by Rose Pearson
“There was also a young lady,” Lady Markham continued, after a few moments of silence. “A particular young lady, you understand.”
Deborah’s brows lifted.
“It was most unusual for my brother to show a specific interest in one young lady,” Lady Markham stated, a slight flush to her cheeks. “However, Lady Cavendish – Lady Caroline Cavendish – was quite intent on capturing my brother’s intentions and securing them entirely for herself.”
“I see,” Deborah murmured, looking at Lady Markham steadily. “And yet, despite this, he decided to go to war?”
Lady Markham nodded. “Despite his flirtations, his love of society and the like, my brother felt the urge to fight for his country. He had to give up all that he loved, all that he cared for, to do what he felt was right.”
Deborah considered this for a few minutes, her eyes drifting away from Lady Markham and finding herself a little surprised by what she had heard. Lord Abernathy was something of a conundrum, it seemed. On one hand, he had been determined to fight for King and country, and on the other, appeared to be nothing more than a rascal and a rogue, who had drunk in all that society had offered him.
“She has not come to visit him,” Lady Markham finished, drawing Deborah’s attention again. “Nor has there been any particular correspondence. My brother would never admit such a thing but I fear that her silence and her lack of interest in him has only added to his misery.”
“I can well understand that,” Deborah answered, softly. “Might I ask if you have considered writing to her to request her presence?” She tipped her head to the left and regarded Lady Markham closely. “Does the lady know of Lord Abernathy’s return and his present state?”
Lady Markham hesitated and looked away. “I have written once already,” she admitted. “I have told her of his return and of his injuries. There has been no response.”
“Mayhap she is waiting for a direct invitation,” Deborah suggested, wondering if Lady Cavendish might be the answer to alleviating some of Lord Abernathy’s troubles. “In the meantime, I shall do my best to tend to Lord Abernathy’s wounds and bring him out of that room.”
“Oh, I thank you,” Lady Markham breathed, turning back to look at Deborah with gratitude pouring into her expression. “Finally, I shall no longer be alone.”
Deborah smiled, thinking that Lady Markham might, in fact, become something of a friend. “I must tell you, Lady Markham, that I do not think that I shall have any immediate success with Lord Abernathy but one thing is quite certain.” Her smile broadened and a sharp gleam came into her eye. “I have a great deal of determination and I fully intend to put it to good use.”
Lady Markham laughed softly, looking a good deal better than before. “Then my brother shall find himself quite at a loss as to what to do with you, Deborah,” she replied, with a twinkling smile. “I can hardly wait to see it.”
Chapter Five
“Oh, Miss Harland, are you quite sure you should be attempting such a thing again?”
Deborah smiled at Mrs. Denton, who was wringing her hands as Deborah picked up the tray. It held fresh bandages, a bowl with a poultice Deborah had made, hot water and a few other accoutrements.
“After what Lord Abernathy did to you the last time you entered his room, Deborah, I do not think that this is wise,” Mrs. Denton persisted, her face drawn and eyes wide – but Deborah was not about to be put off from her task.
“I shall be quite all right,” she reassured the housekeeper, keeping her smile bright. “Now, at least, I know what to expect from Lord Abernathy!”
Mrs. Denton did not smile.
“And,” Deborah persisted, “he has bathed and changed his clothes, has he not? That must be an encouraging sign.”
“He has retreated back into his room, however,” Mrs. Denton replied, as Deborah walked towards the door. “The drapes will be pulled and the fire lit.”
Deborah forced down the feeling of concern and tinge of worry as she looked back at the housekeeper. “Then I shall simply do as I did before,” she replied, firmly. “His Grace will have to realize that I am not about to turn away from my task simply because of his bad temper. And besides, Lady Markham needs me to continue.”
At this, Mrs. Denton’s expression softened, her worry draining away. It was evident that she too felt the compassion and sympathy Deborah did when it came to Lord Abernathy’s sister.
“Pray I am successful,” Deborah murmured, with a small smile. “And pray that Lord Abernathy will not have anything nearby to throw in my direction once I walk into the room!”
She managed a wry laugh alongside this remark and then moved away, walking towards the stairs. As she climbed them, Deborah pushed aside her growing fear, wincing slightly at the memory of how Lord Abernathy’s aim had been rather good the last time she had dared enter his room.
She would have to show the same bravery now - the bravery that had made her pull back the drapes and fling open the windows, in order to show Lord Abernathy that he could not simply dwell in darkness whilst his wounds burned with pain. Here she was now attempting to further what she had done before by insisting that Lord Abernathy allow her to not only see but dress his wounds, in the hope that she might aid his recovery.
He wants to die.
The words Lady Markham had cried out aloud rang around Deborah’s mind as she walked to Lord Abernathy’s door. If he did not care about his health, if he did not care about his healing and recovery, then she might have a particularly difficult time when it came to attempting to help him. Setting her fears aside, Deborah lifted her chin and rapped loudly on the door, balancing the tray on one hand. Then, without even waiting for him to answer her, she turned the handle and pushed the door open wide before marching into the room.
