by Joan Vincent
“Please tell us your name,” she urged.
“Wh ... where am ... I?”
“At Edgerton Manor outside of Lewes,” Sarah answered. “Your name?”
“Lewes,” Hadleigh repeated dumbly. I am in Sussex? A cough wracked him and her hands worked across his chest. The motion subdued the pain. Tarrant faltered in mid-breath when he met her gaze. Sarah. So beautiful.
Her expectant look prodded him. What was it she had asked?
“Tarr ...” he half whispered. “Hadleigh Tarr ...” Weakness swallowed the last syllable.
Chapter Six
Edgerton Manor April 20, 1809 Thursday
Sarah tipped up the glass of brandy forcing Hadleigh to swallow. His feverish eyes, the grey of ashes, contracted her heart. Her patient had not uttered a sensible word since his name three days past. She was certain of his given name, Hadleigh. But Mr. Tarr produced only a puzzled reaction.
“Hadleigh, you have an abscess in your right foot. Mr. Crandall is going to remove it. Do you understand?”
Her words were garbled by pain and laudanum but her voice warmed and reassured. Because of that, he tried to nod.
“Gettin’ through ta him?” Cauley asked as he brought in a tray of surgical instruments and a basket of lint.
Mr. Crandall went to the head of the bed and raised one of Hadleigh’s eyelids. “He does not understand you, Sarah. What with the laudanum and fever he is not aware of anything.”
Sarah gripped Hadleigh’s hand. “But he nodded.”
The doctor scowled his disbelief. “Did you manage to get all the brandy down him?”
“Yes, but I cannot like so much spirits in a man so ill.”
“Rest easy, Lady Edgerton,” Cauley told her. “It’ll help him pass out sooner which’ll be a great deal better for everyone.”
Glancing over his shoulder Crandall saw Cob and Brady at the door. “Come,” he ordered and took up his surgical blade. “Cauley, hold his shoulders. Brady, take the left leg. Cob, the right. Pray he does not remain conscious long.” Under his breath he added, “Even with the surgical technique Hale showed me any amount of time will be too long.”
Through a haze, Hadleigh watched the grim-faced men. He gripped Sarah’s hand. Fear edged past the narcotic.
Sarah reached between Cauley’s hands, now on Hadleigh’s shoulders and laid her hand against his cheek.
A hand grasped Hadleigh’s leg. Piercing pain shot up through his foot and leg. It arched his back off the bed. “Oh, God,” he croaked. He looked at Sarah, his face contorted, his eyes accused and then he slipped into oblivion.
* * *
As he returned to the morning salon, Crandall saw that Sarah and Cauley had made their pale clammy patient as comfortable as possible. He tried to reassure them with a smile and took his patient’s pulse. “Keep him warm. Give him regular doses of laudanum,” he instructed. “It would be best if he did not wake for a day.”
Crandall saw Sarah’s lips tighten and caught the batman’s grimace. Both, he knew, thought of the huge splinter of wood found imbedded in the abscess. He prayed he erred in his fatal prognosis.
“Continue your methods with the pneumonia. It may prove his worst enemy.” Crandall held out his hand to Lady Edgerton. “Walk with me. My gig should be at the door.”
Sarah placed her hand on Crandall’s arm. They walked in silence through the house and out onto the gravel drive.
The doctor nodded his thanks to Darton who had placed his surgical case in the gig. After the butler passed them, he gave his companion’s hand a squeeze. “You are worn to the bone, Sarah. You must get some rest,” he remonstrated. “Let Molly do more.”
“Mr. Tarr responds to my voice better than to any other.” Sarah saw disapproval crease his forehead. She gently pulled her hand free. “I shall rest more. What did Squire Buckley say when you told him our patient’s name?” she asked.
“That he had never heard of any such family. He is certain the man is a criminal,” Crandall said frankly. “But he said he would send an advertisement to the Times to find the man’s relations.” He did not add that he doubted it would be done.
Sarah brightened. “I shall soon have help then.”
“Perhaps,” Crandall doubted. “At any rate, he will not be able to be moved for some time.” If he survives at all. “Shall I secure another nurse?”
