The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection 6

by MacMurrough, Sorcha

"I know. But he's feeling better and will help us."

  "Gabrielle," he said, the single utterance of her name a clear warning.

  "We're going, now."

  She was as nervous about the tall man as her cousin was, but what other choice did they have? The howling and violence was overflowing even more heatedly in the ward, leaving them little option but to trust him.

  He had saved her sister, tried to help her, not harmed her body though she had been so vulnerable. He had let her go when she would have done something incredibly foolhardy. She had nearly kissed him!

  That recollection decided her. She got up off his lap and onto her knees with a determined air. Madman he might be, but at the moment, he was the only one with a plan that made any sort of sense.

  "Antony, this way. We need to get out of here," Gabrielle called to her cousin.

  He shook his head grimly. "I say we wait a little longer."

  "If they were going to come, they would have been here by now. We need to start taking care of ourselves for as long as we need to. Things are getting worse here. We haven't much time. We are too out in the open and exposed. Gather up your bag and Lucinda and let's go."

  Antony slung his bag back over his shoulder across his body, and began to try to sit Lucinda up.

  She leaned over. "I'll help you up."

  "Forgive the contact, my dear. This is going to be, well, intimate." "I work as a nurse. It will be fine. Only hurry."

  It was more than fine. It was fire. The man's hands gently glided over her body to grasp her around the shoulders. She trembled with desire and leaned into the contact for a moment.

  He now sat up and prepared to stand. He tested his legs, bracing against her and the wall, and said, "I think I can do this. Just hold my arm steady."

  She had to take some of his weight, but she could see he was doing his best to be heroic for her sake, and gripped the wall to straighten to his full height. Then he shook his head, blinked, and squared his shoulders.

  "I'm ready. You and the doctor follow as closely as you can behind me."

  "But I can help..."

  He bent for a moment next to her cousin and scooped up her unconscious sister as though she were a tiny child. He cut off Antony's alarmed protest with a motion of his head. Then he was moving deeper into the ward and down the corridor jerkily, his limbs uncoordinated after his seizure.

  Gabrielle saw he still seemed dazed, but was determined. He hurried on as fast as he could manage through the inmates tussling. They parted like the Red Sea almost as soon as they saw who he was, filling Gabrielle with wonder.

  She thanked the universe for bringing her this helper at their time of need, and hurried after him, while Antony brought up the rear, clutching the discarded chair legs, at the ready in case of attack.

  At the end of the corridor was a large bathing chamber with various shelves containing linens. They were placed high up around the room in such a way that an ordinary person would have to use a step ladder to reach them. There were two patients fighting, and two swiving in the corner.

  There was a huge tub in the centre of the room, and a number of smaller ones, as well as an array of chamber pots, some small tables and a large wooden cabinet.

  "You get the futterers, I'll get the fighters," the tall man said to Antony.

  In an instant he had placed her prone sister down gently well inside the door and grabbed the two boxers by the scruffs of their necks.

  Antony prodded the bonking man's backside with one boot. "Hey, clear off mate, it's our turn to use the room."

  With a stymied blink, the couple got up and scurried out. As soon as they were gone the two men barricaded the door with the large cabinet while Gabrielle stroked back her sister's tousled hair and sighed at how pale and deathly still she looked.

  The stranger planted himself against it and slid down onto his haunches wearily, his glazed expression back once more.

  Antony bent Lucinda's knees and began to examine her.

  The golden gaze rested on Antony's face, saw the doctor's eyes widen.

  Damn. The poor girl.

  Their gazes met and Antony gave a barely perceptible shake of his head which he hoped the nervous Gabrielle hadn't caught as she got up off her knees and hurriedly started looking for supplies for her sister.

  "We're safe for the moment. Do what you have to do. If someone wants to get in here badly enough, they will no matter what. I'll try to hold them off as long as I can, but it may not be long if I have another fit," he said quietly.

  "You've just had a grande mal seizure. I need to look at you--"

  He shook his head. "You need to look at er, Lucinda, is it, before she loses the baby. I'm not dying. The worst that will happen to me is I'll fall asleep, or be confused. I'm also going to start going into withdrawal in a few hours when I no longer have enough opiates in my system. You need to help her now. So don't worry about me. Just do it. And the tend to Gabrielle's bruises as soon as you have a spare minute."

  Antony nodded curtly, removed his bag from his shoulder and flung it open, glad his adaptation of a long leather strap had meant he could keep two hands free as he worked or travelled about the city assisting the ailing as he performed his duties in some of the poorest parts of London.

  Gabrielle brought a cool compress for her sister's forehead and asked her cousin, "What else do you need?"

  "Linens, sponges, whatever you can find, just in case."

  "I'll help too." The man did not try to rise, but rather turned around to face the cabinet, opened the doors, and began to take out several useful items, which he put in a small basket.

