by Desconocido
“Of course it is a dog,” said Paul and he giggled. “We think someone threw him away because he is not perfect.”
Those words hit her like a stab to the heart. Why does he not just cut my heart out with a spoon? she thought. Each one of the boys standing before her had been “thrown away.”
“You can feel all his bones when you pat him,” Paul continued.
“I would rather you did not pat it until it has been thoroughly bathed. At least twice.”
She reached into the basket she had brought with her and took out the bread. To her astonishment, the dog sat up straighter, its ragged ears lifting up as if in attention. It never took its eyes from the bread as she tore off a piece, but neither did it rush at her to grab some or bark. She tossed the piece of bread at the dog and it caught it. Unfortunately, that so delighted the boys that she knew she had lost all chance, if she had had any at all, of denying them the dog.
“Oh, let me feed him,” cried Paul. “Please?”
Penelope handed Paul a large chunk of bread. “Do not make the pieces too big or it could choke.”
“So? Can we keep the dog?” asked Olwen.
“You will care for it. If it messes in the house, you will clean it up. And it does not put one paw into the house until it is thoroughly scrubbed clean.”
The boys all cheered and then began to take turns tossing the dog pieces of bread. Penelope had to smile as she watched them even though feeding a dog every day would probably lighten her already light purse a lot more. She glanced toward the sun again and decided she could give the boys a few minutes more to play before starting the long walk home.
Penelope frowned as her gaze swept by the small pond while she was turning to watch the boys again and she saw something out of the corner of her eyes. She stared at the pond to see what had caught her attention and softly cursed, recognizing what the misty figure standing at the edge of the murky water was. London was full of ghosts, but she wished they would find someone else to bother. The multitude of spirits cluttering up the city was but one more reason she would love a house in the country, she decided as she started toward the spirit. People died there, too, of course, but not in such numbers and certainly not with such constant tragedy.
The misty figure grew more distinct as she drew near to it. Another young woman, she thought, and felt the pinch of sorrow. It was always hard when it was the spirit of someone who had been alive for far too few years, if only because it was always so sad when the young died. Most of the time death for one so young had been so unexpected that the spirit refused to believe it had happened. It made it very difficult to convince them to relinquish all earthly chains.
Beware.
“Nick me! Why do you all say that? Beware what? Who? When?” Penelope took a deep breath and let it out slowly, knowing there was no point in getting angry with a ghost. “Why do you linger here?”
For my love. Love put me here. Love must join me.
“Your lover drowned you?”
My love will return and I will hold him again.
“If you hold him, he will drown.” Penelope frowned. “Is that the reason you linger here? To get revenge? I do not think it will work.” She looked the ghost over carefully. “From what little I can see, you are wearing clothing from at least fifty years ago. I would wager that your lover is already dead. If he murdered you, he is roasting in hell right now. Is that not revenge enough? Let go of your need to have revenge. Seek your peace.”
Beware.
Not for the first time, Penelope heartily wished she could slap a ghost.
“Pe—ne—lo—pe!”
Penelope turned quickly upon hearing Paul’s scream of panic. She saw nothing wrong with the child. He was racing toward her with no sign of any injury. That did not mean everything was well, however. Something could have happened to one of the other boys. She took a step toward him, sternly telling herself that Paul was just a five-year-old boy, and although a very clever little fellow, he was still prone to childish fears. Whatever was scaring him did not have to be so very bad.
“Fall down!”
She frowned at what she thought was a very foolish command. The other boys appeared behind Paul, running toward her as fast as he was, and echoing his cry that she fall down. The fear she had been trying to calm abruptly turned to annoyance. She was about to ask them what silly game they were playing when the dog veered off from the boys and raced for the thick clump of beech trees farther down the banks of the pond. Penelope was just thinking that she ought to help the boys go after the foolish animal when there was a flash of light from within the small grove. Something slammed into her shoulder so hard that Penelope stumbled and fell on her backside.
A man screamed in pain and she wondered what he had to scream about as she was the one who had been struck with something. She looked at her shoulder in disbelief. Blood was rapidly soaking the front of her gown. Someone had just shot her. Who would shoot a woman strolling about the park with half a dozen boys and a creature that thinks it’s a dog? she asked herself, dazed by what had happened to her.
Pain tore through her body but she grabbed Paul as he ran up to her and pinned him to the ground beneath her. “Get down!” she screamed at the other boys. “Now! Down on the ground!”
Penelope saw them all fall to the ground and silently thanked God that they were obedient when it truly mattered. She looked toward the trees but could see nothing. Despite the way the pain was making her head spin, she caught the faint sound of a fleeing horse. A moment later the little dog burst from the cover of the trees and ran toward them with something in his mouth.
He is gone.
“Pen, you are bleeding on me,” said Paul in a trembling voice.
She rolled off him and sprawled on her back, taking deep breaths in a vain attempt to ease the pain. Penelope knew she had to get the boys to safety but she was not sure how fast she could move. She looked at the ghost, who was slowly fading into the late-day fog forming on the pond.
“Would it really have been so hard for you to say, Beware, there is a man in the trees with a pistol”? she asked.
