scamp. He managed to sling a bit on me as well – oh! How rude of me, Papa. Would you like a bit of my soup, there seems to be a great deal left over.”

  Behind her, Mark vigorously shook his head and made slicing motions across his throat. He finished up with grabbing his neck as if he was choking.

  “Ah. Perhaps later, thank you, dearest.” Fitz brushed a noodle from her shoulder then moved to the opposite side of the bed. “Does his color look high to you?”

  “I can hear you both, you know. I’m not deaf.”

  “YOU MUSN’T SPEAK.”

  Although talking was painful due to his bruised and bandaged jaw, he was capable of providing a rude hand gesture behind her back as response. Kathy place the soiled cloth atop a heaping pile of other soiled cloths on a side table. Apparently, tea hadn’t been well received either.

  “I believe his color was better when I first arrived today, yes. I wonder if that’s the reason he’s been so combative. Could it be his fever has returned?” She turned to her brother and smiled kindly. “I FEAR YOU MAY HAVE A FEVER!”

  “God in heaven, stop shouting at me, Kath. You know full well the doctor left just an hour ago and assured you I had no fever.”

  “Do you see what I mean? HERE, LET ME FEEL YOUR FOREHEAD.” However, each time she tried to place a hand on his head he slapped it away, turning his head this way and that, back and forth. As a last resort, he tried to bite her. “Very sad. He is obviously delirious.”

  Mark clutched his father’s arm, lifted the patch that covered his healing eye. “Take her away. I beg you. Every time she speaks to me she shouts as if I’m passing on, until I truly will kill myself. And the food! It’s not Mama’s receipt. It’s evil. And, she keeps snatching pillows from beneath me to fluff them then yanks my head up to put them back. I tell you she’s insane, father, a menace!”

  Kathy heard none of this. She had been preparing medicine at a side table returning with a glass of some vile concoction of her own devise, meaning to pour the liquid directly down his throat… but missing completely when he jerked his chin down, resulting in the oily liquid spreading all over his face.

  “This is so much easier with five-year-olds.”

  That was the last straw. Mark snatched the glass from her hand. “Kathy, go home. Go to your children, your husband. They need you. You are being too kind to me, too attentive!”

  “NEVER FEAR. THERE IS NOTHING THAT WOULD COMPEL ME TO ABANDON YOU IN THIS, YOUR HOUR OF NEED, DEAREST BROTHER.”

  “I have to piss.”

  Kathy blinked several times. “Well, will you look at the time! My goodness, didn’t realize it was that late. Father, I’m afraid I shall have to leave you to it.” She began collecting her things, slapped her bonnet on her head and pulled on gloves. “Shall I send up a footman, then?”

  Both Fitzwilliam and Mark responded together. “Please.”

  “Love you both.”

  When the door closed behind her Mark ran a hand through his hair. “I really am an ungrateful wretch, aren’t I?”

  “I’ll not argue.”

  “That’s a first.”

  Fitzwilliam eased himself into a nearby chair. “She is only trying to help, Mark. Kathy was beside herself with fear when we couldn’t find you. We all were.”

  “You’re right. I know, you’re right. I’m sorry, father; truly I am. I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I feel… empty, as if I’ve lost my closest friend. Something is wrong, somewhere. If only I could remember all that happened.”

  “You will in time. If you recall, they said you had no memory of who you were when you were in the hospital as well.”

  “I didn’t? Damn. I don’t remember that either.” Mark rubbed his good eye until it ached. “I recollect walking down that street one moment, then opening my eyes to see Luke and George lifting me from the floor.”

  “Good thing you have the standard Fitzwilliam hard head.”

  “Absolutely. I do remember now Matthew had given me a parcel of money. I suppose that was the reason for the attack? Were the fellows ever found?”

  Found after they’d killed each other. Best not tell him that. “Ah. Well, seems they had a falling out which ended badly. The parcel itself went into the river along with all your clothes; none of it found as yet. The police have been searching the Thames for two weeks and I hear they have been dragging any number of people from there recently, only to have them turn around and jump back in. Oh well, the money was probably carried away with the current. Matthew feels badly about the whole thing – thinks it’s his fault.”

  “It is my fault.” Matthew stood at the open door to his brother’s room. “I acted rashly as usual. How are you, Mark?”

  “I’ll survive, or so I have been informed – but, it would speed things up if our sisters could be kept out.”

  “We’ll do our best. Right now you should get some rest.” Just then there was a knock on the door and sisters Beth and Meg swooped in with footmen in tow, one carrying a tub and another carrying a scuttle of coal. Several more followed quickly with buckets of water.

  “What’s all this?”

  “Kathy said Mark was in need of the…
thingy… so we brought Sanders up to assist, and we have a tub in which Mark can bathe afterward, and coal to build a fire beneath it. We thought we could put the tub in the fireplace, directly atop the flames…”

  “Like soup. Good lord.” Matthew closed his eyes in frustration. “For one thing, Uncle Tony said not to wet his bandages. Remember? You were both standing there, sobbing and wailing when he explained Mark’s care to us before he left. Another thing, you are both forbidden to touch the fireplace ever again – last week you nearly burned the house down.”

  “Well, we didn’t, did we? So there.” Beth pointed to a corner of the rug. “You see, all we need do is cut off that little piece there… and, there… and no one will remember such a tiny mishap at all.”

  “Out.”

  “Papa, say something. Are you going to allow Matthew to speak so rudely to us? We’re only trying to help our dear Mark.”

  “Yes, I know my darlings, and I love you both for that. However, in the interest of my peace and quiet, and sanity, I believe we shall need another solution.”

  “But the fire didn’t last that long, Papa,” sulked Meg.

  Beth nodded vigorously. “Indeed. We’ve done much worse.”

  Chapter 21

  “May I help you?” The Fitzwilliam butler, Drake, opened the door to a simply clad young woman standing on the front steps, struggling to remain upright as a swirling snow and a wild wind battered.

  “I was given this address.” She had to speak loudly to be heard over the wail of the wind, her hand pressing her bonnet down.

  “I see. Well, you cannot enter here, girl. Service entrance is round the back. Go speak with Mrs. Tubbs. Do you have experience in the kitchen?”