She knew the Rakehells had served with many good men, and there was of course talk of Thomas's Irish cousin Stewart Fitzgerald, the Duke of Clancar, finally coming home after years abroad. The Elthams were going to meet up with him on the south coast of Ireland during their grand tour of all their estates. This could not be him, could it? But no, he had been described as a career soldier, while this man had more of a.... More of a business-like and yet scholarly manner, she decided.
Sarah also recollected with a shudder that the Rakehells had also met some dreadful scoundrels. But this man seemed to be more than decent, just confused and ill.
Who could he be? Now that the war was over, all the soldiers were coming home from the Peninsula as fast as arrangements could be made. But between able-bodied men and the wounded, and the forces being kept in France, Spain and Portugal to wrap things up, it would be a long time before they were all home again.
She was eagerly awaiting news from Dr. Sanderson about when he was going to return to take up the reins of her clinic for fallen women. Viscount Glyne was a faithful correspondent, but sadly they still hadn't heard from Michael as to when he would be re-patriated.
There had of course been two big battles at Toulouse and Bayonne in mid-April, but the details of them had been eclipsed by the even more momentous news about the battle for Paris and Napoleon being forced to abdicate as Emperor by his own marshals.
Sarah was sure she had overheard Jonathan and Thomas talking about some friends who had disappeared, whom they were worried about, not all that long ago. Perhaps this was one of the friends? He had obviously been badly injured. Perhaps it had been in one of those battles?
She shook her head, breaking off her reverie at last. She resumed her playing once more. All this speculation was getting her nowhere. She would just have to wait until the poor man was feeling better to get the answers to some if not every question teeming in her brain. Like who was his family, was he married....
She started when she sensed a presence in the room, and glanced up to find Caleb standing patiently, but not looking at her.
"What is it, Caleb? What's upset you so much? You look as though you've seen a ghost."
The older man shook his head. "I think I have. I know he's a soldier and everything. But I can't understand how anyone could have survived what he has. His back. He must be in pain all the time."
She frowned. "What about his back?"
"I looked all over while I was washing him. He has a couple of nicks and cuts on his arms and legs, but nothing serious. No, all of his injuries are on his back. It is almost like he's been flogged and then stripped of his flesh or something."
Sarah's mouth went dry. "Stripped?" she repeated, horror-stricken.
Caleb nodded. "Sorry to distress you, Miss. But you need to know the truth. Regular soldiers are flogged in the army all the time, but not gents like him."
"Who on earth would do such a thing?"
He shrugged. "Dunno, Miss, and I hope to Christ I never meet up with them. One thing's for sure, though. Whoever tried to kill him beat and tortured him first, and attacked him from behind."
Chapter Three
Sarah could maintain no pretense of concentrating on the pianoforte after the information Caleb had just imparted. The handsome stranger who had come to call had been tortured and attacked from behind. She supposed many dreadful injuries happened in war, but most of the time it would be a single wound, or a cannon ball or piece of searing shrapnel. She forced herself to remember her brother Jonathan's description of what had befallen his friends at the siege of Cuidad Rodrigo in January 1812.
"Clifford and Thomas were dead," her sandy-haired brother had said. "As sure as I'm sitting here, they were dead. We had been ordered to go into the breach, even knowing how dangerous it was. The three of us were handpicked to go in first, though many others had volunteered. But we were led like lambs to the slaughter. There was a huge trench, with evil spikes at the bottom of it. Clifford went first, fell in and was impaled through the back and stomach.
"They had two small cannon firing down on us, and set fire to a powder bag as well. As Thomas stepped into the breach and leapt down into the ditch, the bag went off, peppering him with shrapnel. His legs were both mangled messes. I knew even if he lived, they would both have to be amputated.
"I dropped down into the trench, all thought of fighting gone. Thomas said goodbye to me, and I could see the blood spurting out of both legs. His pulse grew fainter, and I could feel him slipping away.
"Clifford was no better. I could see, well, all of his innards. He was gritting his teeth in agony as he clasped my hand and gave me messages for his loved ones. I felt the pulse at his wrist getting weaker.
"I put my hands on Thomas's legs to try to stop the bleeding, and prayed as I never had before. I asked God to spare them both, to take me instead. I told the Lord I would make any bargain he liked, devote myself to the sick and the poor and the helpless, so long as he spared the two men who were like brothers to me.
"I don't know how long I knelt there praying, but when I finally looked at my surroundings once more, I saw something I never thought I would see.
"It was a miracle. Clifford groaned and stirred, and sat up. The blade was gone, and he had only a ragged tear in his coat to show where he had been pierced, and two jagged scars. He was in fierce pain, but his body was whole.
