The Rake's Handbook

by Sally Orr

  Lady Helen stared at the red gash on her son’s shoulder. An angry red line streaked across his broad chest, aiming at his heart. The older woman grabbed her hand. “You read all of your husband’s books, gave Mr. Gulch your brooch,” she whispered. “Why?”

  Elinor inhaled. Her actions must be focused on treating the wound, only treating the wound.

  Seconds later, Lady Helen squeezed her hand and nodded. “Thank you.”

  Standing close, the two women looked at each other, Elinor noticed no evidence of their previous opposition in the older woman’s eyes. For her, it was the moment she no longer considered Ross’s mother just an acquaintance, but an ally.

  Rowbottom returned, carrying water, soap, and a large bottle of vinegar.

  Elinor cleaned the shoulder area as best she could, while Lady Helen stood by Ross’s side, stroking the top of his hand.

  “Thank you, Rowbottom,” Elinor said. “Please send for the surgeon and a message to Mr. Browne. Berdy’s pursuit of Dr. Potts concerns me, and I fear for his safety.”

  Lady Helen nodded at Rowbottom, who hurriedly left the room. “There is no hope, is there?” she remarked unsteadily.

  By now Elinor had dabbed his shoulder with vinegar, but without a response from the patient. She looked up at his mother. “I wonder how much to use? My books varied in specifics.” Without an obvious answer and frightened by the rancid smell, she poured some of the vinegar directly into the wound.

  “Hell’s fire.” Ross opened his eyes and threw his arm in a wild arc in an attempt to touch his wounded shoulder.

  “Thank heavens.” Staggering joy made her feel like jumping, but it swiftly ended at the sound of his moan. “No, no, don’t touch the wound. Lady Helen, please restrain his hand.”

  “He lives,” Lady Helen replied, her knees slightly buckling. A mixture of joy and tears animated her weary face.

  Tears filled Elinor’s eyes too, and one dropped onto Ross’s chin. She brushed them away and tried to focus.

  “Madam,” Ross rasped. “Sprung a leak…hope not…my account.” Kindness shone in his eyes.

  Her breath caught. She became consumed by an overwhelming desire to embrace and kiss him, even in front of his mother.

  Lady Helen grabbed his hand to imprison it within hers, kissed his palm, and then rested her cheek on the back of it.

  Ross turned his head to look at his mother, the effort made him grimace. “Let go. Let me sleep.”

  Elinor tried to catch his expression, but he tilted his head to the side and shut his eyes. “Don’t sleep,” she said. “Not yet. I must change your bandage first.” She applied more of the vinegar remedy.

  When the acid touched his wound, he jerked in a twisting motion. “Hell’s fire. What are you about?”

  “Saving you,” she replied. “And if you move again, you’ll damage yourself further. Lady Helen, please pour some barley water. All of the medical books agree that a full recovery is related to the patient’s strength of constitution, so we must make sure he is strong before he sleeps.”

  Lady Helen removed her remaining glove and moved toward the widow to pour a glass of barley water.

  Ross lifted the corner of his mouth and whispered to Elinor, “Need me to be strong, eh?”

  For the first time in days, she felt relieved enough to smile. Before his mother turned around, she planted a swift kiss upon his brow.

  After ingesting a full pint of barley water, Ross felt restored enough to have some soup. But his strength did not last long. With each spoonful of broth-like soup, it became harder for him to swallow. Finally, he waved her away, closed his eyes, and slept. The effort must have exhausted him, because he did not wake even when she wrapped his injury in clean linen.

  The two women retreated to their chairs, and Lady Helen pulled her chair close. “What shall we do now?”

  Elinor took her hand, and the older woman squeezed hers in return. “Replenish your vinegar supplies and have the kitchen staff make more barley water should he wake. Also, the vinegar treatment should be continued every hour. Other than that, all we can do is wait and pray.”

  Lady Helen smiled at her. “Thank you.” Then she picked up her needlework. “I will join you tonight. From now on, I will never leave his side, for any reason.”

