“I’m going to cut away the dead flesh, Ross,” Mrs Murray warned as she settled on the bed beside him.
Ross turned away from the flash of something metallic and sharp and decided he’d rather not know.
“Aye, well, get on with it,” he muttered, too aware of what that would feel like. He’d suffered enough slashes and wounds in his army career to know the cure was often worse than what you were suffering to start with.
“You two,” Mrs Murray said to Samuel and Sampson. “Ye need to hold him down if he can’t keep himself still.”
“I’ll nae budge,” Ross grumbled.
Mrs Murray gave him an impatient look. “You’re flesh an’ blood like the rest of us, as this is proof. Nae man can stand his flesh being cut to ribbons without the occasional flinch, nae matter how brave.”
Ross glowered and prayed he wouldn’t throw up.
“Freddie,” she said, her tone softer—and Ross noted she had also dropped Miss Wycliffe for the time being. “Ye sit beside him and give him something to think about other than the pain, eh?”
Ross watched as Freddie nodded and lost no time in climbing onto the bed and sitting beside him. She took his hand and held it tightly between both of hers.
“Hello, bonnie lass,” Ross said, pleased by the smile that dawned on her face, though her eyes were too bright.”
“Hello, Captain Moncreiffe,” she said, her voice quiet.
“Ross,” he mumbled, disliking her formality and tightening his hold on her hand as the first cut pierced his burning flesh, and then he was lost in a world of pain.
Chapter 17
“Wherein Ross discovers a Scotsman’s home is his castle.”
Freddie held tight to Ross’ hand, though he’d passed out about ten minutes earlier, thank heavens. Good as his word, he’d barely moved. Freddie could not comprehend how he’d borne it.
“Is it done?” she asked Mrs Murray, aware her voice was thick with unshed tears.
She hadn’t cried over him, at least, aware that he’d hate such a display. If he could endure then so could she, though it broke her heart to see him in such pain.
“I’ve cut all the corrupted flesh away, aye,” Mrs Murray replied, her voice soft and weary. “Mr Pelham, give me the salve I prepared, please.”
Freddie looked up, almost having forgotten the two men were in the room still. Sampson—the elder and far more serious brother—handed her the small glass jar. Made of St James’ Wort, honey, and May butter, it smelled pleasant enough.
Mrs Murray applied it over the wound with care and then packed it with small squares of clean linen cloth before putting another layer soaked in oil over the top. Over this, she bound the wound with a clean bandage.
“Once the infection’s gone I can sew the wound closed,” she said, fixing the bandage in place with deft fingers. “But for now, we must keep a close eye on it and change the bandage every few hours.”
Mrs Murray got to her feet with a sigh, and Freddie could see the strain of the past hours in her eyes.
“Right, we’ll brew that meadowsweet tea and then see if we can get it down his throat,” she said, moving stiffly as she headed to the door. “Come along, Mr Pelham,” she said to Sampson. “I don’t doubt ye lament the ruination of your lovely boots hunting out the meadowsweet. I’m sure Mr Digby will be beside himself with glee to have a fine gentleman to see to.”
Freddie watched as Mrs Murray shepherded Sampson out of the room. The big man went meekly enough. With a smile, she wondered if anyone had ever spoken him to so brusquely in all his life. Either way, he seemed to be taking it very well.
She looked up to see Sam watching her, concern in his blue eyes. He’d been a regular visitor to his sisters when she’d been their governess—when his father wasn’t home. She would often arrange for the girls to meet him in the park when his father was in residence, rather than deprive them all of their time together.
Samuel was a curious fellow, with a reputation for being aloof. He seemed to hold the world at arm’s length, yet his brothers and sisters were everything to him and he made no bones about the fact he adored them.
Freddie had become fond of him during those visits. It was impossible not to like a man so willing to make a fool of himself to amuse his six-year-old sisters. In fact, all four brothers doted on the girls, which was a source of amusement to her as the Pelham men had rather dreadful reputations. Not as dark as their father’s, thank heavens, but the stories of their carousing, gambling, and womanising were legendary.
