by Jo Goodman
Frowning, Sherry regarded the wound. “Can you say there will be no unfavorable consequences as a result of combining both treatments?”
“Nothing is certain.”
Sherry considered this. “Then don’t bleed her. Surely that was done to great effect by the nature of her injury. As to the matter of the poultice, I will leave that up to you.”
“I am gratified to hear it,” Harris said wryly.
“Do you think I overstep, Harris?”
“Not at all, my lord.”
Sherry knew it was a lie. The physician had not established his successful and lucrative practice without learning how to placate his patients, most of whom were members of the ton. “I am paying you for the best application of your knowledge and judgment,” Sherry told him. “Not for you to accede to mine. What is your opinion about bleeding her?”
“It is necessary for the removal of the impurities that remain in her blood; however, delaying the procedure until she is abed in your residence is the proper course of action here. In that environment there is less risk that infection of the blood will fix itself a second time.”
“Very well.” Sherry realized he was still holding her wrists. He let her go while Harris redressed the wound. “I have given some thought as to how we will get her out of here. Since we cannot negotiate her descent on those stairs with a litter, I suggest we make a sling and lower her out a window.”
Harris’s glance went from his patient to the window and then to Sheridan. “Her weight will not present much problem. You can rig such a thing securely?”
“I have spoken to Mr. Rutland about it. He assures me he learned more than stitchery in His Majesty’s service. He knows a thing or two about knots and rigging. He sent the boys out to get the proper ropes.”
“Steal them, you mean.”
“Very likely.”
Harris withheld comment and concentrated on the care of his patient. Sherry fell silent, watching.
Unnoticed by either of them, the young woman’s eyelashes fluttered once, twice, then quieted again. She offered no opinion of the plan.
The boys returned late in the day with something more than the ropes they were sent out to find. Their patient surveillance of the harbor had been rewarded with an opportunity to board the Gallant unnoticed. From the fo’c’sle they carried off ropes, a hammock, and one luckless sailor’s extra pair of wool socks. Without fanfare they laid their booty at Sheridan’s feet. He hardly knew whether to praise or punish them, and since they seemed to expect neither, he simply nodded and set about preparing the rigging.
They waited until night fell before they tested the contraption. It was decided that Midge and Dash together weighed only a little more than their teacher. If the hammock held them and could be lowered safely to the ground, then it was agreed it would work for her. Sherry was struck by the fact that neither of the boys showed fear as they situated themselves in the hammock. Their heads lay at opposite ends, and they wriggled a bit when their arms and legs tangled, but they were considerably less lively than a catch of fish when Rutland and Sherry lifted the hammock to the window and began lowering it by means of the stolen rope.
Pinch was waiting for them on the ground with Sheridan’s footman nearby. He had given the all clear signal to begin as soon as the alley was deserted while the footman kept a watchful eye out for drunks, whores, and stragglers. When Midge and Dash were safely on the ground, Pinch helped them out and gave the contraption a hard tug, then they all watched while it was quickly hauled back inside.
“I’d like it better, Kearns,” Sherry said to his valet, “if you helped Rutland lower her, and I stood below. I grow concerned that Dunnet will be heavy handed trying to carry her to the hack alone. She is likely to suffer less if we sling her between us to transport.”
It occurred to Kearns that his lordship would be better satisfied if he could find a way to be on both ends at the same time. The valet had the good sense not to point this out. “As you wish,” he said.
The boys and the footman returned then, were apprised of this change in the arrangement, and set off on the new assignment of procuring a hack and loading it with everything that had been carried in the previous day. Blue Rutland voiced some regrets when the beds were stripped of their linens and carted off, but Sherry did not choose to make a gift of them. The proprietor was being well compensated for his part in this night’s work and double that to hold his tongue regarding it.
Sherry was not so foolish as to believe the money alone would ever buy Rutland’s silence; he trusted it was the man’s odd affection for Miss Rose that would encourage him to remain quiet.
