by Darcy Burke
A scream of pure terror made his heart clench, and he never afterwards remembered the steps which took him the length of the hallway to Louisa’s suite.
The sight which greeted him as he flung Louisa’s door wide would stay with him forever; Ellen on her back on the floor, blood spreading in a wide pool from her arm, pinned to the floorboards by a gleaming silver knife. Louisa knelt atop her still form, her hands around Ellen’s throat.
Ellen’s face was blue.
Louisa looked up at him, her mouth opening, but what she would have said would have to remain unknown. Thomas had never in his life struck a woman, but he didn’t think twice before grabbing Louisa by the shoulders and throwing her bodily across the room.
Falling to his knees beside Ellen’s still body, Thomas cried out her name in utter despair.
“Thomas,” Clarice said from the doorway, and then as she took in the scene, “Oh, dear God in Heaven.”
“It is all her fault!” Louisa cried from across the room, where she had fallen when Thomas flung her off Ellen. “She would not choose!”
“What have you done?” Clarice cried, utterly distraught. “Oh, Louisa, what have you done?”
“My lord?”
Thomas glanced up to find his valet Kenneth at the head of a crowd of servants, all with shocked expressions on their faces.
“Send for a doctor,” he ordered, “and take her,” he pointed a shaking finger at Louisa, “and lock her up somewhere until I can find a magistrate.”
Clarice set up a terrible wail, but Thomas had no time for her. The danger of Louisa dealt with, he turned his attention back to Ellen. She was terribly still, but the blue colour was fading slightly from her face, giving him hope that she might yet live. Leaning down close to her face, he turned his head to the side, hoping to feel her breath upon his cheek.
There; the faintest whisper of air! “She lives,” he gasped in relief.
“Miss Ellen!” Susan shrieked as she pushed her way through the crowd of shocked, whispering servants and fell to her knees on the other side of Ellen’s body. “Oh, Miss Ellen! Whatever happened?”
Thomas couldn’t answer her, only shaking his head as Kenneth manhandled a strangely silent Louisa from the room with the aid of a burly footman. He could hear Mr Henry issuing orders, sending several footmen running to find a doctor as fast as possible, but everything seemed very far away as he knelt beside Ellen’s still form, placing his hand gently against her pale cheek.
“M’lord,” he looked up as Susan spoke loudly. The maid was pale, but her hands were steady as she reached out to him imploringly. “M’lord… if we wait until the doctor gets here, it might be too late.”
Thomas frowned, not sure what she meant, at least until she pointed to the steadily spreading pool of blood beneath Ellen’s arm.
“We have to stop the bleeding, m’lord, or she might bleed to death before they find a doctor.” Reaching behind her to untie the strings of her apron, Susan nodded at him. “I can bandage her arm with this, for now, if you will pull out the knife.”
Thomas felt queasy at the mere idea, but Susan was quite right, and at least Ellen seemed to be unconscious, so hopefully she would feel no pain. Taking a deep breath, he grasped the hilt of the knife, trying not to think about the force with which Louisa must have stabbed Ellen, to have the knife go right through her arm and jam in the floor.
Not wanting to wiggle the knife about and maybe do more damage, he gave it a single, sharp yank with all his might. The knife popped free and he threw it aside, unable to bear touching it for a moment longer than necessary.
“Hold this,” Susan said, handing him one of the apron strings. Grateful that she seemed to know what to do, Thomas obeyed, watching as she wrapped the folded cloth tightly around Ellen’s arm, covering both cuts. Tying the strings off once she had finished, she sat back on her heels and bit her lip nervously. “Perhaps you should move her to the bed, m’lord?”
“Not in here.” Thomas didn’t want Ellen to wake up in Louisa’s room. “Her own room.” A little colour was returning to Ellen’s pale cheeks, though he could see purpling bruises springing up on her throat. Gently, he gathered her in his arms, giving Susan a grateful smile when she carefully lifted Ellen’s injured arm and placed her hand across her stomach. The maid hurried ahead of him, urging other shocked servants out of their way and holding doors open wide, pulling back the covers on Ellen’s bed as Thomas prepared to lay her down.
