Both men lifted Ridley up with a grunt, staggering with gritted teeth as they attempted to shuffle him back out the door, their feet skidding against the swaying, limp weight.
Pulse roaring in between more tears that blinded her knowing what might have happened had she not followed him, Jemdanee jogged around them and held the door wide open. It was in moments like these that she realized, she was only as strong as the weight the gods had given her.
“Move slowly,” she offered, knowing it was the only form of assistance she could give. “He suffered a seizure and will most likely endure more. I therefore advise you both to be very careful with him. Do not drop his weight.”
The driver glared. “Don’t you be talking at us as if you were master, you heathen of a slave. I can damn well carry him and more. Christ, you damn well got him into this row given his need to yank you from the misery you call a life!”
A sob escaped her. Ridley had indeed left the house to sign her witness papers. To save her.
The two men turned sideways on the top landing of the stairs and were about to descend when Ridley’s body violently thudded. He jarred out of their arms and down the sweep of stone stairs spanning several feet.
She screamed and shoved both men in an attempt to lunge after him.
Ridley’s body thrashed down onto the last stone ledge, the sound of bone cracking.
In a droning blur that erased everything but Ridley, she fell beside his bent leg that continued to thrash against his seizure. His gagging made her realize he was choking to death on his own tongue and couldn’t breathe.
Chanting to herself to remain calm, she tucked his head between her knees hard, squeezing it into place. Having nothing else to keep him from gagging, she set all four of her fingers into his mouth, which she forcefully widened and held down his tongue as he bit and bit and bit his teeth into her fingers to the bone.
She sobbed through it as her blood swelled from her own fingers, the searing pain ripping straight from her hand to her jaw. Knowing his life depended on her ability to hold onto his tongue, she sobbed and hissed her way through it, pressing her fingers down harder and harder, willing him to live.
Too much blood was coming from her fingers.
He would suffocate from the blood, not merely his tongue.
“I will not fail you, Ridley,” she choked out. “I…will…not…fail you!” she roared, pushing her strength and will through her own voice.
Ridley stilled.
“Jesus Christ.” The two men hovered, eyes wide. “What the devil is wrong with him?”
“Be he possessed?!”
She sobbed and sobbed, removing her severely gashed fingers from Ridley’s slack mouth lest he choke on all the blood pouring from her fingers. “We cannot…m-move him,” she choked out, unable to breathe against the pain blinding her. “W-we need a doctor! A doctor!”
Shelton pointed rigidly at the head of the driver. “Get your bloody arse into that seat and ring for the nearest one lest I backhand you for giving her the lip you earlier did! Go!” he boomed.
The driver sprinted, scrambling into the coach.
Ridley remained eerily still, despite his chest heaving and his eyes fluttering.
Jemdanee continued to cradle him and his head between her thighs to keep his skull safe, knowing the seizures might continue. She sobbed, feeling helpless. As if she were eight and unable to find her mother. Unable to breathe. Unable to find the will to do anything but sob.
“Miss. Miss.” Shelton knelt beside her, snapping off his cravat. Taking her hand gently, he bandaged it quick and hard. “A braver soul I have never met than you.”
She sobbed again, but not from the throbbing of her blood-bitten fingers, but the throbbing she felt within her heart. One that appeared bound to a man who had ultimately saved her from the wrath of London’s judgement.
She lowered herself to Ridley’s chest, kissing it in prayer and reverence. “O Shiva, watch over him. Shiva, he needs you. Shiva, he is worthy. Shiva, I will gift thee whatever you ask. Save him. Save him and I will guide him to a better life. One he deserves.”
In between her chants and willing her strength of faith into him and this moment, she held onto Ridley, refusing to look at the leg whose bone protruded, goring his trousers.
She squeezed her eyes shut past more tears, chanting and chanting until the gods responded and brought forth the doctor he needed.