  She hurried over to help

  "I'm Gabrielle, by the way," she said quietly as she searched each upper shelf for supplies.

  "Simon."

  "How do you know so much about medicine?"

  "I don't know all that much, but I've had a couple of good friends over the years who were doctors, and of course I've learnt about my own disease."

  "But what about the opiates?"

  "They use them to keep me quiet, control me. I keep trying to stop them, but they put it in the food. If it's a choice between starving and taking the drug, the drug wins every time. I just have to make sure I don't wolf down the food and overdose myself. And I can't hide anything in the cell. They search it almost every day. I can chuck it out the window, down into the back alley behind the hospital, but sooner or later, I have to eat, or die. And I won't give them the satisfaction."

  "I don't understand," Antony said as they worked. "Who on earth would-"

  "I'm not mad. I've never been mad. They know I know things. They've left me here to rot. Couldn't kill me in case they needed me. Please, I have to-" His breath caught in his throat and he began to curl into a ball and tremble.

  "Damn it to hell. Not another seizure. Cripes, Gabrielle get the spoon."

  She stared at Simon, wondering again what she was missing about this strangely sane madman. She threw herself onto his chest as he flailed weakly and got a stinging slap on the cheek for her pains. His eyes were tightly shut, his teeth gritted, and he was thrashing about as if...

  Warding off blows, pain.

  "I'm here. You're all right. Nothing's going to happen to you. I'm Gabrielle, and I'd like to be your friend, to help you if you'll let me."

  "Can't. If they think you know anything, they'll kill you," he said between gritted teeth, his voice barely audible.

  She was surprised to get such a coherent reply. She didn't know that much about epilepsy, but the seizures were usually all-consuming. "There must be something I can-"

  "You need to leave me now, Gabrielle. Leave."

  "We can't. We're trapped in here. The riot, remember?"

  In the ensuing silence they could all hear the screams, shrieks and cries echoing throughout the common ward. A loud crash against the door told them it was only a matter of time before the door burst in if the inmates didn't calm down soon.

  The man continued to shake and
tremble.

  "Tell me your name. Tell me about your family, your childhood," she said desperately.

  "Simon. I can't remember anything else. Every time I try I get this searing pain, and then it all goes black. And I can't recall anything, not my seizures, what I was doing before I passed out. Please, don't ask me any questions like that. I need to stay with you. Stay sane and coherent. They'll kill us all if they come through that door.

  "Well, I'm a dead man anyway, but I need you to be safe, dear girl. You need to leave London, leave and never come back. Or one day you'll just disappear, and your poor sister here will never see you again."

  Her eyes widened and she looked over at Antony in confusion. He shrugged one shoulder and began digging in his bag for more supplies.

  She helped him for a time with her sister until Simon started to calm down again. Then she said, "You're not mad, but you're not making any sense. Who are you talking about? Why would anyone want to harm me?"

  "You've seen them. And me. You need to go. And forget you ever met me."

  "I can't just leave you like this," she argued vehemently. "You are clearly not mad. Ill, but not insane. So you don't belong here. And I refuse to leave you to die."

  "They won't kill me until they're sure they no longer need me. I have a little more time."

  "Time for what?" she asked, staring at him with rounded eyes.

  "Oh, God, please Gabrielle, don't ask me! My head! Oh merciful God, my head!"

  She cradled his head against her, heedless of her bare bosom, while Antony looked on in consternation. Simon sounded as though he was in the most excruciating agony. Yet if what he had said about the opiates was true, he ought not to feel such pain.

  Judging from his thinness, he might well be at one of his stages where he was trying to wean himself from the drug. That could be why he was suffering from such untold torment.

  "Look at his pupils," the doctor ordered now. "Tell me what you see."

  She quickly did as she was told. "They're fairly normal. A bit narrow."

  "Simon, when is the last time they gave you anything to eat?" Antony demanded.

  "This morning. Eight o'clock. I had one sip of water and a mouthful of food. God, I'm so thirsty."

  "Well that's easy enough to remedy," she said, rising.

  She took a small horn beaker from the side of the sink. She scrubbed it out with some hot water from the boiler near the tub, filled it and brought it over to him. She pressed it to his lips.

  "It's all right, Simon. Pure and untainted. You can have as much as you like. And I have some cake and a sandwich here in my reticule," she said, removing it from around her waist where she had tied it up out of the way. "They're probably a bit flattened, but better than nothing. I brought them to try to tempt Lucinda's appetite, but she won't be needing anything now when she's so ill. Come on now, sit up and eat for me."

  "Just watch he doesn't choke. The drug can also make him nauseous, and he can still be only partly conscious from the seizure."

  "I've a strong stomach. Thank you. Cake. Can't remember the last time-" He clapped his hand to his temple, pressing the heel of his hand into his right eye until she pulled at his wrist, fearful he was going to injure himself further.