Yet they had never treated Freddie with anything less than the utmost respect. Though Sampson hadn’t come home during her time there, he’d sent letters and presents for the girls. They were thoughtful gifts, too, things that had surprised her as men were usually at a loss for what small girls liked to play with.
The twin brothers were always fun, too, though they got the children thoroughly over excited. They had faces like angels, though Freddie suspected the stories that circulated of their devilry were the tip of a very large iceberg. They were kind and polite to her, though she’d only seen them a few times.
Sam was the one she knew best though, and he would tease Freddie the same way he did the twins, as if he might have done, had she been his sister. He’d seen how wretched a governess she was, but also that his sisters were happy and having fun, if not learning a great deal. His company and reassurance, fleeting as it was, made her feel a little less adrift and alone, and she’d become very fond of him for that.
She’d felt they’d become friends in the time she’d known him.
His expression now was one that suggested he was aware there was something between her and Captain Moncreiffe, and he wasn’t sure he approved of it. She glanced back at Ross, reassuring herself he was sleeping, as it was clear Sam wanted to talk.
“Well, Freddie,” he said, smiling at her, his gaze lingering on where her hands still clasped Ross’ large one. “What have you gotten yourself into?”
Freddie blushed and put up her chin, deciding to brazen it out for the moment.
“What on earth do you mean?” she asked.
Sam gave her a hard look. “I thought we were friends. Come to that, Freddie, why on earth didn’t you come and find me when Father dismissed you? I was only gone a fortnight and, when I came back, you’d disappeared.”
“Oh, Sam, what on earth for?” she asked, shaking her head. “It would only have caused trouble between you and your father, and there was nothing you could have done.”
“I could have done something,” he retorted. “I could have been certain you were safe and well and helped you find another position at least.”
Freddie couldn’t help but laugh at that idea. “Oh, yes, because Samuel Pelham is so respectable, he’s the first port of call for any young mother needing a recommendation for a governess.”
Sam scowled and huffed, but his indignation only amused her further.
“They’d have believed I was some petticoat of yours you were trying to get shot of, and you well know it.”
“Perhaps,” he muttered, “but you still ought to have come to me. The girls were so upset.”
“Oh, don’t, Sam,” Freddie said, tears burning at her eyes. “I miss them too, dreadfully, but there was nothing I could do. Besides, I had to get away. Your father was back, and… and he’d said things, foul things, and… he watched me….”
Sam swore, an obscene curse that ought to have shocked her, but she could only feel pity for his pain and anger.
“The miserable bastard,” Sam said bitterly. “I hope he rots in hell, but it took your captain here to do anything. He had courage enough to call the devil out. God, how I wish I’d done it, Freddie. I would have if you’d only told me what he’d been doing, and I wouldn’t have deloped, I can tell you that. I mean, I’m glad Ross did, I’m glad I could help persuade him not to pull that trigger, but….”
His jaw tightened and he said no more, but Freddie knew the depths of his hatred for his father.
&n
bsp; “He’s gone now, Sam,” she said, her tone gentle. “He’s gone from your life. You’re free.”
Sam let out a breath and laughed. “I’ll never be free of his taint, though to be rid of his company is something. I think it will take a while to sink in that he’s really gone.” He smiled, returning his gaze to her. “But that is beside the point. What are you doing here, Freddie? You ought not to be, you must know that?”
“You’re wrong,” Freddie said with a dignified sniff.
She explained her uncle’s will to him, aware that Sam was looking outraged.
“Well, of all the bottle-headed, idiotic ideas, that one takes the biscuit,” he said in disgust. “A young, unmarried woman sent to befriend a soldier of his stamp? Good God.”
“What do you mean by that?” Freddie retorted, stung on Ross’ behalf.