The room was as dark as before and Deborah stumbled slightly as she waited for her eyes to readjust to the gloom.
“I did not say you could enter.”
Deborah, finally able to make out a small table nearby, set down the tray quickly and, with a deep breath, marched to the windows. Throwing back the drapes, she did as she had done before, allowing the fresh air into the room. Once she had opened three, she turned around to see Lord Abernathy reaching for a small glass vase with three red roses that had been placed near him – perhaps in an attempt to bring him out of his depression.
“I hardly think that such a thing will chase me from your rooms, Lord Abernathy,” she said, a little tartly. “And besides, once you throw that, there is nothing else for you to aim at my head.” She arched one eyebrow, silently taking in the ragged, dirty bandages that were around his head and hand. He needed her care desperately although she doubted he would ever admit to such a thing.
“I did not ask you to come here,” he grated, angrily. “And yet you persist by attending me.”
Deborah nodded but turned to continue opening the drapes, although she did not fling open any more windows. “I will do as I have been instructed,” she said, firmly. “Your sister is deeply concerned for you and I am glad to have been able to come to her aid.” The last of the drapes opened and pulled back, Deborah walked back to pick up her tray. “Besides which,” she finished, walking back to face Lord Abernathy, “you need my help.”
Lord Abernathy laughed harshly, although the sound seemed to cause him some pain. “I hardly think so.”
“I think you are aware that you require aid but you do not wish to admit it,” Deborah replied, steadily. “Those bandages are dirty and worn. Your wounds could be infected, Lord Abernathy, which will only bring you more suffering. Come now, will you not let me look at them? I have plenty of experience, as I have said. I can help you heal.”
Deborah felt her heart quicken as Lord Abernathy looked up at her with his one good eye. His mouth was set in a long, thin line, his jaw working hard. Silently, Deborah prayed that God would help Lord Abernathy to set aside his anger, his dark fury, and allow her to help him. She could see that he needed her but whether or not he would ag
ree to such a thing himself, she could not quite say.
Minutes moved by slowly. Deborah held her stance and did not allow her gaze to flicker away from Lord Abernathy. If he needed to see that she was quite determined, then that was precisely what she would do.
Eventually, Lord Abernathy grunted, dropped her gaze and turned his head away. “You say you have experience,” he muttered, brokenly. “I do not think that you have been prepared for such a horror as this.”
Deborah moved forward quickly, hearing the acceptance in his voice. Setting the tray down on the table in front of Lord Abernathy, she saw her hands trembling slightly as she raised them to his face, not quite certain where to start. Being so close to him was making her heart pound furiously, as though she were afraid he might grab her and throw her bodily from the room. Lord Abernathy was still looking away from her as she found one end of the bandage and began to unwrap it slowly. She saw him wince and felt her heart softening for him, her fear at being so close beginning to fade. This man, despite his high title, was the same as any other of her patients. He was in just as much pain, in just as much torment, as those that she had helped before. With infinite gentleness, she continued to unwind the dirty bandages from his face, revealing the red, angry skin beneath.
Her heart leapt into her throat when the full extent of his injury was revealed. His skin was raw and broken, his eye clouded and no longer vibrant. She had little doubt that he would not be able to see from that eye again, or, at the most, it would be as though shadows moved about in front of him. Much to her relief, there appeared to be no sign of infection.
“I am quite monstrous, am I not?”
Deborah rose and picked up the dirty bandages, thinking it best to allow the fresh air to touch the skin for a moment. “I do not think so,” she said, quietly, throwing them into the fire and watching them burn. “But you are badly injured, Your Grace.”
The Duke muttered something and looked away as she returned to him.
“Might I see your hand?”
Lord Abernathy kept his gaze turned away. “I am missing two fingers,” he said, harshly, as though trying to cover his emotions with anger. “The last two.”
She nodded and began to unwrap the bandages again, hearing his hiss of pain as she did so. Her stomach twisted as she took in the black flesh, the redness just beneath. The Duke had been badly injured and must be in a good deal of pain.
“You will need these dressed every day,” she said, softly, getting up to throw the bandages in the fire before coming back to take her seat beside him. “Although there is no infection.”
Lord Abernathy muttered something under his breath and turned his head away as though he could not bear the sight of his own broken flesh. Carefully, Deborah began to dress his hand, pressing the poultice on any raw flesh that she saw. The hand would heal, yes, but it would take some time. Lord Abernathy had not helped his wounds by refusing to allow anyone in to take care of him, although at least no infection had taken hold in spite of his lack of care.
“You have seen such injuries before, I think.”
“Yes, Lord Abernathy, I have,” she stated quietly, picking up his hand with her own two and setting his back in his lap. She looked up at his injured face and felt herself grow sorrowful for his pain. “And ones that were much worse.” Picking up the cloth from the tray, she dampened it and then began to gently press it against the bloodstains that had almost etched themselves into his face. Lord Abernathy winced but did not pull back as she had expected.
“Where did you come from?” he asked, as she continued with her ministrations. “My sister did not say she was sending for someone and you speak very well for a commoner.”