  "Don't try to remember anything. Just eat, Simon. Eat quickly, for I fear you're right. They'll be coming for us soon."

  The shouts and screams were growing louder by the minute. Gabrielle held the cup for him as he drank thirstily, sloshing water down his bare chest as he continued to tremble.

  "Watch your breathing and swallow," she coaxed softly. "Come on. Chew a bit more slowly. Now take a sip. And don't bite your tongue."

  "Can't stop shaking. Need the medicine. It's been eight hours."

  Gabrielle looked over her shoulder at her cousin. "Can I give him a tincture?"

  "Damn it, not again. I bloody hate this," Antony muttered.

  She looked at him, stunned by the vehemence in his tone. "Hate what?"

  "I had to do the same for Matthew Dane's wife Althea when they were first married. Be cruel to be kind."

  "What are you saying?"

  Antony sighed heavily. "Administering drugs to addicts to wean them off the drug. Opium can help with pain, but it's a terrible thing to cure addiction to it. All right. Give him some. One drop. It will ward off the cravings and still keep him with us."

  Gabrielle pressed the cup into Simon's hand and stroked his shoulder. She took the brown bottle and measured the smallest dose she could manage.

  Simon grabbed her hand and tried to wrest the phial from her. "That's large enough a dose to kill me. Please, Gabrielle, just let me go."

  Antony jumped to his feet and protested, "No! Out of the question."

  "Damn it, you don't know what you're asking! Five years of this. I can't stand it any more. And they're only going to kill me anyway. Please, do the kind thing and just let me go, Gabrielle," Simon begged. "Let me die, please."

  Chapter Three

  Gabrielle stared at Simon, suddenly feeling the most dreadful and inexplicable sense of loss as his words sank in. He was asking her to help him commit suicide. But why?

  She knelt beside him and held out her hand for the laudanum bottle. "No, Simon, I can't let you die, do you understand? We need you," she said gently. "You saved us. Me and Lucinda. We owe you."

  "No, of course not--"

  "You're staying with us. And when this is all over I'm not going to forget about you. We aren't, are we, Antony? We're going to try to find a way to help you. My cousin here is a very fine doctor. I nurse for him at his clinic. I still have a lot to learn, but I can help. I promise we aren't just going to abandon you."

  "You've been more than kind to a raving lunatic, but really, my dear, you don't know what you're saying--"

  "Stop it."

  "No, you stop. I can see you're a very kind woman, the kind who rescues stray kittens and puppies all the time. But I'm a rabid dog who deserves to be put down, not invited to share your life."

  "That's not true--" she began to protest.

  "You're in shock over the attack. You want to repay me, I can see that. But I'm no hero, Gabrielle. Just let me go. I saved you from ravishment but there's no need to make things worse by having anything to do with a madman like me." She knew he was right in many ways, but she knew deep down that something in her had shifted, and it was not just die to shock or gratitude for his help. She pressed her lips together in a thin line and with a glare of defiance, hung on even more tightly to the bottle.

  "Gabrielle--"

  "I can help--"

  "Help your sister."

  Antony is doing just fine. And she's not trying to kill herself. You are."

  "It's pointless."

  "What is?

  Even if you wanted to help, well, they won't let me see you. Speak to you. It's too dangerous for you, even if the authorities here did allow it. Please, just let me drink this and die."

  Her eyes widened as he raised the bottle closer to his mouth. "No! Please! You saved my sister, and me. I need to save you. You saved us both twice if you want to be strictly fair about it. So this is the first time. Give me the bottle, Simon, now. You can have one drop. One. And then you're going to give it back to me, and rest while I help Lucinda. Then we will decide what to do next together to help you get out of here, for it is clear that while you might be unwell, you are certainly no madman."

  His golden eyes flickered with a myriad of emotions, the main one seeming to her to be relief that at last, someone in the world was willing to treat him with decency and kindness.

  They stared at each other for a few moments as though across a gaping chasm. Simon was the first one to blink.

  At last he placed his finger over the open mouth of the bottle, and upended it. He handed the bottle back to her with a sigh, and licked his finger clean.

  "Once more, and then you'll leave me, Gabrielle, and never look back. You need to promise me that," he said quietly.

  "Unless
of course you save me or mine again," she said with a small smile.

  Antony relaxed and resumed wadding towelling between Lucinda's thighs. "Yes, Simon, I really think it ought to count as three times. For surely if we hadn't come in here we'd all be dead by now. Quick thinking. Dashed handy chap to have in a crisis."

  "Yes, when I'm not gibbering, twitching or in the throes of some sort of opiate withdrawal," Simon said with a bitter laugh.

  Gabrielle listened to him speak, wondered why his pattern was so familiar, his intonation. The accent was English, crisp enough, but not as pure as her cousins or her own. There was a musical quality to the rhythm which suggested it was not his first language. French originally, was her guess, since he had uttered a couple of exclamations before in that language.