It is not over.
“Nick me, that was helpful,” she muttered as the boys gathered around her. “Just give me a moment or two,” she told them, “and we will go home.” Not one of them looked as if they believed her. She did not believe herself, either.
Hector looked at the blood flowing from her wound. “You need care right now, Pen. Radmoor lives right over there.” He pointed in the direction of Radmoor’s home. “Paul, come with me. Radmoor can help us.”
Before she could protest Hector’s plan, he and Paul were running away. The dog sat down near her head and she frowned at what was hanging from his mouth. It looked to be part of the front flap of a man’s breeches. That would certainly explain that scream of pain, she thought and almost smiled.
“Pen, what can we do?” asked Olwen as he knelt by her and took her hand in his.
“One of you find a clean bit of cloth and press it to the wound to help stop the blood from flowing,” she answered, fighting hard to hold back the blackness creeping into her mind. “Once it stops,” she continued, “we can leave here.” She knew it was a lie but they all looked so frightened, she felt compelled to try and lift their spirits.
Jerome raced to the bench where she had been enjoying the peace of the park only a short time ago. He returned with her basket, took the scrap of linen she had draped over the top, and pressed it against her wound. Penelope nearly lost her battle against the encroaching darkness as pain seared through her. She clenched her teeth to stop a cry of pain but could not fully restrain a moan.
“I am hurting you,” cried Jerome and he started to pull away.
“Nay, do not stop. It hurts no matter what you do, love,” she said, “but the bleeding must stop. Hellfire, it hurts with me just lying here and trying to breathe. It is not your fault.”
“Radmoor will soon come and help us,” said Olwen as he patted her ha
nd.
Penelope tried to smile at him but suspected it looked more like a grimace. The damp of the ground was soaking into her clothes but she knew that was not the only reason she was shivering. Shock was undoubtedly another cause, as was the loss of blood. She continued to take deep breaths but the pain was like a living thing writhing inside her. She knew she was too weak to get the boys away from here and began to pray that Ashton was home.
A disturbance in the hall cut short the discussion of investments Ashton was having with Alex. He started to rise, intending to go and see what the problem was, when the door to his study was slammed open. Hector and Paul raced in followed by a breathless Marston. The boys ran up to Ashton and grabbed his hands. That was when Ashton saw the blood on Paul’s clothes.
“Hold, Marston,” he ordered his butler and wrenched his hands free of the boys’ hold to crouch down and grasp Paul by the shoulders. “Where are you hurt, child?”
“’Tis not my blood,” Paul said, tears leaving pale streaks through the dirt on his face. “’Tis Pen’s.”
Ashton felt his heart actually falter in its steady beat. “Penelope is hurt?”
“In the park. Someone shot her. I was trying to warn her, to get her to lie down so she would be safe, but I must have done it wrong again. She has a big hole in her and was bleeding all over me when she pushed me down and the dog ran after the man who shot her but he got away and…” Paul stuttered to halt when Ashton placed one long finger over his lips.
“Is she alive?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice calm despite the panic gnawing at his insides.
Paul nodded.
“Where is she now?”
“In the park. Near the pond,” answered Hector.
“Alex, ready a carriage,” he ordered his brother as he stood up. “And a horse so that you can ride ahead of us with one of the boys and fetch Doctor Pryne.” He started out of the room, the two boys close at his heels.
“Ride to where?” asked Alex as he hurried to follow them.
“The boy who goes with you can tell you where. Marston, tell the viscountess that there was an emergency I needed to tend to and that I do not know when I will return.”
Once outside, Ashton began to run, not caring what his neighbors would think if they saw him. Only once did he pause in his race to Penelope’s side, and that was to pick up a staggering Paul. The sight of Penelope on the ground, the other boys crowded around her, sent fear and rage careening through his body. When he found out who had done this, he would kill him. Slowly.
He gently nudged aside the white-faced boy holding a blood-soaked cloth against Penelope’s left shoulder. “You did well, lad,” he said as he tossed the cloth aside and replaced it with his handkerchief.
“Sorry to be such a bother,” Penelope said, wondering if her voice sounded as weak and unsteady to them as it did to her.
“Idiot,” he muttered.
Bracing himself against the pain he knew he would cause her, he lifted her enough to see if the bullet had exited her body or if it would need to be cut out of her. The relief he felt when he saw that the bullet had passed straight through was so strong he was glad he was already kneeling on the ground. It would have been humiliating to fall to his knees before the boys. It certainly would have done nothing to ease the fear he could see on all their faces.
He tore a strip off her petticoat, made a second pad to press against the wound on the back of her shoulder, and tied both pads in place with his stock. She made little sound aside from grinding her teeth, despite the pain he knew he was inflicting. By the time he was done, she was as pale as one of her ghosts and panting softly, the sheen of a light sweat upon her face.
“Ashton, get that piece of cloth from the dog,” she rasped.
He looked at the filthy mongrel sitting near her head. “Are you sure that is a dog?” To his amazement, she laughed a little. “It went after the bastard, did it?” He gently tugged the scrap of material from the dog’s mouth. “This is from the front placket of a man’s breeches. And the buttons are silver.” Ashton looked closely at the dog’s mouth and saw a little blood on the dirty face. He winced. “That will be a wound it will be difficult to watch for.”
