So much blood.
Daniel had hoped, after the war, to leave the sight of such things behind him forever.
And yet now, here he was again.
“I’m all right, Daniel,” Mr. Young said, feebly attempting a brave smile.
To so many people, to most of the people he worked for, Daniel was just wallpaper. And yet here was Mr. Young, on such short acquaintance, already bothering to know his name.
“It’s just a flesh wound,” Mr. Young said.
“Please don’t talk, Mr. Young,” Daniel said. “You need to preserve your strength.”
“How does he know how to…” He heard a voice behind him.
“He was in the war,” another voice said. “Perhaps he learned a few things there?”
Oh, he’d learned some things all right. Any soldier, if lucky enough to survive, had learned a few things, however rudimentary, about staving off disaster. And so he’d known how to fashion a tourniquet. But that head wound, from where Dr. Webb had been…chewing. Head wounds were always tricky things, difficult. And he didn’t have any supplies out here. Not to mention…
Out here.
Daniel cast his eyes about.
They were all so vulnerable out here.
He didn’t see anyone else but them, anyone else out there in the mist, but how could one ever be certain?
“Quick,” he said, “everyone back into the church.”
“But what about Merry?” Lady Grace asked.
Daniel had initially acted, in part, because of her. But since joining them, he’d been so absorbed with helping Mr. Young, he’d half forgotten she was even there. Now, at her words, he was reminded of her presence. And when he looked at her, he was surprised to find her looking back at him—not through him, like he was wallpaper, but at him, like he was worthy of respect and admiration, wonder even. He thought a person could get lost in those eyes of hers.
But this was no time for such thoughts, and he tore his gaze away.
Daniel knew he couldn’t carry him all by himself. It would be rough and awkward hefting a man of Mr. Young’s size. Not to mention that with his wounds, it would be best to move him gently, and for that he’d need help. He was about to direct Benedict Clarke to help him—he seemed most fit for the job—when Raymond Allen stepped forward unasked.
“Do you think you should take the upper part while I take the lower, or the reverse, or what exactly?” the duke asked.
Between the two of them, they managed the job.
Once inside the church, they laid Mr. Young on the cold stone floor as gently as possible. Now that everyone was safely inside, Daniel moved to the doors.
“When I go out,” he said, “shut this and bar it behind me, and don’t open it for anybody until you hear my voice and are sure it’s me back again.”
“But where are you going?” Lady Grace asked, the concern in her voice evident. She’d dropped to the floor beside Mr. Young and was cradling his head in her lap, heedless of the cold stone beneath her, heedless that she was now adding bloodstains to the grass stains on her cream-colored frock with its blush-pink sash at the waist.
He imagined other young women of her station would be more concerned with keeping their appearance pristine. And yet those stains and her heedlessness of them only served to make her that much more attractive to him.
“We can’t get him back to the house like this,” Daniel said, indicating Mr. Young with a jut of his chin. “He’s not well enough to walk and it might not be good for him to be carried such a distance. Besides which, it may not be safe for any of us to walk—you know, out there. I’m going to go get a trap and horses.”
Before anyone could say anything else, he stepped out, pulling the church doors shut behind him.
Then Daniel took off running, the cold wind whipping at his naked chest, running faster than he’d ever run in his life.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Grace settled beside Merry, who had been gently laid down the length of one of the bench seats of the trap.
When Daniel had returned with Will Harvey at the reins driving the trap, Daniel had said that before anyone else, they should get Mr. Young safely back, but there had been room for a few more.
“I want to go with him,” Grace had said. “He’s my friend.”
Kate had made a stupid joke then, something about, “Only Grace would take the occasion of a man getting bitten in the arm as an opportunity to see if there might be some possible romance in it.” No one had laughed, but for once Grace hadn’t minded being the object of her older sister’s bizarre sense of jocularity. She sensed that even Kate might be frightened now and that, feeling such an unfamiliar emotion, she might be responding to it by resorting to her typical tricks.
As for Lizzy, she did not seem as shaken by having killed Dr. Webb as one might think. Come to think of it, Lizzy had killed two men now—two men in two days!
But she couldn’t think about Lizzy anymore as she settled into the seat beside Merry. She couldn’t even think about Daniel and how brave and wonderful he had been. She only wanted to get Merry home, back to the abbey, where she could more properly tend to him.
“Who else is coming on this round?” Will Harvey had asked, with a questioning look at Lizzy, the pistol still in her hand, as though he were somehow and for some reason specifically concerned about her.
Before anyone else could answer or step forward, however, Raymond Allen did.
“I’d like to go, if I may,” he said.
“Are you scared we won’t come back for you?” Will Harvey said with what could only be described as a slight sneer. “Because I assure you, I will get everyone back safely.”
As Grace focused her attention on Merry, she could only imagine the looks on her parents’ and Grandmama’s faces, that they should live to see the day when a stable boy might address a member of the British peerage in such a fashion.
She waited for one of them, or for the duke himself, to rebuke Will, but the rebuke never came.