She continued with her work carefully, not allowing herself to bristle at his remark and wondering what his reaction would be to her response. “From the abbey, Your Grace. One of the nuns there was a lady from high society. She taught me everything I know, including how one should speak.”
“The abbey?” A cold, abrasive laugh echoed around the room, setting Deborah’s teeth on edge. Was there mockery in his tone? “You are a nun, then.” He laughed again, the sound echoing away into the corners of the room. “You do not look like a nun.”
“I am yet to take my orders, Your Grace,” she stated, calmly, using as gentle a tone as she could against his angry words. “As I have already stated, I have helped many men such as you. They have come to the abbey and we have cared for them.”
Lord Abernathy snorted in disgust but Deborah persisted.
“I have seen men with grievous injuries,” she persisted. “I have worked with the other nuns to care for them, to help them through what is a torturous period and many have recovered.” A sad smile caught her lips as she began to press the poultice against the open wounds, seeing Lord Abernathy grit his teeth and close his eyes tightly against the pain. “Some have gone to be with their God, however, but regardless, I was glad to be by their side and aid them in whatever way I could.”
“God has abandoned me.”
Surprised by the deep despondency of his words, Deborah paused for a moment and looked into Lord Abernathy’s face, seeing his good eye settle upon her. His mockery at her being from the abbey did not stem from a dislike of her nor a disbelief that she could be a nun but rather came from a feeling that the Almighty had turned aside from him.
“You will recover from this, Your Grace,” she promised, softly. “You have wounds that can heal.”
“I was doing my duty,” Lord Abernathy replied, harshly, as she picked up the bandages to begin to dress his wound. “I went to fight. Many a man of my status and situation would not have done so but I chose to do what I felt was right – and look at what I gained for my troubles!” His lip curled as she wrapped the bandages carefully. “I have been punished for doing right. God has left me utterly.”
Deborah did not say anything for some minutes, finishing her bandaging of his face before leaning back and dropping her hands to her lap. She wanted to state that if Lord Abernathy had chosen to go to war, then the chance of him being injured had always been present and that he could not, therefore, blame God for what had occurred – but wisdom told her to remain silent.
“There is nothing for me in this life,” Lord Abernathy continued, after a few moments of silence. “There is nothing good left for me.”
Deborah shook her head, her heart still filled with compassion for him. “Your Grace, you have a good many things to be thankful for,” she replied, thinking of the men who had been at the abbey who had not had a home to go to, nor family waiting for their return. “You have a title. You have duties and responsibilities. You have a sister who is desperate for you to recover, a family that wants to see you restored. You have staff willing to care for you if only you would let them.”
“That means nothing to me!”
His words were harsh and angry and Deborah felt herself flare with a sudden feeling of righteous anger.
“I have treated men who have had nothing to recover for,” she stated, getting up suddenly and picking up the tray. “Their wounds have healed and they have left the abbey for the workhouse. Those are the men who have nothing, Your Grace, and yet they went to the workhouse grateful that they still lived.” She looked back at him, finding his lack of consideration and gratitude for his sister deeply upsetting. “You have much more than they, Lord Abernathy.”
The Duke shook his head, his one good eye resting on her and filling with a deep, growing frustration. “I have nothing,” he grated, angrily. “Why did you come here? Why did you try to help me? You would have been better back at the abbey, helping those who would actually be grateful for your nursing, Miss Harland!”
She closed her eyes, drew a breath and turned on her heel. Her own anger and frustration were growing steadily but she did not allow them to take hold. It would do no good to speak to him sharply, given the state of mind he was clearly in.
“I shall be back again tomorrow, Lord Abernathy,” she stated, firmly, pu
lling the door open with one hand. “Your wounds will need to be redressed and, as I have made quite clear to you already, I have no intention of leaving without fulfilling my duties.”
Lord Abernathy’s lip curled and, to her surprise, he rose from his seat. “Leave this house, Miss Harland!” he shouted, his words reverberating around the room. “You are not wanted here. I do not want nor need your help.”
“That, Lord Abernathy, is where you are mistaken,” Deborah replied, not backing away from his formidable presence. “You have great need. It is only you that cannot see it.”
So saying, she walked out of the door and allowed it to swing closed behind her, blocking out Lord Abernathy’s cry of frustration. Closing her eyes tightly, she leaned against the wall for a moment or two, trying to regain some strength. Lord Abernathy had changed in only a few moments, first accepting her help – albeit begrudgingly – and then shouting at her to leave him alone for good. Her legs trembled but she lifted her chin, opening her eyes and dragging in air. At least Lord Abernathy had allowed her to change his bandages and dress his wounds. That was something she could tell Lady Markham whom, Deborah was sure, would be delighted to hear that her brother had allowed such a thing.
“You must take one day at a time, Deborah,” she reminded herself, her legs a little wobbly as she walked back towards the kitchens. “For each day has enough trouble of its own.”
Chapter Six
“My dear Deborah!”
Deborah smiled as Lady Markham grasped her hands, a small smile on her face. “You look well this morning, Lady Markham.”
Lady Markham frowned.
“Judith,” Deborah corrected herself, smiling broadly. “You look very well this morning, Judith.”