“I mean that my new brother is a hardened solider who’s seen the world. He was born in the gutter, Freddie, and I have nothing but respect for everything he’s achieved, but as a fit companion for a young woman….” He closed his mouth, mindful of her growing anger and when he spoke again his words were careful. “Has he offered marriage, Freddie?” he asked, watching her. “Because if he doesn’t, you’ll find yourself unmarriageable in a matter of days, if your friendship becomes common knowledge. Even if he does, is this the life you want? Stuck out here in the back end of beyond, with this pile of stone crumbling about you?”
He let out a breath, moving closer to the bed and chucking her under the chin. “You were raised as a lady. You should have married a gentleman by now and had a home and children of your own.”
Freddie snorted with disgust. “But I’m not, Sam, because gentlemen don’t look at women of my ilk with not a penny to their name. I’m not beautiful enough to overcome such circumstances. I was just the governess, that faded little creature everyone overlooks, ignored by the family she works for and unwelcome to mix with the servants. You don’t understand how difficult that is, Sam. Your stepmother was sweet and I was so grateful for your friendship, but I knew I was wrong to allow it on both counts. I like it here, Sam. I’m happy here, in a place where I can be myself.”
“And what about him?” Sam gestured to the sleeping man.
“I don’t know,” Freddie admitted, feeling a swell of tenderness for Ross.
His breathing was heavy, his skin ashen yet with high spots of colour as the fever raged. She reached over and pushed the hair from his forehead, such an intimate gesture that she blushed as she realised what she’d done.
Sam made an unhappy sound, low in his throat. “You care for him,” he said, his expression one of concern. “And I can understand it. The truth is I like him too, but brother or not, if he hurts you, if he takes advantage… I’ll kill him.”
***
For the next couple of days Ross slept, only waking now and then, when Freddie insisted he drink more of the tea Mrs Murray had brewed, or when they poked at his wound.
His dreams were a confusion of violence and horror, where the battles he’d fought in came back to him in all their bloody glory, and the enemies that hunted him all wore the face of his father. No matter how often he killed the bastard, he’d get up again and keep coming.
“You can’t escape me,” the viscount sneered at him. “You are me. I’m in your blood.”
When he awoke, sweating and terrified, Freddie was there, smiling and reassuring him, and he sank back into pleasanter dreams of a place where she held him in her arms, where she’d always hold on, no matter what. His father couldn’t reach him then, and his sleep was undisturbed.
On the fourth morning, the fever had gone, and he couldn’t stand his own stink a moment longer. Though it half killed him, he insisted Digby help him bathe and shave, and change the sheets on his bed.
“Thank ye,” he said, as the fellow struggled to help him back to bed. “I felt like I wanted to crawl from my own skin.”
“A pleasure, Captain,” Digby said, looking as though he meant it.
“How’s that lady friend of yours, then?” he asked, giving Digby a thoughtful look. “Are ye gonna marry her?”
To his amusement, Digby blushed, looking as if he might burst with excitement and pride.
“Yes, sir. In fact, I have been waiting for you to recover before asking permission if I might—”
Ross chuckled and waved a weary hand. “God’s teeth, man. Go and marry her, ye waited all this time, don’t wait another minute.” He paused, watching the happiness bloom in Digby’s face. “I suppose it’s time ye went back home, eh? Ye can be sure I’ll give ye a fine reference, for what that’s worth to you.”
All at once the happiness leached from Digby’s face, and he stiffened. “I…. Have I given you any cause for displeasure, sir? I had thought you happy with my services, but—”
“What?” Ross said, frowning. His head was pounding, and he couldn’t fathom why Digby had gone all frosty faced and starchy. “What the devil are ye on about? I just assumed ye’d want to go home. I doubt your lady will want to live out here so far from society.”
All at once the snooty butler expression disappeared and Digby came and sat on the edge of the bed. That was disturbing enough, as usually Digby did nothing so beneath his dignity, but it got worse.
“Sir, may I speak plainly?”
Ross waved a hand, too exhausted and alarmed to speak.
“Captain Moncreiffe, we both know that if you’d not come across me that night, I’d be at the bottom of the Thames right now. I was disgraced, and rightly so. You… You, sir, you gave me back my dignity. You showed me a man can make a mistake and still face the world, that I could be a better man because of that mistake, not despite it. I’ve been proud to serve you in any way I can, Captain, and I always shall be.”
