by Desconocido
“You look too worried for a man who just heard that the wound is not a fatal one,” said Alex when Mrs. Stark left them and he joined Ashton in helping himself to some of the food.
“She is too deeply asleep, or unconscious, for my liking.” Ashton shrugged. “Yet that may be for the best. As far as I can tell, she was feeling very little of the pain the doctor had to inflict as he cleaned and stitched her wound. When Septimus returned and placed his hands on her, he said it was so.” At Alex’s curious look, he briefly explained what Septimus was rumored to be skilled at. “Not sure I believe he can take away pain, but I was not about to stop him from trying. She seems to have taken herself away from the pain. I but fear she may have gone too far, if that makes any sense.”
“It does and ’tis a skill many probably wish they had. At the moment, the depth of her sleep is a small worry, however. Ashton, someone wanted her dead. Just as they did when they tried to run her down with the carriage.”
“I know. I believe the carriage incident can be blamed on Mrs. Cratchitt, but this? This, I believe, is the work of the Hutton-Moores. Whether Charles himself tried to kill her or hired someone to do it does not matter. I cannot help but fear that he has already caught wind of the fact that someone is digging into his affairs. What better way to stop that and any possible troubles it might cause him than to be rid of the one who stands between him and what he wants.”
“He would kill her for that house?”
Ashton shrugged. “Many have killed for far less. However, there may have been more left to her than that house and he has stolen it. He would not want that to be discovered.”
“Lady Penelope is the one you want, is she not? Mayhap Charles has gotten wind of that.”
“It is possible. Penelope thinks he does not know about this place, however.”
“Penelope could be wrong.”
It was possible, Ashton thought. Just because the man had not confronted her here or stopped her visits did not mean he did not know about the place. It would explain how Charles would have known where to find her so that she could be kidnapped and taken to Mrs. Cratchitt’s. Ashton cursed as he immediately recognized the truth of that supposition. Charles knew; the man just had not yet bothered to do anything about it. At least not openly.
“He knows,” he said to Alex. “The bastard has probably known exactly where she goes since the beginning. The danger to Penelope is that she does not know that.”
“If Charles is guilty of all we think he is, then there should be some protection here. She does not even have a maid.”
“No money for one. I would send a few of our servants here but I am not sure she would allow it. She has her pride.”
“We can understand that well enough, can we not? She must be made to swallow it, however. It is not just her life at stake here.”
“Very true and that will be the argument I will use.”
Ashton was startled when Artemis burst into the room, but one look at the boy’s pale face was enough to bring him to his feet. “What is wrong?”
“Fever.”
Chapter Twelve
“So this is your emergency.”
“Mother!”
Ashton stared in open-mouthed shock at the sight of his mother standing in the doorway, all the boys crowding behind her. Right behind the boys stood Alex. His brother shrugged. Ashton supposed he should not be so surprised that his mother would wonder where he and Alex had disappeared to after three days’ absence. He had never considered the possibility that she would hunt him down, however.
“Is this where you have been for three days?” she asked.
“Yes.” Ashton dipped the rag he held into the basin of cool water on the bedside table, wrung it out, and gently placed it back on Penelope’s fevered forehead. “She was shot. The bullet went straight through but, either because she lost a great deal of blood or she caught a chill from the damp ground she was lying on, she has taken a fever. I thought of hiring someone to care for her, but decided the safest thing to do was to attend to her myself with the help of the boys. I do not know who shot her, you see.”
Lady Mary moved to the side of the bed and looked down at the fevered young woman lying there as still as death. “Who would want to shoot her?”
“I told you, I do not know. I only have a few ideas and suspicions. No proof.”
“There are a lot of us looking for that proof, however,” said Alex as he stepped up beside his mother.
“How did you find us?” Ashton asked.
“The coachman.” A movement by her feet caused Lady Mary to look down. Big brown eyes stared up at her through long speckled fur. “What is this?”