"Thomas's recovery was even more miraculous. His breeches were completely shredded, but when he finally came to at the field hospital, they said he would be fine. They washed his legs. They were peppered with little piercing wounds, which have left small scars. He could hardly bend his legs at first, and was in severe pain, but they improved over time. But he was dead, I tell you. He had bled to death right before my eyes.
"It was a miracle, I'm sure of it. After that, I did the only thing I could do. I served for a time longer, until I could sell my commission and be discharged honorably, which I did after I was slightly wounded at the siege at Badajoz in April. We all got sent home together after that. I kept my promise to God, and became a minister. Clifford and Thomas were both invalided out of the war, and have dedicated themselves to all the causes they've espoused ever since."
She shivered again. To think what a dreadful waste the war had been. It was almost too awful to bear. What would have happened to them all if they really had been killed? Sarah felt her stomach churn. Vanessa Stone would have been gambled away to a highwayman and murderer, and would surely have been killed herself.
Jane Eltham would have suffered a living hell, as would her child Sophie, at the hands of the evil traitor Herbert Paxton. At least the little girl was living safely with a good family in a village not too far from Eltham Castle now. Thomas's wife Charlotte would probably have fallen victim to Paxton as well, who had used Jane so shamelessly.
And what would have happened to Jonathan? He would have been destroyed by the loss of his friends, and never have recovered. He would probably have been killed himself. Her father would have died a bitter old man, regretful of the way he had alienated his son, insisting he never wanted to see him again when Jonathan had decided to enlist. She and her mother and sisters would have been buffeted by the winds of change, four women alone and bereft without the men in their lives to guide them.
And Jonathan's wife Pamela Ashton, well, she probably would have fallen prey to the debauched man Ferncliffe who had been in league with the foul Paxton.
She shook her head. God did work in mysterious ways, and they could only wonder at His intentions. Sarah had to believe, as her brother did, that they were all part of some great if incomprehensible design. They had all saved each other, and been saved in return.
It therefore followed that the blind stranger sleeping in the spare room was part of the Lord's mysterious plan. Why exactly had the gentleman upstairs come to visit them?
She understood that the man's arrival had provoked all these gloomy thoughts. She tried to push them to one side as she poured herse
lf some coffee. She drank the scalding brew and felt it soothe her troubled spirit. There was no sense in being morbid. All of her friends and family were well, and happy. Vanessa and Clifford had a beautiful son, with a second child on the way soon. Thomas and Charlotte were to have a baby by the end of the year as well. Jonathan and Pamela had just married. The war was now over at last, Europe at peace for the first time in decades.
It would all be just fine, she insisted to herself. Yet she rubbed her arms to ward off a sudden chill.
She poured a second cup, wrapping her hands around it to heat her trembling fingers. She downed the hot beverage in a couple of gulps, then poured some into a second clean cup, to which she added milk and sugar. Taking it and the vinegar and brown paper, and the basin Caleb had brought, she went upstairs to check on her guest. She knew she was never going to rest if she didn't speak to him at least once more that night and reassure herself that all was well.
His door had been left ajar. She peered in and heard him let out a soft groan.
"Are you awake, sir?"
He was lying prone on the bed, one arm thrown over his eyes. "I am. My head is pounding again."
"I've brought some coffee, and something to help soothe your pain."
He raised his wrist from his forehead and sniffed appreciatively. "Coffee? My goodness. What luxury."
She waited until he had eased himself up against the headboard, and handed him the cup. She set down her burdens on the small bedside table, and poured some vinegar into the basin. She soaked the paper and squeezed it out, then placed it on his brow. She ignored the impressive expanse of bare chest as she pressed another piece on the back of his neck. She could see the small tattoo on his chest, shadowy in the dim light filtering in from the hall.
She looked at his arm as he lifted it to drink the coffee, but could see nothing clearly. Whatever his name was, it had not been tattooed in such large letters as her brother's and the other men's had been.
"Mmm, this is wonderful," he sighed.
"I guessed at the milk and sugar."
"It's perfect. Really," he said, patting the hand which rested on his brow.
She shivered with desire, and forced herself to remain still. When it did not look too obvious, she withdrew her hand from his grasp, barely managing not to yank it away. She felt herself go hot and cold all over as he touched her, and her whole body loosened from the waist down. It was remarkable what one simple touch of his hand could do...
She stood by the bedside in silence, soaking more paper and wringing it out, before removing the old papers, and applying the new compresses. At length she asked, "Any better?"
"I think it's easing somewhat."
"Good."
"Really, I'm sure you have better things to do than stand here helping me. Send Caleb up to assist me."
She wrung out the paper and then reapplied it. "Caleb and Jenny don't live here. They've just gone home. They have a small cottage about half a mile down the road."
"I see," he said quietly.
"I don't mind, honestly. To tell the truth, this is easier than attending a birth."
"So you help the local women here?" he asked with interest.