Ross cursed whatever it was had gotten a hold of him of late as his throat closed against a surge of emotion. Everything and everyone seemed to tangle him up. Wherever he went he was gaining… people and, far worse… feelings.
At first, it had just been Mrs Murray, simply because she’d always been there. Since he was a small boy, she’d been there with a kind word and a biscuit, patching him up when he’d been fighting. So pretty much daily. Then, once he’d sold out, when most all of his comrades were dead, Digby had appeared.
Ross had been in London, seeking a carriage to take him back to Scotland when he’d come across Digby climbing over the railings to throw himself in the river Thames. He’d gotten himself into debt, gambling, and had stolen from his illustrious employer, the Duke of Sherringham. He’d been lucky to only be dismissed and they both knew it. His punishment could have been far worse for such a crime.
Somehow, in talking Digby off the bridge, he’d gained a toplofty valet who was so grateful he put his dignity to one side and became a general servant in Ross’ less than luxurious pile of stones. Though he occasionally made wistful suggestions for certain improvements to the castle, Digby had never once complained about his reduced circumstances, nor demanded better wages. He’d even become a friend, of sorts.
Since then he’d acquired four brothers, two sisters he’d yet to meet, and been forced to promise the Earl of Falmouth he would come and visit him in Cornwall during the summer. The earl wanted him to make the acquaintance of his terrifying son-in-law, Luther Blackehart. Alex insisted they’d get on like a house on fire.
And then there was Freddie.
Ross cleared his throat, looking back at Digby, unsure of what to say.
“Ye don’t owe me anything, Digby,” he said, aware that he must tread with care. “And if ye want to stay… well, I’d… I’d be very pleased and grateful that ye feel so, but… but surely the new Mrs Digby—”
“Maggie knows what you did for me, sir, and she quite agrees that I must stay. In fact, now that she knows more of your character and the honourable man you are, I know she has hopes… indeed, we all hope that—”
“Stop right there,” Ross said, feeling panicked all at once. “Don’t ye da
re think of meddling any further, and that goes for Mrs Murray too, ye hear me? Miss Wycliffe….” He stopped, uncertain of what it was he wanted to say. “Ach, Digby, she deserves better and ye know it. What can I offer her? I’ve the temper of Beelzebub on a good day, and I’ve no desire for society. If I even dreamed of marrying her it would be like those awful displays of butterflies where they’re stuck with pins to hold them in place.”
His discomfort increased as Digby’s face softened.
“Sir,” he said, his tone grave. “I have become well acquainted with the tales of your life in the days before you went to war, and it does seem like you could have started a fight in an empty room.”
Ross snorted at what was an extremely apt description.
“However, in the time I have known you, I have never known you to be anything other than fair-minded.”
“Digby!” Ross said, exasperated. “Am I dying, man? For I can see no other reason for all this damned flattery. I’m a foul-mouthed curmudgeon at the best of times, as ye ken well enough.”
“I hadn’t finished, sir,” Digby said with a sigh.
“Oh,” Ross said, bemused.
“I was going to say that, for all your bluster and noise, you’ve never treated Mrs Murray or myself—nor anyone else you’ve dealt with—with anything less than kindness. Anyone who knows you knows that beyond that gruff exterior is a generous heart. If you would permit me to say so, sir, the late Mr Wycliffe and now his niece have simply discovered what we have known for some time. You’re a good man, and we’re proud to serve you. Furthermore, I don’t believe Miss Wycliffe is a fool. In fact, I think she knows her own mind better than many young ladies of her age and breeding. She knows what life here will entail well enough.”
Digby paused and got to his feet, staring down at Ross for a moment and looking as if he was gathering his courage. He took a deep breath.
“I’ll say one more thing before I leave you to rest.”
Ross swallowed, too bewildered and touched to say a word for fear he’d get emotional.
The Scent of Scandal (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 16) Page 17