* * *
Midnight
With a bandaged hand and trembling fingers that had been carefully threaded from the gashes of Ridley’s teeth marking them straight through her skin to the bone, everything still throbbed but was equally hazy from the laudanum she had been given.
She tucked the quaking bandaged hand against her chest and waited against the wall outside of Ridley’s bedchamber where the physician had been setting his bone for over an hour.
She had been waiting for too long.
Too. Long.
The door opened, making her stumble toward it.
An elderly gentleman sighed, removing a bloodied apron and bundling it. “The rest lies within the hands of God.”
Ridley needed more than one god to save him from what she had seen of his leg. “Might I see him?” she choked out. “Is he conscious? Might I go to him?”
The surgeon nodded. “Yes. I set a bottle of laudanum for the pain at his bedside. See to it he takes it every few hours and ensure his leg is not over elevated. I will call on him in a few hours.”
She nodded. “I thank you.”
He eyed her. “Given he demanded to know, I have already shared the grim assessment. He will never walk again.”
She sobbed. No. No, no, no, no. Noooooooooooooo.
Gently squeezing her shoulder, he nudged her toward the door. “He is heavily sedated, but conscious. You may speak to him briefly, but I advise you to let him rest. He needs rest. Not these tears.”
With the left hand that wasn’t bandaged, she swiped at her tears and nodded. She slowly angled past the open door and into Ridley’s bedchamber, which reeked of acrid blood and the burning nostril stinging of ethanol alcohol.
Ridley’s head was rolled toward the pillow, his eyes squeezed shut against the trembling of his fisted hands that gripped the newly laid linens that surrounded him, covering his quaking limbs. His damp hair clung to his forehead, his strong jaw unshaven as he bared his teeth to permit slow takes of breath through them and flared nostrils. Scrape marks from the stone he’d hit and bruising covered his face and hands.
She hurried toward him, feeling the agony of every breath he took, and lingered beside him. Wanting to take his hand, but fearing it would hurt him too much, she only leaned in. “Mr. Ridley?” she whispered, leaning in closer, so she might better see every inch of him and that face and that he knew she was with him. “I am here. I am with you.”
He opened his eyes, staring at her as if he didn’t know who she was.
Her lip trembled, praying he had not lost the one thing that made him who he was: his mind.
His amber eyes lowered to her hand and paused. “What…what…” His breaths were uneven and no more words seemed to emerge.
She didn’t need to hear the words to know what his mind was thinking. “’Tis nothing. I cut myself on some glass.” She hardly wanted to pile any further guilt he no doubt felt.
“You…ought to be…more…careful,” he rasped.
Despite barely seeing through tears, she nodded and smiled for him. For she knew a smile is what he needed now more than anything. “It was rather silly of me. I promise never to do it again.”
He lifted a hand to her face, grazing moist fingers across her cheek and dragging it down to her lips. “No…tears. I am…unworthy.”
Little did he know how worthy he really was. Shelton had spent the last hour doing nothing but praising his employer, Ridley, over the countless times over these many, many years Ridley had endangered himself for the sake of others.
It was a wonder he was stil
l breathing. “You are worthy of more than my tears. You are worthy of my devotion and my kisses and even my heart if you will it.” She leaned over him and gently pressed her lips to his forehead.
“No.” He rolled his head heavily away from her and stared blankly at the linen. “I am…undone. Without the…use of my…leg…I…”
She almost grabbed that head and shook him. “If you cannot see your worth, Mr. Ridley, how am I to respect you?” she choked out. “You appear to respect everyone more than yourself. Why? I told you about the effects of coca/limestone. Why did you…?”
He continued to blankly stare at the linen. “I…didn’t…want to be…in my…head…anymore.”
She prayed this was the laudanum overtaking his tongue. For this would not see him through what lay ahead: surviving. She seated herself on the bed beside him and tucked herself as close to him as she could without ensuring she hurt him.
He snapped his gaze to hers, his chest heaving. “Leave. You have seen…how…vile…my intentions are…toward…you.”