"Anyone, really. As the sister of a vicar, it's sort of expected of me. Not that I mind. I enjoy it. I also teach them how to read, write, and do sums."
"Your husband must be a very understanding man."
"I'm not married."
His brows flew upwards. "I thought--"
"No, I live here with my brother. There's no other male in the household."
"Then perhaps he should be here helping me," he suggested in clipped tones.
Sarah laughed lightly at his prim tone, worthy of a respectable maiden aunt. "I'm sure he would, if he were here. But he's just married," she reminded him. "He's headed up north with his bride for his wedding trip, and to see our family. I'm sure he'll be sorry to have missed you. If you'd care to come back at the end of the summer-"
"The end of the summer!" He sat up abruptly, then groaned and settled back.
"Yes, I'm sorry," she apologized, pressing the vinegared paper to his head once more. "He's going to visit our sisters afterwards. I don't expect him back for some time."
He drained the cup and sighed. "So you tell me you've never seen me before?"
She considered him carefully once more, racking her brain. "No, never. I'm sorry if we've met and I don't remember you. My brother has always had a wide circle of acquaintance. It grew even larger as a result of the war. What did you say your name was again?"
"Jonathan Deveril."
Sarah shot him a sharp look, took the nearly empty cup from his hand and clinked it down on the table abruptly.
"Please, no more jests. I'm accustomed to many of my brother Jonathan's friends being wags, but this really has gone too far. I've been more than hospitable, I feel. The least you can do is let me know who it is I have the honor of addressing."
He said in an agitated tone, "That's just it. I have no memory of what happened to me, who I am. So far as I know anything about myself, my name is Jonathan Deveril."
Chapter Four
The vehemence of the stranger's tone was enough to make Sarah relent in her anger.
She soothed him with one hand pressed to his brow as she sat on the edge of the bed in the shadowy chamber. "Pray calm yourself, sir. You'll only make your head throb more. I'm not angry, really. I'm sorry to have probed. This is all very confusing for you, and you must be exhausted. Please, just rest yourself."
"Don't try to humor me like a child. I'm Jonathan Deveril," he insisted.
"But it's not really possible--"
"Why are you acting like I'm lying? I tell you, that's my name."
"I never said--"
"I'm not mad," he rasped.
"No, of course not!" she gasped, gripping him by the shoulders when he looked as though he would rise from the bed.
"I swear to you, Sarah, I'm not here to hurt you or cause any trouble," he promised. "But I need to find the truth. Friends, family. Someone who can help me, tell me who I am and where I belong now that the war is over."
"I understand, really I do," she said, stroking his bare shoulder and chest. She tried not to start as his flat male nipple sprang to life under her innocent caress. She was fascinated, and glad he couldn't see her face. She could feel a parallel response in her own body, and the room was anything but cold.
"Please, do rest yourself, my friend. It's not important now. I suppose it's perfectly possible there are two Jonathan Deverils in the world. Or that there has been some obvious mistake. But we don't need to worry about it this minute.
"Pray don't upset yourself so. The main thing is for you to start feeling better. You need sleep, and good food to build you back up again. A few days in a good soft bed, keeping warm and dry and resting after all you've been through will help your situation as well. Things will seem so much better once you start feeling better, I'm sure."
He trapped her hand against his chest lightly. "You're right. I'm sorry if I've upset you or been difficult. It's just so hard not knowing. Not being able to see, being unable to do more than the simplest things for myself. Scrimping every penny, walking for miles, never knowing where my next bed or meal is coming from. Hoping I'm not going to be attacked or killed in the road."
"I understand, truly. It's a wonder you've made it as far as you have with so many desperate people nowadays dispossessed and displaced after the war. But you're safe here, I give you my word. I can only imagine how terrible all of this has been for you. You can stay as long as you need to," she found herself inviting rashly, even though she had yet to get a single satisfactory answer to her many questions. As her brother said, sometimes things simply had to be a leap of faith.
He looked doubtful, however, so that she insisted, "You're fine here. We have the whole house to ourselves, just the four of us, with Jenny and Caleb. Just relax and rest yourself. I shall try to be as quiet as possible. If you want or need com
pany or assistance, just call. Otherwise, I shall give you your privacy. I know that was one thing Jonathan hated about Army life, rarely having a moment to himself."
"Hmm, funny that," he said, relaxing his tensed shoulders. "I'm getting the feeling that I've been lonely, and am glad of the company."
"Strange."
"But then, I've been in hospital for a long time. It's not exactly a quiet and restful place, for all the inmates are ill and supposed to be resting."
"I can imagine. But never mind that now," she said, withdrawing her hand from his chest at last to change his compresses. "You can tell me all about yourself once you are feeling better. It's getting late. Time to sleep."
The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2 Page 5