The children had to be persuaded that their attendance upon the hack and its nervous driver was more important than standing under the hammock. The moderate level of cleanliness that had been achieved this morning under Kearns’s watchful eye and Dunnet’s fierce scrubbing was no longer in evidence, and they set their dirty faces stubbornly when Sherry pointed them toward the hack. When they slunk off grumbling to themselves, it was borne home again to Sheridan that they were proving infinitely more adept at taking things than taking orders.
Upon arrival at his residence, he would be fortunate indeed if his most trusted retainers did not mutiny.
When everything—and everyone—was judged to be in readiness, the transport began. The boys directed the hack driver into the alley, and under cover of darkness Kearns and Rutland slowly lowered the hammock down the side of the building. They all considered the largest danger to the operation the patient herself. If she awoke in the middle of the transport it was easy to conceive of her crying out and calling attention to them or, even worse, doing herself more injury.
Their fears did not come to pass. She was in every way as cooperative as Midge and Dash had been during the testing of the system, though this was purely the result of her being insensible of it.
Sherry and Dunnet made short work of the knots securing the hammock. While the ropes were being hauled back into the upstairs room, they carried the sling to the hack. It was not so easy to get it inside without jostling their cargo, and they were aware of every utterance of pain, no matter how small its whisper.
The hack’s bench was nowhere near long enough to allow her to fully recline. Sherry set himself in one corner and supported her as best he could. When Kearns joined him, he took the opposite bench while the footman climbed up beside the driver and gave the address.
Rutland ventured out long enough to wish them well. “Ye’ll be sending her back to me now, once she’s right and tight, I mean. She’s got a way about her that the customers like. Fair popular, she is.”
Sherry wondered if it was a question being put to him or a statement of the proprietor’s expectation. His response was noncommittal. “Let us see how she fares,” he said.
“The lads, too.” Blue Rutland pointed to the roof where the children were riding with the luggage. “They’ve yet to prove their full worth, but there’s promise there.”
“The same has occurred to me,” Sherry said. He thanked Rutland for his help and directed Kearns to pay the man what was due him; with that transaction completed, the door was closed and the driver took his cue to depart.
Their arrival in the mews behind Sheridan’s Bentley Square address was accomplished in relative quiet. From time to time a stray cat found itself underfoot as the hack was unloaded, but that howling was nothing that excited interest from the adjoining houses.
Sherry’s servants received his valet’s announcement that there would be additions to the household with equanimity. It said something about the lateness of the hour that there was not even mild rumblings among them. None of them had been awake. To a person they had been roused from their beds to help with the unpacking and make the rooms ready.
Mrs. Ponsonby made her assessment of the patient and suggested quartering her in the same attic room shared by the cook’s twin helpers. “They’re decent enough girls,” she told Lord Sheridan, “and they won’t let her
stray.”
Sherry rubbed the back of his stiff neck and sought a measure of patience. “You will put her in my sister’s former bedchamber,” he said. “When her health is improved we will discuss moving her. As to the boys, what arrangements can be made for them?”
The housekeeper wanted to suggest that the tower had room enough, but she held her tongue. “There’s sufficient space in the cupboard under the stairwell.”
“Large enough for three?” He remembered hiding from his tutor in that cupboard. It was perfectly suited for the purpose to which he put it, but he did not think that it would accommodate three.
“They’ll be fine,” Ponsonby insisted.
Sherry agreed because he knew the boys would not remain there all night. “Very well. See to it.” He turned and tiredly mounted the main stairs to his own room.
Kearns was waiting for him with fresh water for performing his nighttime ablutions and clean bedclothes. Sherry was grateful to be able to remove the assaultive odors that clung to his person, though he suspected the memory of them would linger in his nostrils for days. Holborn was not so easily shed as his clothes.
He desired nothing so much as to lift the covers that had been invitingly pulled back and crawl under them but permitted himself only a brief glance of longing. He asked for his robe instead and slipped into it when Kearns held it out. “Find your own bed,” he told his valet. “I am for mine as soon as I see that our guest has been made comfortable.”