“A dog,” replied Ashton, smiling faintly at his mother’s look of doubt.
“We call him Killer because he charged after the man who shot Pen and bit the bastard right in his manly parts. I am Paul.” Paul smiled up at her. “I am Orion’s by-blow.”
“Out. All of you out,” said Alex and he began to clear the room of the boys who had slipped inside. “I will see if Mrs. Stark can make some tea for you,” he told his mother and shepherded the boys out of the doorway.
Once the door shut behind Alex and the boys, Lady Mary looked at her eldest son. “That child looks and sounds as if he ought to be singing in the church choir. Until you hear what he says, that is. Manly parts? By-blow? Cursing?”
“I have begun to think that Paul says such things because he likes to shock people,” Ashton said.
“Huh.” Lady Mary removed her gloves, hat, and coat and set them down on a chair near the fireplace. “Is this Lady Penelope? And she was truly shot?” When Ashton nodded, she shook her head. “Is she the only one who takes care of all those boys?”
“She has her two brothers, who are sixteen and fourteen years of age, plus Darius, who is thirteen, who help her.” He silently prayed that his mother did not find out that those three boys spent a lot of time spying on a brothel. “Then there is the boys’ tutor, Septimus Vaughn. Although I believe he is but newly out of Oxford.”
“What about this Mrs. Stark?”
“She is the maid-of-all-work and only comes in for the day. The woman would help care for Penelope but she has an ailing daughter and six grandchildren to care for now. At times she cannot even come in for the day but she sends some food for them all.”
“It is too much for this girl. Her relatives should be ashamed of themselves. When you spoke of it before, I had not realized that it was just her ruling over that pack.”
“I agree that her family should be ashamed. The least they could do is hire some help for her.”
“How long has she been feverish?”
“Since late the night of the shooting.”
“Not so very long then. I have brought some clothing for you and Alex. And myself.”
“Yourself?”
“I have come to help care for her.”
“But—”
Lady Mary moved to his side and patted him on the shoulder. “She needs a woman’s care, if only for her own sake. Think of how uncomfortable she will be when she awakes and realizes you were the only one at her side while she was too sick to see to her own needs.”
Ashton sighed and nodded, knowing there was no argument he could make to that good sense. “I know I would feel so if the situation was reversed. You should not have to do it all either, however.”
“I have every intention of letting you and the older boys do your share. Ah, here is our tea,” she said, smiling at Alex as he entered and set the tray he carried down on the table near the fireplace.
At his mother’s coaxing, Ashton left Penelope’s side to share in the tea and a light repast with her and Alex. He was torn concerning his mother’s presence. It would be good to have her tend to Penelope’s more personal needs, but he found he also resented her interference a little. He wanted to be at Penelope’s side round the clock as if he could personally fend off death himself. He decided he was badly in need of some rest if he could e
ven think such a ridiculous thought.
By the time they finished their tea, his mother was in possession of every fact and rumor Ashton had. He was stunned that he had told her so much. It had even been difficult to hold back the truth of what was between him and Penelope. Her interrogation skills were astonishing. Ashton wished he could set her after the Hutton-Moores but he could never place his own mother in such danger, no matter how good the cause.
“Are you certain you should do this?” Ashton asked when she had him fetch her some writing materials so that she could make a list of what she needed to nurse Penelope.
“This is not the sort of fever one can catch,” she said.
“I know, but taking care of someone this ill is an exhausting business.” He waited to see how she would respond as she finished what appeared to be a very long list.
“Have the boys help you fetch these things for me,” she said as she handed the list to Alex, who quickly left. She then looked at Ashton. “I have six children, dear. Amongst the lot of you, you have contracted all manner of ills, broken bones, and gory wounds. However, I do believe I shall send for Aunt Honora.”
“Would not Aunt Sarah be a better choice? She is stronger and, well, more sensible.”