She shook her head. “I saw nothing vile about how lonely you are. That moment of pleasure you gave to me and took for yourself against the burn of my cheeks, I will gladly give to you again. Especially given all that you have done for me. And even if you were to push me from this bed as you did last night, I would stubbornly crawl back into it, as I did last night. I would crawl back into it for a man who sought to save me – me – an Indian whom he did not know, from the world. I will forever honor that and you. Never feel shame for the desire you have for me. I am honored by it. For I hold an equal desire for you, Mr. Ridley. Surely, you know that.” She brokenly smiled and attempted to use her good hand to graze the hair from his forehead.
He pushed away her hand and closed his eyes. “I cannot…rest…with you…touching me.”
Swiping at the tears that refused to desist, she nodded. “I will let you rest. Sleep.” She dragged herself off the bed, wincing against her own pain, and trailed toward the door. Glancing back at him, a soft breath escaped her.
Just as she was about to leave, he rasped something.
She paused and turned back to him. Her fingers tightened against the frame of the door she held open at seeing him staring after her. Her heart squeezed. “Yes, Mr. Ridley? Was there something you wanted to say?”
His throat worked visibly. “Your…money…is…downstairs in the…study.”
Damn him to hell for thinking of money at a time like this. She almost sobbed, but for his sake, she remained calm. “I thank you. Was there anything else?”
He half-nodded. “I want you…to know…that…” He winced and seethed out several breaths through gritted teeth before evening his breaths again. “You…would have…been…the one had…I….been…a different…man.”
Tears blinded her. She swallowed, knowing full well what he meant. He was acknowledging their connection. The one she knew he had felt all along but one he had attempted to hide and bury due to him being what few men were: heroic. “When you are well again, Mr. Ridley, and I know you will be, for you are the strongest of men I have ever met, promise me you will not break the bond we have made. Fate has brought us together for a reason. We must respect that reason and allow for this to become what we both deserve: more. Promise me. For I wish to offer you that.”
He stared, his chest heaving.
She softened her voice. “I am not by any means insinuating anytime soon. I acknowledge that I am young. I acknowledge there is far more of life I need to see and live, but whilst I seek to live that life, I can and will be devoted to you and whatever bond we now share.”
A muscle flickered in his scraped and heavily bruised jaw.
“I will stay in London,” she offered. “With you. You need me and therefore I am staying.”
“No.” He glared. “I can’t…have you…destroying….yourself…in my name. Never.”
Why did he refuse to embrace the connection they made? Did he fear himself that much? “I can be as stubborn as you,” she pointed out. “I will tap the window until it cracks and if you still refuse to open that window despite my beak bleeding…” She held up her bandaged hand. “Then I swear unto you, Ridley, I will make you bleed in turn and I will make you crawl, too. For you cannot make us both suffer for the bond we have found in each other. That is wrong. You will walk again and I will help you.”
His nostrils flared. “I will…ensure you…do not…destroy…yourself.” His chest heaved.
She softened her voice, refusing to rile him. He needed this time to heal. “Rest, my dear, dear Mr. Ridley. Rest knowing I am but a bell’s pull away and will not leave your side.”
He said nothing.
She lingered, then edged out and closed the door.
Pressing her cheek against the coolness of the door, to keep her body and mind from swaying, she whispered through the haze of laudanum, “The gods introduced us for a reason. May that reason guide us to something far greater than either of us could have ever imagined.”
She remained at his door, cheek pressed to it for a very, very long time, wishing and willing him to heal. If twenty minutes had passed in a blink, she would have believed it.
Veering away from the door, she paused at realizing two men, Finkle and a round-faced man she knew quite well were standing at the top of the landing of the stairwell, lingering.
It was Peter.
Though she would have normally thrown herself into the arms of the only father she had ever loved, knowing of his betrayal, she sobbed and quickly turned and jerked open the door to Ridley’s room, determined to stay with the one who needed her more: Ridley.
