12
The study was quiet as she entered the last accounts for the week in the ledger before her. She heard someone arrive on horseback and listened as Elton shuffled his way slowly to the front door. She frowned, wondering whose voice she heard. It had barely been a day since the Major’s visit. Surely, he had not returned. Elton opened the door to the study slowly.
“You have a visitor, madam,” he said.
She waited for him to tell her who it was but he said no more.
“Who is it Elton?”
“Mr. Gordon.”
“Show him into the drawing room.”
“Very good, madam.”
He closed the door again and she went back to the page in front of her and entered the last two numbers. She had no solution for Major Price, and she was tired from a night spent sleepless, considering every conceivable place Edward might have used to hide his ill-gotten gains. She finished her entries, then wiped the ink off her fingers as best she could, and made her way to the drawing room. Perhaps the vicar could provide a clue to the whereabouts of a treasure. Grace was already seated on the settee.
“Mr. Gordon,” she said and he stood when she entered. “How kind of you to visit.”
He was dressed in his cassock and she noticed his grim expression.
“Lady Fairchild, I have not seen you since the funeral.”
“No,” she said and seated herself on the settee next to Grace, indicating for him to take a seat also. “I am sure you will understand.”
“Of course, but you must allow me to convince you to attend church, now that you are more able.”
She sighed and glanced at Grace, wondering if it was her idea that Mr. Gordon pay her a visit. She had watched Grace and the rest of the staff leave on Sundays for church but had not gone with them. She had known that eventually her absence would be noted.
“Please forgive me, Mr. Gordon,” she said. “I do not feel sufficiently recovered yet from the loss of my husband.”
“I understand, of course. Still I hope you will consider joining us this Sunday?”
“Naturally.”
“Oh, excellent,” Grace said smiling. “I will so enjoy your company. Mr. Gordon gives the most wonderful sermons and with such brevity.”
He smiled, but Georgiana could tell he was not sure if the statement was meant as a compliment or criticism. They sat in silence for a while and she met his gaze as he studied her. She was wearing a black morning dress and she had allowed her hair to grow out, curling it about her face and neck to give her a softer look. She suspected he did not miss the increased size of her waist.
Mrs. Bristow arrived with the tea, placed it on the table, and Grace poured. They sat in silence, drinking their tea, and Georgiana knew that it was her duty as hostess to make conversation and entertain, but still she remained silent. She was too tired. Grace glanced at her and smiled, but said nothing.
“Is the weather not unusually mild today?” Grace said, unable to stand the silence any longer.
Mr. Gordon looked toward the window. The weather was grey and cold with no wind, but the temperature was mild compared to the previous day. Conditions were comparatively better but still not good.
“Yes,” he said. “Good enough to take a walk, I think.”
Grace was taken aback by his reply, and she glanced at Georgiana uncertainly and then said, “What a good idea. Let’s take a walk.”
With tea set aside and coats fetched, Georgiana strolled down the drive toward the woods with Grace on her left and Mr. Gordon on her right. She glanced up at the schoolroom window to see Rupert’s small face, before it disappeared. A moment later, he came running after them with Mud at his heels.
“Georgy, I want to go too, please, Georgy,” he said.
“You have lessons,” Grace said, shaking her head. “Did Mrs. Bristow say your work was complete for the day?”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes on his shoes.
Grace glanced at her and Georgiana said, “You may accompany us, but bring James too. You also need a coat as it is quite brisk.”
“I’ll go back with him, and talk to Mrs. Bristow,” Grace offered.
She took his hand and he walked back with Grace, happy only because he knew he was returning. He glanced back at her, and she smiled at him.
“Miss Claremont is a good companion,” Mr. Gordon observed.
“She is far more than that,” Georgiana replied. “I have come to rely on her completely.”
She walked a short distance to an old oak tree and turned her head up to look into its branches. Mr. Gordon followed her the short distance, and she could feel his eyes on her.
“It was you,” Mr. Gordon said as he studied her.
She leaned her back against the tree, and studied him, “What was?”
“The night of the ball at Evansgate. You were the mysterious Madam M who disappeared before anyone could discover your identity.”
“At that time, I was still paralyzed, Mr. Gordon, and dancing was far beyond my abilities,” she lied.
She had hoped never to be discovered in any of her charades and his insight concerned her. It spoke of his astute nature and she preferred the advantage she now felt was slipping away.
He smiled and moved closer, leaning a hand against the tree next to her. She moved away, walking around the tree.
“And yet, here you are,” he said. “Perfectly able to walk. It makes one wonder. There was a time when you first arrived that I dismissed you as just another society woman, incapable of much beyond making bonnets and insipid conversation like the rest of your kind.”
“My kind?” she asked and bent down to pick up a stick.
“The honorable ladies of society,” he said following behind her as she walked in the garden.
