“Miss Hill,” he said, offering her a short bow. “I think you should come quickly.”
“What is wrong, Mr. Anders?”
He closed the door behind him, glancing at Mr. Hamden as well as Nancy in the corner. He cleared his throat, his brows furrowed with both worry and anxiety. “It is the injured prisoner, Miss Hill,” he said. “The man is in bad shape, feverish, and I think his wound has become infected.”
“Is His Lordship aware of the situation?” Cornelia asked, frowning.
“Not at this time. You heard what he said, Miss Hill, he does not care if the man rots. However, it is wrong to let him suffer so without trying to help.”
Cornelia bit her lip. “This is quite true, Mr. Anders, but I hardly think Lord Rochester truly meant that. While I want to assist this man, I cannot in truth go behind His Lordship’s back.”
“He is not here at the moment,” Mr. Anders said, “thus we cannot ask him. Nor do I think we should wait until he does return. Mr. North entrusted me with the key to the cellar so the prisoners might be fed and watered in his absence.”
Cornelia made up her mind and stood. “Very well. I will see to him, and Lord Rochester will be informed of this matter upon his return.”
Mr. Anders opened the door for her. “Thank you, Miss Hill. And I will have the kitchen prepare hot water for you to bring down there.”
As she crossed the house with her satchel, Cornelia glanced at Mr. Hamden. “What do you think?”
He shrugged as he strode beside her. “It was bound to happen, shot twice in the same arm, and then not treated promptly. I suggest we do what we can for him, then persuade His Lordship to turn them over to the proper authorities. I would hate to see you be the one to amputate his arm.”
“I will if I must in order to save his life,” Cornelia murmured, wondering if she could indeed manage such an operation. “Save his life for hanging later?”
“He has not yet been judged,” Mr. Hamden reminded her. “We must not presume anything at this point.”
“You are quite right. Thank you.”
The stench in the cellar made her gag and caused Nancy to gasp and hack as the four of them crossed its length to the chained prisoners. The mute man merely eyed her and her entourage with curiosity, a half-eaten plate of food at his side. The fellow in the middle scowled dangerously as she approached, while the injured man, his flesh bright with fever, merely watched.
“Are you here to mock us, freak?” he snapped.
Cornelia returned his glower with calm appraisal. “I had thought to care for your injury. Unless you would prefer to lose your arm, or perhaps your life. Have you ever seen someone die from a raging infection? Believe me, it is not a nice way to go.”
His lips thinned, he stared hard at her. “Why would you want to help me?”
“I do not. However, the thought of you suffering overwhelms my natural inclinations to leave you to die. If you do not wish for my help, then I will depart.”
Cornelia turned to leave. “Wait,” he called. “Please.”
Turning back, she waited, watching him. “Yes?”
“Please, I don’t want to die like that.” He licked his lips, fear crawling across his rugged features. “Will you help me?”
“If I help you, can I expect you to behave yourself?”
“Yes. I will mind my manners and will cause you no trouble.”
Walking toward him, Cornelia gestured toward Mr. Hamden. “He is armed and will not hesitate to shoot you should you break your word.”
“I won’t. I promise, I won’t call you bad names any more, either.”
“Just to be sure you will behave,” Mr. Anders said, picking up a shackle and length of chain. “Both of your arms will be restrained for the duration of her visit.”
After Mr. Anders secured the prisoner to the stout bar, he stepped back and nodded. “There is no way he can harm you, Miss Hill.”
With a nod, Cornelia opened her satchel as she stepped to the prisoner’s side. Taking a small knife, she cut his sleeve away and exposed the mess of swollen and damn flesh his upper arm had become. She gazed at it in dismay. Without turning her head, she ordered, “I need whiskey, hot water for washing his wound as well as for tea. Right now.”
“Yes, Miss Hill.”
Pulling the bottle of laudanum from her satchel, Cornelia heard Mr. Anders feet on the wooden steps as he rushed up them. Holding the bottle to the prisoner’s mouth, she helped him to take a long gulp. “That will numb your pain and enable me to clean your wounds without causing you more distress.”
He nodded, swallowing as she took the bottle away. Waiting for him to nod off and for Mr. Anders to return with the basin of hot water and the whiskey for disinfecting, she set her linen wraps to the side in preparation. Mr. Hamden crouched next to her. “What can I do?” he asked.
“Very little, I am afraid,” Cornelia replied. “His wounds cannot be sutured at this point, only kept clean. All we can do is treat his infection and hope that it does not spread further.”
Cornelia glanced across her patient to the other prisoners, who watched her with fascination. “Is there hope for any of them?” she murmured.
“For their rehabilitation?” Mr. Hamden asked. “Not likely. If given the chance, they will return to their criminal ways.”
“I will change,” her patient muttered, his eyes glassy. “I do not wish to hang.”