  After additional supplies of vinegar, bandages, and barley water had been organized upon a table close to the bed, Elinor settled in her chair for the long night ahead. After the next application of vinegar, Ross still did not wake, once again raising her fears. She moved her chair to sit as close to the wound as possible, so if it began to smell, she could treat it immediately.

  Sometime after midnight, Ross shouted, “John.”

  His shout woke Elinor, and she held her breath, hoping he’d wake. He didn’t speak again, nor did he wake, so she smoothed back his dark hair and poured more vinegar onto the linen. When she returned to her chair, she noticed his shout had awakened his mother.

  “He must have loved John very much,” Elinor whispered to her. “Your youngest?”

  Lady Helen nodded. “He died,” she said in a monotone voice, like the mere speaking of the words constituted a confession. “My son, my shame.” She let out a long, shuddering sigh.

  A heavy pain crushed Elinor’s heart. Here Ross’s mother struggled with guilt from the death of one son and now had to deal with the possible loss of the other. No mother should ever have to face such a reality. While she did not know the details of John’s death, for some reason the older woman seemed to be blaming herself. “I don’t understand.”

  After days spent worrying about her son’s life, Lady Helen’s speech became unguarded and perfunctory. “I didn’t stay to see him properly nursed. He became weaker with every cure. Finally, his heart stopped, I’ve been told. I blame myself because I failed to warn him about the dangers of reckless behavior. With his father gone, that lesson becomes a mother’s duty, especially when the children are boys.”

  Elinor regretted her thoughtless question. Lady Helen had suffered enough. “Please don’t say any more. My husband died in a fall off his horse, turning to respond to one of my silly jests. In my grief I blamed myself. A natural response to the loss of a loved one, no matter the situation. Later, I realized blame is a useless notion. William would not approve of it either. He’d want me to hold close only the happy memories.”

  Lady Helen surprised Elinor by flashing her a searing glare. “The loss of a husband is not like that of a child. You don’t know what it is like to lose a child. A mother never recovers. Never. John was my responsibility.”

  “Not your fault,” Ross said in a raspy voice.

  Both women rushed to his side.

  “I led him to hell when I didn’t fully explain the handbook,” he said. “I took him to Italy. I abandoned him in the evenings. Hell’s fire. I didn’t warn him of the dangers.”

  Lady Helen collapsed, sobbing into the coverlet, lost in her grief.

  “I failed to take care of him.” Ross turned his head to look at Elinor’s face, now mere inches away. His dilated blue eyes were navy colored, and without words, they pleaded for her recognition of his guilt.

  “In both our cases, choices were made by others we could not control.” Elinor bent and placed her cheek upon his. “I too know what it is like to fear the loss of a child. Berdy might have lost his life in London. The outcome of his troubles might have been very different if you had not been there. You saved him, and for that I will be forever grateful.” She kissed his forehead. “You said these words to me once, and they were true,” she whispered. “It will be all right. In the future, I hope together we can talk about our loved ones and share happy memories.”

  Lifting her head, Lady Helen became animated. “She cannot understand the depth of our grief. Ross, you must explain, you must tell her—”

  “She knows,” he said softly.
/>   “No, you must tell her, you must—”

  He reached for his mother’s hand and grimaced as he pulled it near. With extreme slowness and pain etched upon every feature, he kissed Lady Helen’s hand. “Let’s take Mrs. Colton’s advice and remember only the happy memories. Instead of silence, we’ll change and speak of them frequently, because they are too important to lose.” He attempted a small smile before closing his eyes. A long sigh followed.

  This time Elinor did not succumb to her fears when he closed his eyes. He needed sleep now. The obvious pain he suffered trying to meet Lady Helen’s demands taught her a valuable lesson, and she vowed never to use the words “you must” to Berdy again. Consoled by Ross’s peaceful sleep, and the promise of the surgeon’s arrival in the morning, she used her remaining strength to rush home and discover the outcome of Berdy’s pursuit of Dr. Potts.