“Quite true, which is why she must stay to keep your siblings in line. Honora is very good at nursing the ill, Ashton. She nursed me through a childbed fever after I had Alexander.” She stood up and walked to the bed. “Who is the doctor who tended the wound?” she asked as she uncovered Penelope’s wound and studied it closely.
“Doctor Pryne.”
“Roger Pryne?”
“I do not know the man’s Christian name. Big man, graying brown hair, and a blunt way of speaking. Do you think you know him?”
“From that description, I feel sure I know him. An old school friend of mine married him.” She sighed. “She is dead now. So sad it was, too. Not even five and thirty and she fell dead. A weak heart. What did he have to say about this wound and this fever?”
“The wound should not be mortal but the fever could be. He left the makings for a willow bark tea and told me to bathe her with cool water. Nothing more.”
Lady Mary bandaged the wound again. “There is nothing more to do really. Do not look so worried, dear. I do not know this girl, but from all you have told me, she sounds as if she has the strength needed to fight this. No woman who could watch over ten boys and survive could ever be weak. Now, I need you to answer a few questions for me.”
Ashton did his best as she proceeded to bombard him with questions. Some were of such a personal nature concerning Penelope that he felt himself blush like a schoolboy. It was one thing to take care of her personal needs when she was insensible, quite another to talk about them. However, when his mother ordered him to go and get some rest, he did so with as easy a mind as he could with Penelope still so ill. He did it because he knew his mother would fight as hard for Penelope’s life as he did, and with a lot more skill. Together they would save her. He would not allow himself to think anything else.
Penelope winced. Her body ached all over. She struggled to remember what had happened before she had gone to bed. And why was she all alone? Why was Ashton not sleeping at her side? Had she slept through his leave taking?
Memories of the park returned in a rush and she nearly gasped. Someone had shot her. Keeping her eyes closed and her body still, she tried to concentrate on that wound. It ached, but no more than that, although she suspected it would hurt if she moved her arm. Her other aches had probably come from falling onto the ground after she was shot. She swallowed the panic that had stirred at the memory of that bullet tearing through her shoulder.
Her next thought was that she was thirsty. Very, very thirsty. Her mouth felt as if it had been stuffed full of wool, musty wool at that. She was suddenly desperate to rinse out her mouth and clean her teeth, certain she would feel so much better if she did so.
She cautiously opened her eyes and looked around. Even though her vision was a little blurry, she could see that she was in her own room in the Wherlocke Warren, much to her relief. As her eyes cleared of sleep’s lingering haze, she gaped and could not fully restrain a gasp. There was a woman sitting by her bed sewing what looked very much like one of the boys’ shirts. A pretty, older woman dressed sedately but in clothes obviously made by one of society’s best dressmakers. The woman suddenly looked at her and smiled. Penelope felt herself blush beneath the steady, sharp look in the woman’s big, blue eyes.
“Ah, very good. You are awake,” the woman said. “I am Lady Radmoor, Ashton’s mother. You may call me Lady Mary. And I am not pressing you into any great intimacy with me by saying that. After my first year of marriage, I simply refused to answer to Lady Harold. But we can talk later. I suspect you need a drink and you would dearly like to clean that nasty taste out of your mouth.” Lady Mary poured Penelope some cider and helped her to drink it down slowly. “Five days of fighting a fever and one of sleeping has probably left you feeling as if the army has tramped through your mouth in muddy boots.”
Penelope was too stunned to say anything. She felt like a lifeless doll the woman played with as Lady Mary gave her what was needed to clean her mouth, brushed out her hair, and sponged her body clean. It was not until the woman had dressed her in a fresh night shift and tied a ribbon in her hair that Penelope finally shook free of her tongue-tying shock. Although the realization that a viscountess had just acted the maid for her threatened to shock her senseless all over again.
“It has been five, nay, six days since I was shot?” she finally asked in utter disbelief.