She closed the door behind herself and trailed over to Ridley and paused.
An emptied bottle of laudanum lay in his unfurled large hand, his lips parted and his gaze blank.
The screams and screams that tore from her lips were no different than tearing off every finger, every toe, every hair, every piece of skin from her body.
Chapter 12
10 minutes earlier
In a delirium he couldn’t control, and knowing he had to save her from himself and the waste of a life he now and would forever be, Ridley dragged over the writing box that had been set beside him and crookedly and unevenly wrote Jemdanee a letter.
Forgive me for saving us both from a life of pain.
Ridley
With quaking hands, he nudged that bottle of salvation toward himself and gripped the glass. He uncorked it and quickly drank the entire bottle of stinging liquid of laudanum refusing to live with the devil who resided in his head.
The one who would no longer be able to walk.
The one who wanted her despite the voice of justice that reminded him she was only a child.
The one who wanted to fill her small womb with his seed until he could see it drip.
The one who would have never stopped taking what he wanted from her until their souls ripped.
The one who wanted to make her into what no woman ever should be: a bondwoman.
Ink smeared the page and the world blurred as he eventually stopped responding even when someone screamed and screamed and tried to shake him.
He had purposefully drank every last drop to ensure it ended before it started.
Ridley could hear shouts from the servants and men, but it sounded so far away, he was convinced he was already buried underground in a casket where he belonged. Dead.
Unfortunately…he…came…back.
Why was he back?
Thud, thud, thud.
Strapped to a bed to limit his movements as his body healed, he only ever saw a shadowed face when food was spooned into his mouth, when he was being shaved or when he required assistance with the chamber pot.
Thud, thud, thud.
He was in his own home only it didn’t feel like a home anymore.
It felt like a prison.
Thud, thud, thud.
The flap of wings circling over him and the curling of feathers against his neck might
have been Chaucer, but it might have been death.
Thud, thud, thud.
Most of the time he stared up at the ceiling through the swimming effects of his own pain that blurred reality. He felt as if his father’s own butchered body still lay two walls down, whispering him to come. He was dying.
Thud, thud, thud.
Despite fighting, he came back again and again edging in and out of reality until…
Bam!
A gentleman dressed in a linen cravat and green morning coat leaned over the side of the bed, smelling of castor oil. His bushy hair was combed back with tonic, his mustache waxed at its ends. Dark eyes momentarily held his. “Mr. Ridley. It’s good to see you are finally aware and fully conscious. Do you know who I am? Do you remember?”
Ridley blinked, trying to focus.
His head.
His body.
Fuck. What did he do?
“My name is Dr. Watkins.”
Jemdanee. He had abandoned her. He had abandoned her out of fear of what he’d do. Fuck.
“Your arm, if you please.” Dr. Watkins leaned in closer. “Are you able to move it?”
Ridley wordlessly held out his arm while lying in bed.
“Few things in life astound me, but you, sir, should be dead.” Pressing fingers against Ridley’s wrist, Dr. Watkins leaned over and placed a small cone-like instrument against Ridley’s bared chest.
It was cold. Much like he felt knowing he was being tended to by a man who had treated his Jemdanee like an animal in need of breeding.
She’ll never forgive you if you unleash who you really are.
After leaning in close to listen to the beat of his heart, Dr. Watkins leaned back and sighed. “Despite what could have been a lethal intake of laudanum that was supposed to help you heal through the broken bone you suffered, your heart appears to be beating at a normal pace again. I had used a tube to empty the contents of your stomach shortly after it happened, which helped.
“As for the rest of you…you had endured severe multiple seizures over the course of several weeks. Some lasting as long as twenty minutes. Your leg is healing incredibly well and no gangrene has set in against the binding. Given the amount of damage you sustained to the muscle surrounding the bone, however, you’ll never walk again.”
Mr. Ridley: A Whipping Society Novel Page 23