She paused and turned back to him. “The honorable ladies of society are a culture men have forced on women of my kind, Mr. Gordon.” She was angry but her words seemed only to amuse him more. “We are allowed only to cultivate goodness, piety and benevolence, and avoid acquisition of any real knowledge, or strength for fear of losing our honor. We must preserve our honor by protecting our virtue and avoid vice, while men can retain theirs, even in indulgence of it. I can neglect my children and deplete my family fortune with extravagance, but if I retain a chaste life, I am still honorable and all welcome me. So I beg you to not sneer so at my kind, Mr. Gordon, for it is men that have so entrapped us and force us to live meaningless lives.”
“Yet, most women are proud of their delicacy and they are happy to remain in the state where men have placed them.”
“Your experience of most women can hardly be counted, Mr. Gordon. You are a vicar and therefore the keeper of virtue and goodness these pure women are supposed to uphold. They would hardly confide in you their thoughts on the restrictions of their life for fear of punishment in this life and the next.”
“But you have no such fears. In fact, you reject not only the ideals of goodly virtues in life but also the laws of the country themselves.”
“In wanting to create a civil existence for myself, I have become a criminal case. It is true.”
“And God’s laws?”
She lowered her gaze from his. “If you mean, do I believe in one divine God and that all are dependent on him for salvation, I do not.”
“So you have no restraints on your life.”
“Except those I place on myself.”
“And you think you are a good judge of those,” he asked raising an eyebrow and glanced at her belly.
She wanted to hit him but smiled instead, and continued through the garden. “I believe I am a good person and am guided by my conscience to be so.”
“Yet Lord Fairchild is not the father of your child, is he?”
“He is,” she said coldly, turning to him. “What is it you want, Mr. Gordon?”
“I seek only your salvation,” he said and smiled. “Will you not let me help you?”
“Still trying to save my soul?”
> “It is my calling.”
“And what of your own corrupted deeds? Should you not perhaps give those a priority before you cast about saving others?”
“I have no corruption.”
“None?”
“You refer to my activities in smuggling.”
“Indeed, I do.”
“I wish only to be able to provide for those in my parish who are unable in our hard times to provide for themselves.”
“Do you really wish me to believe that you spend all the proceeds on those in your parish and you keep nothing for yourself?”
He smiled at her and nodded.
“Then you are indeed a saint amongst mere men, Mr. Gordon.”
“You do not believe me?”
“No. You will have to forgive me, but I have evidence to the contrary that you are far from a saint. ”
“How so?”
“It seems the previous vicar in this village died under some mysterious circumstances.”
“He was drunk and fell from his horse. The truth is well-known.”
“He didn’t drink.”
“Perhaps that night he did. No man is perfect.”
She smiled. “Or perhaps he was pushed from the saddle and helped over the cliff?”
“Such cynicism in one so young is quite sad,” he replied. “And what is it you suspect me of?”
“Manners dictate that for now I can accuse you only of taking advantage. It seems rather fortunate for you that a post opened here so suddenly, and you were able to make such good use of your new position.”
He laughed and followed her as she returned to the road. She was relieved to see Grace emerge from the house with James and Rupert.
“I must say I admire the loyalty you have inspired in your little band of thieves.”
“You are referring to your continued attempts to cheat me of my fair share of our smuggling revenue?” she asked.
“You are not surprised or angry?”
She shrugged. “No, but you have convinced me that you and I must part ways in our business venture.”
“You no longer need the funds?”
“With Edward gone, I have no huge debts to pay, and I would rather not take the risks involved.”
“I have long adjusted my ideas of you and know you to be a woman for whom a certain amount of risk is necessary. From this understanding I am led to believe you have set up another more lucrative avenue.”
“Now it is you who is being cynical, Mr. Gordon.”
He laughed. “I suppose that is where your man Peter has been these past few months. He is a clever fellow and you have been generous in educating him and the others.”
She smiled. “It is so hard to cheat a man who can read and write for himself, isn’t it?”
“Very inconvenient, indeed,” he said. “You do realize I must endeavor to save your soul from the fires of hell.”
She laughed and said, “I take it Lady Kingston has paid you a visit.”
“Horrible woman,” he grimaced. “Do you know she placed her hand on my knee and kept it there for such a time I feared I would have to remind her of her own virtuous behavior?”
Georgiana laughed, “Dear me, Mr. Gordon, you must pity the poor woman for you are a temptation few can resist.”
“Except you, it would seem.”
“My conscience does not allow me to corrupt a saint,” she smiled and tried not to glance at his lips.
“So I am to be a saint again.”
Grace reached them and asked, “Who is a saint?”
“Mr. Gordon,” Georgiana replied.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I must agree. Do you know he has paid for Mr. Dawson’s new roof? I have also heard it said that Dr. Milton takes his unpaid bills to Mr. Gordon for payment and that the school in the village is funded also by you, Mr. Gordon.”
“Such generosity,” Georgiana frowned. “Where do such funds come from, I wonder?”
“The congregation has indeed been good to us,” he replied seriously.
“Rupert, stay out of the water,” Grace called, but it was too late for Rupert and James both stood in the middle of a giant puddle. “Oh dear, I should have had them change into their old clothes.”