Mr. Anders returned with the needed whiskey and two other footmen carrying a basin of water, cloths, and a tray with a teapot and a cup. Cornelia nodded with approval. “Mr. Hamden, please begin preparing a tea with these herbs. They will help his fever and fight his infection. Mr. Anders, set that right here, thank you.”
Not waiting until the prisoner slept, Cornelia began washing the gore from his arm, prying away dried blood and dead tissue. He groaned and thrashed under her ministrations, forcing Mr. Hamden to hold him down. “This will really burn,” Cornelia advised, pouring whiskey into the open gashes.
The man howled, then mercifully passed out, growing limp under Mr. Hamden’s weight. Mr. Hamden stepped away with a sigh, and crouched once more at Cornelia’s side. “That will make things easier,” he murmured.
“Unfortunately, this must be repeated twice a day for a time,” Cornelia said, wrapping his mutilated arm. “His infection cannot be allowed to spread. It will hurt him at every change.”
“I will handle his care from now on, Miss Hill,” Mr. Anders offered. “Just clean and wrap it, correct?”
“And plenty of feverfew tea,” she added, tying the knot in the bandage. “As well as food. I hope His Lordship can be persuaded to permit it. He must be allowed more than bread.”
Mr. Hamden met her eyes with a smile. “His Lordship is a kind man, Miss Hill. He will not wish the man to suffer any more than you do.”
Cornelia smiled. “Will you see if you can wake him up? He must get this medicine down him.”
With her newest patient asleep in his chains, his wounds cared for, Cornelia left the cellar with Mr. Hamden, Mr. Anders and Nancy behind her. Only slightly concerned about Archie’s reaction to her helping the man who would have murdered him and abducted her, she wondered where he was. “Has His Lordship returned from visiting Barrett?” she asked.
“I believe he has, Miss Hill,” Mr. Anders replied. “But I heard he is currently with a visitor in his study.”
“Then I will not disturb him. Nancy, will you ask the kitchen staff to prepare lunch for us? Have them bring it to the library.”
* * *
No sooner had Mr. Mowbray bowed and left his house, did Archie, hungry, headed toward the kitchen to order a late luncheon in his dining room when Noah approached, bowing. “Lord Whitstone is here to see you, My Lord.”
Archie caught himself before he groaned. “Very well. Where is he?”
“In the foyer, My Lord.”
“I will go escort him to the dining room. Please see to it luncheon is prepared for two.”
&nbs
p; Noah bowed and departed as Archie crossed the house toward the front doors. Richard stood with his hand behind his back, gazing around as though never seeing the place before. “Richard,” Archie said, walking toward him with his hand out. “A pleasant surprise.”
Richard shook his hand, smiling. “I was in the area, old chap. Thought I might drop by for a visit.”
“I hope you’re hungry,” Archie replied, his arm extended in invitation. “I was about to sit down for luncheon.”
“Why, what a coincidence. I am indeed famished.”
Striding across the entryway toward the big double doors that led into the dining room, Archie had a single brief moment to hope that Cornelia was safely ensconced in the library. Then she and Mr. Hamden appeared around the corner, heading straight toward them. Glancing up, Cornelia froze. Archie’s heart landed with a thud in his gut.
“I see you have been keeping secrets from me, old chap,” Richard drawled, stopping when Archie did.
Biting back a groan, Archie gestured toward Cornelia. “I suppose it is time you two formally met. Richard, this is Miss Cornelia Hill. Miss Hill, His Lordship, the Earl of Whitstone.”
Cornelia immediately curtsied and Mr. Hamden bowed. Richard stepped forward, smiling. “A real pleasure, Miss Hill,” he said. “Why, you are more beautiful than I remember.”
Her face lowered, Cornelia murmured, “Thank you, My Lord.”
“Archie, old chap, you should not have hidden her so,” Richard chided, his sharp blue eyes studying Cornelia closely. “You know how much I desired to meet her, speak with her.”
“Yes, I know, Richard,” Archie replied, rubbing his brow where a headache began to throb. “However, Miss Hill desires privacy, and as she is a guest under my roof, I granted it.”
“Of course, of course. Miss Hill, if ever you have need of anything, please do not hesitate to ask. I am at your service.”
With another curtsy, Cornelia hurried on, her face down, Mr. Hamden behind her. Richard watched her go, a half smile playing about his lips. “What an exquisite creature, she is, eh?”
“Come, let us go eat.”
With his gut clenched in tension, Archie tried hard to eat though his appetite had fled. Throughout, he answered Richard’s questions as to how she came to be there. “That idiot Barrett Hill sold her to some maniac,” Archie explained, trying to concentrate on his meal. “I offered her my protection.”
Richard frowned. “Sold her? Is that not against the law, old chap?”
“Indeed. Now Hill and this mystery person are trying to kill me and take her back.”