Lady Mary placed a tray of sliced apples and lightly buttered bread on Penelope’s lap. “Eat some of this. Very slowly. I know Roger”—she blushed faintly—“er, Doctor Pryne prefers a patient to have broth, but he does not forbid a few foods that are gentle on the stomach. I strongly believe they are good for you, too.” She sat down by the bed again. “You became fevered the very night you were shot. A few hours after you were brought home. The doctor believes that lying upon the ground as you did, and getting quite damp, together with your wound, is why the fever grabbed hold of you and would not let go. It is always damp by that pond. Then, of course, there is the fact that you had only recently recovered from another serious wound. You had not had enough time to regain your full strength, I suspect.”
Penelope nodded slowly, recalling the chill damp that had slowly seeped through her clothes. She desperately wanted to ask where Ashton was. Her memories of the time since being shot consisted of brief, spotty visions of his face, of pain, and of heat. They could be memories of fevered dreams but she did not think so.
“Ro—Doctor Pryne said only that you were young and healthy and should be able to fight the fever. As the days wore on and your fever did not break, I fear Ashton grew a little short with the man. But the doctor proved correct. You had to fight the fever in your own way and in your own time. The wound never festered. In truth, it continued to heal very nicely, with quite astonishing speed. If not for the fever, one would think that you simply slept through the worst of it.”
Ashton had been with her, she thought, and was dangerously pleased by that. The way Lady Radmoor kept stumbling over Doctor Pryne’s name, nearly calling him by his Christian name every time she spoke of him, stirred Penelope’s curiosity. She bit into a slice of apple and chewed slowly to stop herself from asking a few very impertinent questions.
“You are undoubtedly wondering why I am here,” said Lady Mary.
Her mouth full of apple, Penelope just nodded.
“When Alexander and Ashton disappeared for almost three days, I decided I had to hunt them down. They are grown men, and like it or not, I know they are wont to, well, go off to indulge themselves, shall we say. However, they have never just abruptly disappeared. The only word I had from Ashton was that he had an emergency to tend to and that he did not know when he would return. Marston, our butler, told me that Alex went with Ashton. I finally got the wh
ole tale of the two boys coming to the house and everyone racing to the park, and then confronted our coachman.”
Penelope had to admire such persistence. “I am sorry they left you to worry so.”
Lady Mary waved an elegant, beringed hand in the air. “’Tis the way of men. This time Ashton had a good reason so I did not box his ears.” She grinned when Penelope laughed, but quickly grew serious again. “You were fevered, child, and he stayed to care for you. Alex stayed to help with the boys. What mother could fault them for that? However, I took over as is my wont. Ashton helped immensely, but I brought the much-needed woman’s touch as did Honora, Ashton’s aunt. With three of us working through the day and night, matters went much more smoothly. We even had the strength to help Alex and that lovely young man, Septimus, care for the boys.”
“I hope they did not give you too much trouble.” The idea of having so many people not familiar with her family’s many differences lurking around the Warren made Penelope very nervous.
“No more than any other pack of boys. Quite a bit less, actually. I believe they were on their best behavior because of you. They do love you quite fiercely, my dear,” she added softly and grinned when Penelope blushed. “Being boys, I suspect they do not say so, but trust me to know, they most certainly do. They were always slipping into the room to watch you breathe. Mostly the young ones, but your brothers and Darius did the same a time or two. For the younger boys, you are their mother for all that they call you Pen or cousin. Especially little Paul.” She frowned. “Ashton told me the boy slept at the foot of the bed for the first three days or just outside the door. It was in the afternoon on the day I arrived that the fear you would die abruptly left him. He stated quite confidently that you would not join Mrs. Pettibone.” She glanced around. “Is the woman still here?”
There were obviously few secrets left, thought Penelope. She supposed she ought to be grateful Lady Mary had not run from the house screaming about witches. Penelope looked toward where Mrs. Pettibone’s misty form was seated by the fireplace. The woman’s daughters must have returned by now so there had to be some other reason the woman’s spirit lingered. She would have to solve that puzzle later, when she was stronger, and when some of her own troubles were cleared away.