Grace looked up briefly enough to catch the blush coloring the duke’s face as he replied without rancor, “I’ve developed a feeling of kinship with Mr. Young in our short time together, and I would merely like to see that he is well.”
Grace could certainly understand this, for those were her sentiments exactly. It seemed to her that while family abounded, friends were hard to come by in their world. And if one was lucky enough to find a friend, even a relatively new one like Mr. Young, it was one’s job—privilege, even—to take care of that person.
And so Raymond Allen had joined them, sitting on the seat behind her and Merry.
Grace didn’t notice much about the journey. Her attention was too focused on Merry, and she did worry that every bump and jounce of the trap might hurt him further. Considering the severity of the attack he’d endured, he didn’t appear to be suffering much, only wincing slightly at some of the more violent jounces.
But, preoccupied as she was, even she couldn’t miss the look of shock on Mr. Wright’s face as they’d reentered the abbey, and the stable boy and still-shirtless footman carried one of their guests up the grand staircase.
It had taken two more trips in the trap for Will Harvey to transport everyone safely back to the abbey.
Now here Grace sat, beside Merry, who lay in the bed in his room, as she bathed his head wound with hot water Daniel had directed Fanny to bring up from the kitchen in a basin.
“We should put some alcohol on that,” Daniel said. “On his arm wound, too, so it doesn’t get infected.”
“Get whatever we need,” Grace said. “We have to do whatever we can to help Merry get better.”
Daniel went.
Raymond Allen remained, standing to one side, not really doing much of anything. Well, you couldn’t say he was terribly useful, but at least he cared.
“I was only trying to help Dr. Webb,” Merry said, “and he bit me! But I suppose he wasn’t feeling well. I know that when I am not fee
ling well, I can get so cross.”
“Hush,” Grace said. “Preserve your strength.”
“You’re right, my dear,” he said. “We’re safe now.”
“Yes,” Grace said, watching as his eyes gently fluttered shut. “We’re all safe now.”
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
Even Kate had to admit: she had been rattled.
Well, as rattled as she ever got about anything.
Seeing Dr. Webb in that…condition of his. And then seeing poor Mr. Young step forward in his misguided attempt to help the medical man, who was clearly beyond any help. Finally, seeing Lizzy, Lizzy—again Lizzy!—be the one to finally put a stop to it all by shooting Dr. Webb in the head.
Well, first she’d shot him in the arm and then the shoulder, but that hadn’t done much good.
And where had Lizzy gotten that pistol from anyway?
And why had the stable boy looked at Lizzy and her pistol like he was specifically concerned about her?
Oh, it didn’t matter anymore. Because now they were back inside Porthampton Abbey. They’d all changed out of their church clothes; Kate, for one, hoped she never again saw the garments she’d worn that wretched morning for as long as she lived. Not even the hat.
They were about to eat their luncheon with Father doing his typically wonderful job presiding over all, just as he’d presided over the service at the church, and all was back to being right with her world.
Kate looked around the table and saw that three of the party that had gone out together that morning were absent. Mr. Young, of course. The duke, who had insisted on staying upstairs to see if Mr. Young or Grace needed anything. Well, he was no great loss. And Grace herself, who had insisted that she be the one to nurse Mr. Young back to health. It was as though Grace thought that no one but her could be equal to the job when really any of the household staff could have sat watch and done it. Why, even the stable boy could have.
The stable boy.
Why did everything keep coming back to him?
When Will Harvey had returned to collect another round of them from the church, she’d taken the seat up front with him before anyone else could, behind the horses, holding her hat in place against the wind. Being in that position had caused her to remember that she hadn’t ridden since before their guests’ arrival, all the way back on Friday.
She’d said as much, ending with, “Later on today, after our guests have departed, I do think I might take Wyndgate out for a ride. Please see that he is ready for me.”
“I don’t think so, Lady Kate.”
She’d been about to ask what he meant by that, but then she’d been struck by how he’d addressed her. At least now he was back to calling her Lady, but she was not sure how she felt about the Kate part. The rest of the staff called her Lady Katherine, as well they should.
“It might be wiser,” he’d gone on, “for you to just stay put until things are more…settled.”
How patronizing!
She would most assuredly have pointed this out to him, but by then they were pulling up in front of the abbey.
She’d leaped down from the trap. She certainly would not wait for him to come around to help her—perhaps hand her down, or even grab her by the waist and swing her down—not that he appeared inclined to do so as he remained seated, holding the reins. Well!
She’d turned, fully intending to give him a piece of her mind, tell him exactly what she thought about his patronizing words and his rude arrogance and lack of basic manners. But when her eyes met his, she was shocked to find naked concern there. Concern for her.
Kate hadn’t known what to do with that. She was accustomed to a world in which she was expected to lead the way somehow, a world in which people looked to her, not one in which anyone worried about her. She wasn’t sure if she should bristle at this or merely thank him. Having finally decided on the latter, however, she’d opened her mouth to do so only to find she was too late, for by then he was snapping the reins and making clicking noises at the horses and driving away.