“Of course not. Cauley is very skilled and tireless. With Molly’s help we shall be fine.”
“I will call in the morn to see how Tarr passed the night. Remember to get plenty of fluids down him.”
“Yes, doctor,” Sarah said primly. At his startled look she smiled. “I have taken care of many patients as you well know. Mr. Tarr will not suffer under my care.”
Crandall recalled the tears Sarah had tried to hide when Tarr cried out. He wondered if he had been wrong to think Sarah had a tendre for Hale. The man had courted her and she had appeared to accept his advances. “Do not set your hopes too high, Sarah. He may not survive.” When she made to protest, he continued, “He is weak and today’s work only makes him more so. Remember that it is out of our hands.”
Sarah nodded and looked away. She could not accept this admonition. It had become very important that Hadleigh, as she now thought of him, live. She could not recall any fear like that which gripped her now except for when her father lay dying.
“I know,” she said hollowly. “In the morning then.”
* * *
April 23rd Sunday
The clock chimed midnight as Sarah finished changing the dressing on the right foot.
Hadleigh restlessly tossed his head and dislodged the wet cloth on his forehead. He mumbled incoherently.
Sarah replaced the cloth with a fresh one. “Hush, now.”
He looked at her, anxious. “But Leora. Is Leora safe?”
“Leora?”
“From the dogs,” he added as if she were daft.
“The dogs did not harm anyone,” Sarah told him.
Hadleigh fidgeted. “Is André all right?”
“Who is André?”
“God, I hope he kills George ... and that bastard Letu,” he said in a voice raw with hatred.
Sarah took the hand he tried to raise. “Were they the ones who ... who tortured you?”
His agitation grew. Hadleigh struggled to sit up.
“You must stay quiet,” Sarah urged. She released his hand and pressed down on his shoulders.
“Need to tell him something—something about George’s servant. I have to warn André.”
“I will do it for you,” she assured him. Then Sarah dared to ask the question that had troubled her from the first. “Why was this done to you?”
Hadleigh blinked, his feverish eyes searched hers. “Who are you?”
“Sarah Edgerton,” she answered and wiped his cheeks and neck. When he began to cough, she eased him upright and massaged his back until the worst had passed. When she lowered him, Hadleigh clutched at her hand.
“What did I say? Did I reveal anything?” he asked desperately.
“No, of course not,” Sarah assured him. She brushed back his hair from his forehead. “You’ve said nothing untoward.”
Tarrant stared at her, then closed his eyes. “Lud, I pray you are right,” he muttered and drifted into a feverish sleep.
Hadleigh continued to thrash about. He muttered and cried out, for the most part unintelligible words. When Cauley returned around four that morning he found Lady Edgerton bone weary.
“I dare not give him more laudanum,” Sarah told him. “We must tie him down. At least until the fever breaks.”
The batman looked at the sweat-drenched patient, at the feverish arcs of livid red on his cheeks above his beard. “Let’s wash him with cold water ‘n get him inta somethin’ dry afore we do thet, m’lady,” Cauley suggested. “His fever’s got to be close to breakin’ or—” he halted, not adding, or to finishin’ him.
Hadleigh, disturbed by the batman’s tone, clutche
d Sarah’s arm. “If I die, tell André to kill the bastard,” he gritted through teeth that chattered.
Sarah placed her hand atop his as she searched her memory for names he had mentioned earlier. “George?” she hazarded.
“And Letu.” Hadleigh drew a ragged breath and coughed. “Dites lui que George est français,” he gasped and slipped into unconsciousness.
Sarah and Cauley worked to lower his fever. They bathed him and changed his sheets and put him into a dry nightshirt.
“Have ye noticed—his toes and heel pull towards each other?” Cauley asked as they worked.
Sarah nodded. “It becomes more pronounced each day. We will have to tie the foot to a board to halt it. It will be very painful but it must to be done if he is to walk on that foot again,” Sarah told him wearily.
They changed the poultices, and then Cauley helped Sarah get herbal medicines down Hadleigh. Finished, they sank into chairs on opposite sides of the bed.