  ***

  “Elliii, you’ll never guess what happened,” echoed from the direction of the upper story. “Down in a tick.”

  Elinor strained to remove her heavy woolen cape, and when Mrs. Richards appeared, she asked for a pot of tea. With slow steps, she entered the book-filled study and collapsed into the refuge of William’s overstuffed chair.

  “You will never believe what happened.” Once again, the words echoed throughout Pinnacles.

  She was still pulling on the fingers of her kerseymere gloves when tea arrived. The housemaid repositioned a round tea table next to her, set down the tea things, and Elinor nodded in thanks. Odd sounds and bumps emanated from the ceiling above her. The bumps ceased, but she sat unmoving, staring at the steam gently rising from the pretty teapot’s spout.

  The study door flung open. “You will never guess,” Berdy pronounced, his glance falling on the tea. “Tea—oh, good—cakes.”

  She gave him a blank stare.

  Upon reading her expression, his smile faded. He pulled her up from the chair and gave her a heartfelt hug. “I apologize. How is he?”

  “Alive.” The sound of her voice startled her out of her dreamlike trance. “And awake.”

  Berdy leaned backward to examine her face. “That’s good, right? It means he’ll live.”

  “No, unfortunately there are no guarantees. Now, tell me what happened.”

  His face brightened. “A tale to tell, for sure. Dr. Potts galloped away as I reached the stables. Tom was rather put out about saddling Molly, but I insisted. I couldn’t have been more than ten minutes behind him. I reached the turnpike, and do you know what happened?”

  She gave him the smallest of grins, encouragement to continue.

  “I thought to m’self, what if I caught him? What should a fellow do? I mean, it wasn’t as if Ross was dead yet.” He grimaced. “Oh, sorry.”

  She collapsed back into the chair’s deep cushions. “So what did you do?”

  He yanked on the bottom of his green waistcoat. “Pointed Molly in the direction of Henry’s house. I figured a man of the law would know the proper procedures in a case like this. Clever thinking, don’t you agree?”

  She smiled openly now. “Clever, indeed. I’m glad you asked Henry to assist you. Sometimes his words sound harsh, but he truly doesn’t mean them. I know he has your best interests at heart.”

  “Not now.” He waved his hand. “So Henry was late, as usual. I mean, he is a lawyer. And by the time we reached Dr. Potts’s house, guess what happened?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Guess.”

  “No violence, I hope. Henry is well? He didn’t try to fight the villain, did he?” She leaned over and poured them each a cup of tea; the scent of tea laced with orange oil filled the air.

  “How can you think of tea at the best part of m’ tale?”

  “I need tea to survive. Go on.” She handed him a cup, which he immediately placed back upon the tea table. Probably because a good deal of arm waving might be needed to complete his story.

  “Gone! Flown!” He waved his arms. “Both Dr. Potts and Miss Potts fled. The valuables missing, the servants unaware the family had flown.” He slapped his thigh. “Very sinister goings on, what?”

  “Go on.”

  “Go on? There’s nothing more to tell.” He waved his arm. “They fled. Dr. Potts is guilty of attempted murder.”

  The evidence now supported her worst fears. Dr. Potts’s behavior was no longer a misunderstanding that could be easily cleared up. He truly must have tried to kill Ross, but the question remained—what was his motive? “So what did you and Henry do?”

  “We went to the local magistrate, Mr. Collins, of course. We explained the circumstances in every detail.”

  “And?”

  He picked up his teacup and grabbed a cake. “Gad, now m’ tale gets boring. Mr. Collins told us to return home and promised to look into the matter himself. I tell you, I’m impressed with the fellow.” He raised his teacup and gulped the brew before stuffing a large piece of raisin cake into his mouth.

  “Maybe you should study law in America. I understand standing before the bar might be expensive, so you must inquire about the costs.” She bit her lower lip. Once the words “you must” escaped, she regretted them. To witness Lady Helen order her grown son taught her a lesson. She must let Berdy decide his future for himself. Any of his plans, going to London, to America, she’d support.