And now she was here at luncheon and Father was saying, “You know, Lizzy, when I first saw the footman place that shotgun in your hands yesterday, I thought ‘Oh, good. Now Lizzy will learn to use a gun, too. Perhaps one day, she shall even bag a bird!’ But I never dreamed… By the way, where did you get that pistol?”
Lizzy opened her mouth, only to be cut off by Mother.
“Martin, please stop talking about it! I would like to have one meal pass without it being spoiled.”
“Of course, my dear. Although…” He paused to cut into his rare roast beef. “You do realize that with Dr. Webb, er, gone, we will need to find another doctor to come work in the village?”
“I suppose you can call London tomorrow for a referral,” she said.
“Well,” Grandmama said, “while I do not approve of the way he went, I for one am not sorry to see Dr. Webb go. I never did condone having him as a guest to dine here with us, and when we do secure a new village doctor, I hope you don’t plan on making the same mistake with him.”
Rowena Clarke looked properly horrified at Grandmama’s words. Kate tried to figure out which part she would find most troubling before concluding: probably all of it.
If only Grandfather had been there, he might have challenged Grandmama, if he remembered to do so. But despite his earlier promise to have his dancing shoes on by the time they returned from church, he hadn’t come down for lunch.
“Speaking of guests,” Father said, “I suppose that, after luncheon is over, someone will have to round up Ralph to drive our guests back to the train station. Although I suspect Mr. Young will stay on for a day or two, until he gets his health back.”
Kate wondered: Had Father gotten a good look at Mr. Young as he’d lain there on the ground, and later on the stone floor of the church? She doubted he’d be well enough to travel in a day or two. Maybe not even a week or two! Maybe even—sigh—not ever.
“I suspect,” Father was adding, “the others will feel ready to get away, much as they’ve no doubt enjoyed their stay with us.”
“Father,” Kate said, “what makes you think that Ralph is back?”
Father raised his eyebrows at this. “But why wouldn’t he be? I’d lent him and the car to Dr. Webb, and obviously he’s not with Dr. Webb anymore. So he must have returned.”
It seemed that no one knew what to say to this undeniably optimistic assessment, and into the silence that ensued, no pins were heard to drop but there did come the sound of a throat clearing.
Kate looked to the wall and saw a footman standing there. Not the one who’d ripped his shirt off and proved himself to be otherwise useful earlier. This was the other footman—Jonathan, she thought his name was?
“Do you know something?” she demanded. “Speak up if you do.”
“Only,” the footman said, eyes still straight ahead, looking at no one, “Ralph never did return, the car either.”
“Are you sure of this?” she pressed, eyes narrowed.
“As sure as I can be of anything,” was the answer.
“But,” Father said, clearly perplexed by this turn of affairs, “where can Ralph be?”
“Maybe,” Lizzy said, speaking up at last, “whatever happened to Dr. Webb has happened to Ralph, too.”
Kate recalled the letter from Dr. Webb that Mr. Wright had brought in that morning when only she and Father were at the breakfast table, the letter that said that things had taken a bad turn for the worse and that the situation in the village was much more dire than Dr. Webb had first thought.
It occurred to Kate then, something none of the others had mentioned.
When the vicar had failed to show up for their private service, they’d just assumed it was a matter of little importance, since Father had been able to step in and temporarily fill the vicar’s shoes. It wasn’t as if their souls depended upon it. And certainly, none of them imagined there was anything sinister behind the vicar’s absence.
Chapter
Twenty-Nine
Fanny hadn’t had time to read enough of the medical books the night before to discover what to do to help someone who’d been bitten in the arm and the head by someone—a doctor, at that—who’d later needed to be put down like a mad dog. Not that she expected to find anything to exactly fit their situation.
But…
A mad dog.
Could it be some form of rabies? She knew rabies was bad, but could it do to a person what had happened to Dr. Webb? Fanny didn’t think so. And then there was the part, like with Will’s uncle: dead, not dead, dead again. For sure that wasn’t rabies.
She did think that the hot water she’d been asked to take upstairs for Lady Grace to use in cleaning the wounds was probably a good idea. If they could get it hot enough, that would help. And the alcohol Daniel had thought to ask for to use as a disinfectant would probably help further, she believed.
What she couldn’t believe was that despite the events of the day, the Upstairs folk were in the dining room having their precious luncheon; Daniel was back to helping Jonathan serve; and she was back in the kitchen, expected to do everything as though this were just any normal Sunday.
As if nothing had changed!
One abnormal thing that was good: Will Harvey was in the kitchen with her.
He’d come to the back door not long after returning the rest of the party home. He’d told her that one of them, one of the daughters had said that he should come here to the kitchen for a decent lunch as a reward after the extra effort he’d expended helping them out of their “little jam.” The idea of feeding him or rewarding him seemed more the sort of thing that Lady Grace or Lady Elizabeth might generously think up, Fanny thought, but that condescending “little jam” part, that was all Lady Katherine. Not to mention, it diminished Will’s role in it, as though he hadn’t played a part in saving her life again, not to mention everyone else’s.
“And then she wanted to go out riding this afternoon,” Will was saying as he tucked into the rare roast beef before him.
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