Looking across at her, the batman yawned. “Best hie ta yer bed, m’lady.”
Sarah shook her head and assessed how much of Hadleigh’s mutterings to reveal. “What do you make of what Had ... Mr. Tarr said?”
“What had he said afore I came?”
“He mentioned Leora and asked if she were safe. Something about dogs, but I do not think he meant Elminda’s.” Sarah shook her head. “He asked if he had revealed anything.” She paused again, her gaze on the supine figure. “He said in French that George had had Letu torture him and that André must be warned.”
“Mmmmmm,” Cauley murmured and rubbed his bearded chin.
“When I asked why this had been done to him, he became apprehensive.” Sarah drew a hand across her eyes. “I will inform Squire Buckley in the morn.”
“Well, m’lady,” the batman offered. “As fer as I reckon it the squire has more hair than wit.”
She gave a weak smile.
“If Mr. Tarr be a government man we wouldn’t want this George ta get wind he’s alive and at Edgerton Manor.”
“A government man—a spy? You think the French tortured him? Here in England?” She paused considering it. “Why, no, we wouldn’t want the squire blundering about the matter in that case,” Sarah agreed.
“And the squire—he’s o’ habit to talk in front o’ his servants without a thought to consequences.”
She nodded, put a hand to her throat.
“In fact, Cook tole me her sister at Buckley Farms told her a man with a French accent called upon the squire asking about someone gone missing.” He gave a meaningful nod. “‘Haps it be best to keep his ravings between us?”
“But we need to let someone know.”
“I doubt he’d like us ta tell the world’n all. Thet’d put him in danger like as not. Whyn’t wait. Tell whoever answers the squire’s advisement?”
Sarah stared at Hadleigh.
Watching her gaze turn fiercely protective, Cauley winced. But Lady Edgerton spoke before he could.
“We alone will nurse him until his fever breaks. It would not do to have anyone else overhear him.” Sarah pursed her lips. “Molly may be upset but the fewer who know of any of this the better.” She yawned and stood. “Call me if he worsens.”
Cauley rubbed a hand across his bearded chin and stared at the young gentleman. Ever silent, the man presented more questions than answers.
* * *
Prescott House, Kent April 25th Tuesday
The balding portly man stole up the servants’ stairs to his room. Pleased he had managed to return to Prescott House before its owner, Milden Lambert, he thought again how farcically easy it had been to dupe the man. He loosed a satisfied chuckle.
Alerted by the unusual sound outside the door, his servant opened it. Petit watched him peel back the balding pate that was part of his disguise as Squire George. Then he unfastened the corset endowed with an ample girth.
Petit gathered up the discarded clothing and took them to the dressing room. The dwarf came back with a wig stand covered by an elaborately curled peruke. He saw that his master had donned red satin breeches and a fine lace ruffled white silk shirt. Petit rushed to the dressing table, deposited the stand, and then grabbed up an elaborate yellow and red striped waistcoat along with a white apron. He leaped onto a stool just as Donatien held out a hand for the waistcoat. When Donatien sat, Petit tied a cloth about his neck.
Makeup that aged his rather long lean features was applied. Donatien placed a patch at the right corner of his mouth and then settled the peruke in place.
Petit hurried to unfastened and remove the cloth. He marvelled at how greatly his master favoured the Duc de Veryl but kept that opinion behind his lips. “The night, it went well, monseigneur?”
Donatien shrugged into the satin coat and adjusted the lace about his cuffs with long-nailed fingers. “Il était bon. Very good in fact. We shall remain here until the end of May. La Mademoiselle Rouge shall then take us and our cargo back to France.” He looked in the mirror and bowed to his new persona. “Good eve, Monsieur Porteur.”
* * *
Milden Lambert paused in his library’s doorway. He damned the feelings of inferiority M. Porteur raised but recalled the much needed funds the gentleman had brought to him. “Mr. George says there will be two shipments from France in May. You are certain we can trust him?” he asked pouring a glass of brandy.
Donatien’s arrogant smile did not reach his eyes. “I trust M. George as I do myself.”