“Oh, cruel man to make me want to laugh.” Penelope frowned as a man stepped up behind Ashton. “I think I have lost too much blood, Ashton, for I am seeing two of you.”
Ashton glanced back at Alex. “’Tis just my brother, Alexander. Did you bring the carriage?” he asked Alex.
“’Tis but a few feet behind me,” drawled Alex.
“Ah, so it is. My apologies. I was obviously too enraptured by your handsome face to notice it.” Ashton was pleased to hear the boys snicker, some of the fear on their faces fading. He then looked at Penelope. “I fear this will hurt.”
“Everything hurts. What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Pick you up,” he replied even as he did so.
Penelope knew he was being as gentle as he could be, but the pain shooting through her made her curse. She rested her head against Ashton’s shoulder and struggled to wrestle the pain into submission. What she really wanted to do was give in to the darkness that promised her a respite from the pain, perhaps even scream, but she did not want to frighten the boys any more than they were now.
“Ashton,” she whispered as he walked to the carriage, “if I should die—”
“You will not die.”
“Just promise me that you will see that the boys are cared for.”
He opened his mouth to argue with her and then decided against it. They were all frightened and an argument now could quickly become nonsensical. Nor did he want to hear her speak any further of dying.
“I promise.”
“Thank you. They all know who their fathers are and that should be a help.”
“Quiet. I promised. I do not wish to speak on that.”
Penelope did not really wish to speak of dying, either, but she could not leave matters unsettled. His promise was enough to let her cease worrying about her boys. She knew Ashton was a man who would hold to his word. With her mind freed of that concern, the blackness she had been fighting swept over her and dragged her down into its depths.
Ashton felt Penelope go limp in his arms and looked down at her. The sight of her chest moving soothed away the panic that had rushed up to choke him. He was glad she had swooned. The ride in the carriage and getting her settled in a bed were going to add to her pain no matter how careful he was. Unconscious as she was now, there was a chance she would be unaware of it and he could only be grateful for that.
“It should not be fatal,” said Doctor Pryne as he scrubbed his hands clean. “Just watch closely for a fever to set in. That could be. But she is a healthy young woman and that is strongly in her favor.”
“What should I do if she does grow feverish?” asked Ashton.
“You? You mean to care for the girl, do you?”
“I do.” Ashton did not care what the doctor thought; he was not going to leave Penelope until he was certain she was healed.
“First, send someone for me. I will tell you what is needed then. Having you care for her could ruin her, you know.”
“Sir, she has a house where she cares for her family’s bastards. As far as society is concerned, she is utterly ruined already.”
“Hypocritical fools.”
“You will get no argument from me on that. She only has the boys here to care for her. They may be clever lads, and far more mature for their age than many another, but they are still just boys. And except for her brothers, they see her as their mother.”
Doctor Pryne shook his head. “You have the right of it. Well, get as much food and drink down her as you can. Broth or a very light meal of some bread and jam. Anything that is not too heavy. She will need that to keep her strength up.” He idly touched the damp, muddy gown Ashton had flung over a chair when he had undressed her. “How did she get so damp?”
“The ground was damp and she was lying on it for
a while ere I arrived. That is not good, is it?”
“No, but as I said, she is a young, healthy woman. Know who shot her? It was not an accident. Do not try to gull me. Who would want the lass dead? And that is what they wanted, for if that shot had gone a little to the right, it would have gone right through her heart.”
That was something Ashton was all too aware of and it chilled him to the marrow of his bones. “I am not sure.” He sighed when the man scowled at him. “I will not point a finger until I am, if only because that could send the bastard to ground. There are a number of us trying to find out, unceasingly searching for that proof. If he thinks we suspect him, the proof we need could easily disappear right along with him.”
“Well, get it soon. A crack on the head and now a bullet wound. She has been lucky so far but that luck could soon run out.”
The moment the door shut behind the doctor, Ashton sat down beside the bed and took Penelope’s hand in his. He kissed her palm and held her small hand against his cheek. She gave no sign that she felt his caress. She had made little sound as the man had tended her wound and yet she had to have felt something. By the time Septimus had returned, his touch was not needed for Penelope had escaped the worst of her pain in her own way. It was as if she had pulled her spirit so deep inside herself that she was completely unaware of everything around her. Ashton was grateful that she might not have felt the pain but her utter stillness bothered him.
Her brothers entered the room and Ashton reluctantly gave up his place by the bedside. He decided to take the time to speak to Alex and get something to eat. From what little he knew about such things, caring for Penelope was going to take a lot of time and strength.
He found Alex sitting in the parlor with all the rest of the boys and Septimus. Ashton told them everything the doctor had said and soon found himself alone in the room with Alex. After a brief search of the room he found a bottle of wine and poured himself and Alex a drink. Just as he handed his brother the drink, Mrs. Stark bustled in with a tray loaded with bread, meats, and cheese. He thanked her profusely and gave her enough coin to stock the pantry with such items for he knew they would be needed over the next few days.