  He poured himself another cup of tea. “We are not going to America.”

  “Oh?” Would a Berdy Rash Scheme appear, or had he obtained information in regard to America’s unsuitability for their future home? “I’m relieved to remain here in England, but what changed your mind?”

  “Ross. He saved me, you see. In London I found myself rather…blue-deviled.” A slight pink tinged his cheeks. “I guess you heard about m’ troubles. After I recovered, we had another talk, man to man. He showed me his ledgers, so I could learn about the necessary funds needed to manage everything from a large estate to a small household. Then we discussed my ambitions, and how I might achieve them.”

  Her smile faded.

  “No, don’t worry. Not m’ bacon-brained ambition to be a rake or gamester. Ross set me straight on that score. So when I pulled him from the pit, I changed my mind about America and made a vow to help him. I’m not a medical man; besides, you succeeded in that capacity. He asked before if I would join one of his business interests—pick a project to study. Now I’m going to choose engineering. Both Mr. Allardyce and Mr. Brunwell are his associates, and either man will be an excellent person to apprentice with, I’m sure.” He blushed slightly. “That way I can repay m’ debt. It’s a debt of honor, you know. I expect to help Ross with the planning of his foundry, turnpikes, and canals.” He waved his hand. “Everything, really.”

  “Oh.” She fought a tear of joy and laid her hand on his free arm. “Thank you.” The older, wiser Berdy had spoken, and she rejoiced in this Berdy’s more frequent appearance.

  “Once Ross’s foundry is on its feet, I’ll be skilled enough to support m’self elsewhere, if need be. Yes, I have a grand future ahead of me.”

  She knew full well she owed Ross unending gratitude for Berdy’s grand future. Beaming at him now, she let a tear of happiness fall down her cheek. “I know you will. Your future sounds wonderful, and I’m glad it includes more than just your skills at tying a cravat.”

  He quickly put down his teacup. “I may not be a gamester or rake, but I will always be a dandy.” His brows lifted in reproach, and he reached up to straighten the ends of his cravat. “Cravats are still important. The skills involved in inventing a new cravat knot will go a long way in helping me design complex machinery. Think, Elli. For a fine cravat knot you need imagination, a clear understanding of the possible variations, and the knowledge of the proper fit.” A broad smile crossed his face. “Most of all, the ability to experiment by trial and error.” He held his arms out. “Gad, they really are similar, aren�
�t they?” He straightened in his chair. “Think of it. Think of what I will accomplish. We are living in grand times. By harnessing coal and steam, it’s men like me who will move us out of the medieval times and into a new future. And I’ll wager that future will be full of machines.”

  Twenty-three

  “Gorham, no more opium,” Ross announced.

  The Thornburys’ family surgeon, Dr. Gorham, frowned. A short Scottish man dressed head to toe in plaid and sporting a remarkable set of side-whiskers, he lowered his head to look at him over his spectacles.

  Ross threw back the wool blanket and rose to a sitting position. “I know opium fights bad humors, but damnation, it doesn’t work, because I’m in a bad humor.” The room wheeled around him. Shafts of white light from the windows spun by, followed by the dark burgundy color from the walls. He clutched Dr. Gorham’s arm for support.

  The doctor moved to face him and, with a strong clasp of both upper arms, steadied him until his dizziness faded.

  Lady Helen entered the room, carrying a basket of thread. “Is my son being troublesome?”

  “No more than usual,” Dr. Gorham replied, grinning at Ross and stepping behind him to adjust the new linen bandages around his arm. “If you’ll excuse me, I have done all I can do for today. I will check upon you tomorrow. Your mother has kindly informed me that there is a lovely fish lake on Blackwell’s grounds, so I must acquaint myself with your northern fish. I understand they are a lively breed and give good sport. Not as lively as Scottish fish, naturally, but not at all as slovenly as London fish.”

  Ross could focus better now. “Excellent. You fish, I stand and walk.”

  “But is that wise?” Lady Helen asked, dropping her ball of thread.