“Good.” Lambert took a deep gulp of the fiery liquid. “I will demand that Vincouer let us use his tunnel.”
“Do you imagine a problem there?”
Lambert flashed a hasty look at the old courtly gentleman. “No, Matthew Vincouer has been very ill a long time. I doubt he wants his daughter to know of his illegal, ah, pleasures.”
“Take care, M. Lambert. None must suspect my involvement. I must be seen as a simple émigré.”
“Everyone believes you are but my guest,” he assured.
“Nevertheless, I must be told at once if anyone makes enquiries about either émigrés or free trading.”
The hard, cutting tone skittered a cold chill along Lambert’s spine. He met Donatien’s cold dark gaze. “But you came openly from London,” he noted quizzically. “There is no one who can connect you to George.”
“Non,” Donatien agreed. Hadleigh Tarrant flashed in his mind’s eye. He feared Tarrant had somehow made the connection between him and Squire George. Why else had he followed him in Lewes? It vastly annoyed Donatien for he was unaccustomed to slips of any kind. With an inner grimace he discarded his concern. He had learned never to be concerned about the dead.
“Do not ever think to betray me, monsieur.” Donatien sipped his wine. “You forfeit your life if you do so. A thing so very unpleasant, do you not agree?”
Chapter Seven
Edgerton Manor April 25th Tuesday
Rays of bright morning sunshine pierced the lace curtains of the morning salon where Hadleigh lay in a deep sleep. Sarah padded in with a vase of vibrant spring flowers and set it on the table. After straightening his blanket she laid a hand on her patient’s brow. Though she found it cool, Sarah still feared the fever’s return.
The precaution of only Cauley and Sarah tending the gentleman had proven wise. In his delirium, Hadleigh had raved about things that confirmed he was in government service. Because all their energies were expended nursing him, she and Cauley had not spoken further. They tacitly agreed to tell no one.
Sarah approached the chair beside the bed where Bob Cauley sat, his head bobbing. Putting a hand on his shoulder, she was startled when he surged upright and wheeled on her.
Cauley blinked several times and then lowered his upraised fists. “Sorry, m’lady,” he stammered. “I don’t ken how I came to fall asleep. It isn’t my habit—”
“I know,” she flashed an understanding smile. “Molly heard that Mr. Tarr’s fever had broken and let me sleep. Go have some breakfast and rest. You have e
arned it.”
“But you’ll need me help.”
“Molly will assist me.” She glanced at the bed. “I believe there is no longer any danger of Mr. Tarr speaking of matters he would not want known.”
Cauley scowled at her tone. Molly must have raised her mistress’s concern and worried her.
Misreading his look, Sarah laid a hand on his arm. “I will call for you the instant there is a need.” She frowned. “Should I do his exercises this morn?”
“Aye, keeps him fit and won’t wake him unless his body is ready to do so.”
She gazed down at Hadleigh’s right foot as the batman left. The board tied atop the dressing hid its swollen redness. I will wait until this afternoon to change the dressing. Else I will have to give a large dose of laudanum to ease the pain. I do not want to do that when he finally sleeps naturally for the first time. Humming, Sarah moved Hadleigh’s right arm through the exercises Cauley had taught her.
* * *
Tarrant struggled through a thick dark morass towards the comforting music. Gentle hands worked his left arm. He remembered warm dark eyes alight with care. Sarah.
Pain edged the image aside. Hadleigh’s chest protested the leaden weight that rested on it. His feet throbbed.
Then warm fingers gently bent his wrist to and fro. Hadleigh blinked and met a concerned gaze. “Sarah.”
Sarah stilled her hands. She looked into eyes no longer stone grey with fever. A sense of having gazed into them before rose within her. Sarah’s heartbeat quickened. “Hadleigh.”
A sudden coughing paroxysm distracted both. Sarah gave him thyme cough syrup and it ceased. “Do you wish laudanum now?”
“No,” he said fiercely. After a breath, “Where am I?”
“Edgerton Manor not far from Lewes. We found you near the Peterson House. Do you remember how you got there?”