They continued into the woods as the sun struggled out from behind the clouds. She had had no more opportunity to speak to the vicar in private and had quite forgotten to quiz him about any missing gold.
***
That evening Georgiana was tired when she entered her room, and she sat down at her vanity to remove her pearl necklace. Edward had given it to her when she had first arrived in London. The clasp was not easy to undo, and she fiddled with it, growing more frustrated and wondering where Harriet was. The fire was lit and her room lighted, but the maid was absent.
A movement in the mirror caught her attention and she startled.
“Peter,” she said and turned on her seat as he walked across the room.
He looked pale and feverish, with dark shadows under his eyes. He was ill and she cursed herself for not having tried harder to find him.
“What is wrong with you?” she demanded.
He did not answer her, but closed her door, and locked it. He reached for the clasp behind her neck, and she turned back to the looking glass so he could reach it. He took the pearls from her neck and she thanked him. He returned to the chair by the fire where he had waited for her, and she followed him there. There was a knock on the door.
“It’s all right, Harriet, you can retire for the night.”
She waited, listening to the footsteps withdraw down the hallway, before turning to Peter.
You were shot,” she said angrily. “Let me see.”
“I’m fine,” he said dismissing her request.
You are not fine,” she insisted. “You look close to death. Why did you not send word to me?”
“Probably because I was unconscious.”
“I tried to find you but no one would tell me where you were.”
“I told them not to.”
“Why?” she said angrily.
“I’m wanted for murder.”
“And you think I would hand you over?”
“I think you were angry with me,” he said and leaned his head back, closing his eyes.
She knelt down in front of him, unbuttoned his shirt, and lifted it from his left shoulder. He did not stop her. She winced at the sight and smell of the festering wound in his shoulder.
“It’s not healing properly. You must see a doctor.”
“No.”
“It’s infected, Peter, and you will die. I am fetching Dr. Milton. I think we can trust him.”
“You think?” he said, and smiled. “This is why I forbid them to tell you where I was.”
“I’m not going to watch you die.”
“Then I had better leave,” he said and stood up.
She pushed him back down into the chair. “You would not be here, did you not need help.”
She walked across the room and pulled the rope next to her bed. Harriet knocked on her door again and she opened it only far enough to talk to her.
“I’m sorry, Harriet, but could you send Dixon for Dr. Milton? I am not feeling well. Also, please make sure that no one informs Grace as I do not want her to worry. I’m sure it is only a minor ache.”
“Yes, madam, I will return right away.”
“Bring me some hot water and some rags as well, please.”
“Yes, madam,” Harriet said looking concerned now.
After she left, Georgiana locked the door again and returned to the fireside. Peter had passed out and she paced until she heard a knock at the door. She opened the door wide enough to take the water from a puzzled Harriet.
“Thank you, Harriet, that will be all.”
“But, my lady—” she protested as Georgiana closed the door again and locked it.
When Dr. Milton arrived an hour later, he was surprised to see her opening her own door, and even more surprised when she loc
ked it behind him again.
“Lady Fairchild,” he said. “You should be in bed.”
“Oh I’m fine, Dr. Milton. I am sorry to have to do it this way, but I was not really sure how else to go about it. Come this way, please.”
She led him to the fireplace and gestured toward Peter.
“Oh, dear,” he said, looking at the figure passed out in the chair. “I see, yes.”
“He has a wound on his shoulder and would not seek help for it. Now it has festered.”
Dr. Milton put his bag down and pulled the shirt away from the shoulder to see.
“Most dire, I am afraid,” he said.
“I was quite desperate that his presence and his condition remain a secret.”
“Yes, of course. You can rely on me, Lady Fairchild.”
She smiled. “I knew I could.”
He seemed pleased with her comment and her confidence in him.
“We must lay him flat so I can do my work. You are fortunate that I have the skill of both a physician and a surgeon. They do not often combine in one person but out here in the countryside, I find my skills as a surgeon are much more in demand.”
Georgiana fetched a blanket from her bed, and put it on the floor next to the chair. Then together, they moved Peter down to it. She fetched the hot water and towels while Dr. Milton took some instruments from his bag. She helped him remove the shirt then held Peter’s shoulder just in case he regained consciousness.
“The usual cause of an infection like this is that something has remained in the shoulder to prevent its healing. I shall have to reopen the wound and drain it of the pus first, then dig around to find the source of the infection.”
She watched as he used a scalpel to cut open the badly healed wound. The smell rose from it worse than before. She wiped the blood and pus as it flowed down Peter’s skin. Dr. Milton pinched the wound to force the putrid liquid out until only blood remained.
“Now for the extraction,” he said and picked up another instrument from those he had laid out next to him. With it, he began to dig around in the wound, and it bled so that Georgiana feared Peter might die of blood loss. Finally, Dr. Milton straightened and held up to the candle his instrument to view clearly what he had found.
“Ah yes, I believe we have it. A piece of the shirt he wore when he was shot.”
Raven's Shadow (Book 2, the Ravenstone Chronicles) Page 23