“If your lordship doesn’t mind, I’ll tidy first.”
Sherry offered a slight smile. “As you wish.” He left the room and went down the hall and across it to the room his sister occupied before her marriage. He supposed Cybelline might have something to say about the use he was making of her old bedchamber, but she had a kind heart and would acknowledge that she really no longer had any say in the matter. Her concern, should she ever be in a position to raise it, would be that he was not fully in command of his faculties. She would look at the pathetic creature lying on the bed and demand that he account for his thinking on bringing the thing about. “A bit drafty in the upperworks, aren’t you?” she’d say.
All things considered, he’d have to concur.
He waved the maid and Mrs. Ponsonby away from the bed while he leaned over it. She looked smaller and even more fragile against the expansive background of the crisp white sheet and lacy pillow shams.
“What is it?” he asked when the housekeeper cleared her throat behind him.
“I’d like to have one of the girls wash her hair on the morrow. The paste that’s been mucked over it is staining the good linens.”
“Dr. Harris will be here. You can put your question to him. I do not know what he will think about her having a wet head. He wants to bleed her.”
Ponsonby wondered that the woman had any to give, but this observation was not spoken aloud. “Will there be anything else?”
“No. You can go.”
The housekeeper hesitated, waiting for Sheridan to step away from the bed also. When he didn’t, she realized it was not his intention to leave so quickly. She nudged the maid at her side and indicated they should leave. The maid would have liked to have caught her eye, but Ponsonby would not disrespect the viscount by entertaining speculation with an underling. She would have a word with Kearns later and see if the man would tell her what was toward.
When he was alone, Sherry drew the rocker abreast of the bed and sat. She appeared to be all of a piece to him but knew himself reluctant to leave her alone. He supposed he could have had the maid remain with her, but then the children would not have been able to take up their vigil. The maid was certain to disturb everyone’s slumber if they tried.
For a time he was content to observe her sleep; then at last he rose from the chair and went to find the comfort of his own bed and dreamless repose.
Sherry resisted the idea of waking. He shook off the hand on his shoulder and turned over, burying his face in his pillow. There was more pounding, this time at the center of his back. He cursed his valet roundly and threatened to let him go without a character.
“God’s truth,” Sherry protested. “It is not yet daybreak.”
“She must ’ave the doctor,” he said. “She must ’ave the doctor. She must ’ave the—”
Sherry groaned loudly. The chanting was making his head pound. “Have off, Kearns. I can’t—” He stopped, understanding at last the meaning of the words. He struggled to rise under the heavy weight on his back.
Midge pitched to the floor as Sheridan threw him off. He scrambled to his feet without any complaint for the bump to his head. “Come, guvnor.” He grasped Sherry’s hand and tugged. “This way. She must ’ave the doctor.”
Sherry stood, shook off the dregs of sleep like a sheepdog shakes off the wet, and allowed Midge to lead him from his bedchamber. Not surprisingly, Dash and Pinch were hovering beside her bed.
“It’s the fever,” Pinch said. He held up a candle so Sherry could see for himself that her condition had worsened. “She’s shakin’ wi’ it, sir.”
So were the bed curtains. Sherry cautioned Pinch to hold the candle steady and have a care not to drip wax on her. He pulled back the covers and laid his hand lightly over the bandaged wound. He could feel the heat of the fever through her nightshift. Calculating how long it would take to rouse Harris and bring him to the house, Sherry realized they had no time for indecision. His tone was brisk, decisive, and brooked no argument.
“Midge, do you know where the footmen sleep?”
“Aye, m’lord.”
“Good. Wake Dunnet and say I have need of him. If he tries to clobber you, have at him the way you did me.” He turned to Dash as Midge ran off. “Do you remember the location of the library?” Dash assured him that he did. “Bring a decanter of spirits here.” To Pinch he said, “There should be a basin and pitcher of water in the dressing room.” He did not have to say any more.