Richard dropped his fork, his expression horrified. “Kill you? Surely this matter is not worth killing over.”
Archie smiled grimly. “Apparently, they think it is.”
“Perhaps you should turn her over to them,” Richard suggested, picking his fork up and resuming his meal. “No common wench, no matter how extraordinary, is worth you dying for.”
“No. I will not. I will not renege on my promise to protect her.”
“You always did have a noble streak in you,” Richard said with a smile. “Always wanting to be the hero like in the old tales.”
“She is an astonishing woman, Richard,” Archie went on with a faint grin. “Highly intelligent, genuinely caring. I have hired her as my household physician.”
Richard swirled his wine in his glass, studying him from across the table. “She has had training, experience in this?”
“Indeed, yes. In the circus, she often worked as a healer. She has already proven her worth.”
“That is wonderful, old chap. In exchange for your protection, it would appear you have gained a useful servant.”
“I don’t think of her as a servant.”
Richard sipped his wine, watching Archie over its rim. “What do you intend to do about Barrett and this, er, buyer?”
“I frightened Barrett silly this morning,” Archie admitted. “Threatened to have him hanged if he doesn’t move his show along. If he sends his hired bullies here, I will kill them.”
“Ah. Very good. A show of force should send the despicable fat man running. What will you do about the other?”
Archie eyed him. “The next move is his. I will not be intimidated, nor will he get his hands on Miss Hill.”
Chuckling, Richard lifted his glass of wine in a simple toast. “I will look forward to the outcome of this contest, old chap. You must simply keep me posted.”
“Tell me, Richard,” Archie said after taking his own drink from his glass. “How do you know Barrett Hill is fat?”
Setting his glass down on the table, Richard wiped his lips. “I have seen and spoken with him, old chap, that is how. In my desire to view Miss Hill again, I have stopped by the circus several times.”
“I see. Now that you know where she is, what do you plan to do?”
“Outside of persuading you to permit me to visit with her, nothing. What else would I do?”
Archie shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”
“I am merely filled with curiosity about her, old chap. I certainly mean her no harm.”
“I realize that, Richard. But please accept that it is her decision, not mine, whether she wishes to speak to you.”
“Of course, my dear friend. If she declines to permit me to interview her, then I will respect her wishes.”
Chapter 28
Rubbing her arms, feeling the goose bumps rise on her skin, Cornelia shook her head. “No,” she replied, her tone soft, avoiding Archie’s eyes. “I do not wish to speak to him.”
Lifting his hip, Archie half sat on the edge of the desk in the library, and took her hand. “May I ask why not? I will be there with you at all times. He merely wants to chat with you, ask you a few questions.”
Upset, afraid for no reason she could determine, Cornelia rose and stepped away, turning her back to him, her arms across her chest. Mr. Hamden and Nancy both moved to the far side of the library to give them privacy.
“Please, do not ask this of me, Archie. He – his eyes – he makes me uncomfortable. He frightened me before, when you both came to see me in the show.”
She heard Archie rise and step toward her, then his hands rested on her shoulders from behind. “You never told me that.”
“I didn’t think I needed to,” she answered, miserable. “I thought I was being fanciful then, seeing things that weren’t truly there. But the feeling has come back. When he looks at me, I feel – naked, as though he has stripped me of all dignity.”
Archie turned her to face him. His hand stroked her hair back from her face as he smiled. “Then you need not speak to him. I feel it is his outrageous and burning curiosity, his fascination for you that you feel. If it makes you uncomfortable, then Richard can be told you do not wish to be seen.”
“Will he be satisfied with that?”
“He has no choice,” he replied with a shrug. “You both are under my roof. My roof, my rules.”
Her arms sneaked around his waist as she rested her cheek against his chest. His own held her close, and Cornelia listened to the slow thump of his heart. “Thank you, Archie.”
His lips brushed her hair. “You are welcome.”
“I suppose this might be a good time to confess something,” she said, then sighed. “I hope you will not be angry.”
“Me? What can you possibly have done to anger me?”
Turning her face, Cornelia set her chin on his chest and gazed up into his eyes. “I started treating that injured prisoner for a raging infection.”
Relief etched through her when Archie laughed. “Of course you did. If you did not, you would not be the woman you are. The woman I am falling in love with.”
Rising happiness overrode the remains of her fears. “You – love me?”
Bending, Archie kissed her sweetly, tenderly. “I do indeed.”
“Then I am not faced with unrequited feelings,” Cornelia said with a grin. “For I am in love with you.”
“Ah, very good, angel. For I would feel the proper fool had you slapped my face just now and declared me unlovable.”
“You are very lovable, my Archie.”
He rubbed his nose against hers. “So. Will our prisoner survive?”
“With care and decent food, he will,” Cornelia answered. “His arm may not, however.”
The Beauty and the Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 25