Sherry turned back to his patient. He raised her gown the least amount that was necessary to permit him to reveal the bandage. Slipping two fingers under the strip of cloth, he began to gingerly peel it back. Harris had applied a poultice to the wound during his afternoon visit. He informed Sherry that its purpose was to draw the poison and keep out the foul air. Sherry’s observation was that its effect was exactly the opposite. He removed the poultice and smelled the malodorous vapors escaping.
Pinch wrinkled his nose as he presented the water-filled basin and cloths to Sheridan. He accepted the poultice in exchange and dropped it into the chamber pot in the dressing room. When he returned to the bedside, Sheridan was wiping seepage from the wound. “It’s bad, isn’t it? We should ’ave left ’er where she was. Leastways it was wot she was used to. That counts for something.”
Sherry was not sure that Pinch wasn’t right. To distract them both, he asked, “How long have you known her?”
Pinch shrugged. “Most o’ me life it seems. ’Ard for me to remember a time when she wasn’t at the Blue Ruin.”
“I see.”
“If ye’ll pardon me for speaking plainly,” Pinch said, then went on without any allowance from Sherry that he should do so, “it’s been my experience that most people don’t see at all when they say that.”
“And you have a great deal of experience.”
“More than yer lordship, I’d wager.”
It would be an interesting wager, Sherry decided. “How did you become her pupil?”
“Oh, there’s nuthin’ ’ard to understand abou’ it. She coaxes us in with sweet words and a proper warm meal, and then she gets us to do things for ’er. Can’t refuse, really. She ’as a sweet voice, though don’t expect ye know that about ’er, and she just gives ye the urge to want to please ’er. Even Blue’ll do things for ’er, and most folks in Holborn think ’e’s a proper villain. ’E give ’er a room of ’er own to use.”
Sherry saw the blood around her wound was flowing clear again. He staunched it with a clean cloth. “Then she lives the
re.”
“No. ’E give ’er a room to use, not to live in. Didn’t ye ’ear me say ’e’s a proper villain? Lets out ’is rooms, but ’e gives ’er one when there’s one gone beggin’.”
“I see,” Sherry said quite deliberately.
Pinch frowned, uncertain how to take Sheridan’s comment. He thought he saw one corner of his lordship’s severe mouth lift ever so slightly, but he couldn’t be sure. He was saved from making any reply with the arrival of Dash.
Sherry saw the decanter and realized Dash had managed to seize his only bottle of French brandy. Wouldn’t Blue Rutland love to see him weep over it. “Bring it here, lad. You’ve good taste in drink.”
“Smelled them all,” Dash said proudly. “This is what Blue gave Dr. ’Arris.”
Sherry almost groaned aloud. So it wasn’t happenstance at all; the urchin had a nose for the bouquet. “Serves me right for having the stuff,” Sherry said under his breath. He passed the basin to Pinch and took the decanter from Dash. He was tempted to take a swallow for himself but resisted. He soaked the last clean cloth he had with a generous pour of brandy and pressed it against the wound.
She bucked, almost dislodging him from the bed. Midge arrived in that moment, Dunnet on his heels. The footman saw the problem and went to stop her from thrashing his master.
Sherry waved him aside. “Don’t worry about me. I want you to wake Dr. Harris and ask him for the vial of medicine he poured into her wound this afternoon. If he doesn’t have any more, make him give you the name of the apothecary. Bring that vial here. Also, a tincture of laudanum would not be amiss.”
Dunnet started to go, then paused. “You don’t want me to bring the doctor himself?”
Sherry shrugged. “If he wants to come, I won’t turn him out. Go on. Go. Pinch, come closer. Take her hand. Perhaps it will calm her.” Pinch did as he was told while Sherry removed himself from the bed. He padded into the dressing room with the basin, emptied it, and poured fresh water from the pitcher. He searched the cupboard and found more cloths. When he returned to the bed, Pinch was no longer the only one at her side. Dash had her other hand in his, and Midge was sitting at her feet.