“Thank you,” Thomas said as Susan removed Ellen’s shoes. He should leave, he supposed, particularly as the housekeeper came bustling in then with several more maids, but he couldn’t bear to let Ellen out of his sight.
“Anything for Miss Bentley, m’lord. She’s been right kind to me.” Susan sniffled slightly, but Thomas did not comment on the tears rolling down her cheeks.
“She’ll be fine,” he said bracingly, as much to himself as Susan. “She’s strong. And we’ll take good care of her, won’t we?”
“The best, m’lord,” Susan said fervently. “The very best.”
Chapter 14
The doctor seemed to take forever to come. The housekeeper tried to shoo Thomas out, but he refused to leave Ellen’s side, afraid she might perish if for even a moment he took his eyes from the faint rise and fall of her chest. The white apron bandage wrapped tightly around her arm was slowly turning crimson with blood. How much had she already lost? How much could a person lose, and live? Would the doctor be able to close the wounds properly? Sitting beside Ellen on her bed, her hand clasped in his, Thomas bowed his head and prayed that Ellen would recover.
“The doctor is here, m’lord,” Mr Henry said from the doorway, and Thomas lifted his head to see a small, grey-haired man wearing a slightly threadbare suit and thick glasses.
“Doctor Smithee, at your service, m’lord.”
Thomas appreciated that the doctor didn’t waste time bowing and scraping, but came briskly forward, stopping at the bedside and eyeing him. “It’s probably best if you leave the room, m’lord. No doubt your staff can amply assist me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Thomas said firmly. “Miss Bentley is my ward, and my responsibility.” And the guilt was his too, he acknowledged privately; he would always blame himself for not pressing Clarice earlier, discovering Louisa’s predilection for violence. He’d trusted blindly and put Ellen in danger because of it.
Dr Smithee seemed to accept his pronouncement and moved around to the other side of the bed, displacing Susan who stood wringing her hands while the doctor examined Ellen’s neck, humming quietly under his breath. Someone had obviously informed him of the situation before showing him into the room, for which Thomas was grateful.
“Nasty,” Smithee said finally, “but the bruising is not so severe as to put her life at risk, I believe. Cool compresses of water and witch hazel will be beneficial.”
The housekeeper sent a maid scurrying from the room at once, and the doctor turned his attention to Ellen’s arm.
“Quick thinking, to bandage it so tightly,” he said approvingly. “Your handiwork, m’lord?”
“I cannot take credit; it was Miss Bentley’s maid, Susan, who suggested we stop the bleeding and used her apron as a bandage,” Thomas nodded towards Susan, who blushed and ducked her head.
“Good work, girl. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a career change? Good nurses with common sense like yours are hard to find.”
Susan looked quite startled, but shook her head emphatically. “I’m happy being a ladies’ maid, sir,” she said shyly. “I shouldn’t want to leave Miss Bentley, besides.”
“No doubt she will be glad of your service. Now, let’s have a look here. A narrow blade, hm?” The doctor peered closely at the wound on the upper side of Ellen’s arm as he uncovered it.
“It was a letter-opener, I believe,” Thomas said bleakly, thinking even as he spoke that Louisa must have secretly sharpened the blade, making sure she always had a lethal weapon on hand. Whatever
was he do with her? Perhaps he should ask the good doctor’s advice, after Ellen had been taken care of.
By the time Dr Smithee had finished putting several stitches in each side of Ellen’s arm, the other maid had returned with a basin of clean water mixed with witch hazel. The doctor took one of the clean cloths the maid proffered and soaked it in the water, squeezing it out before placing it carefully across the bruises on Ellen’s throat.
“Change the cloth every half hour,” the doctor instructed Susan. “Now, let us see if we cannot bring Miss Bentley back to her senses, hm?” Removing a small vial from his bag, he uncapped it and held it under Ellen’s nose.
The strong scent of sal ammoniac made Thomas’ eyes water, and it seemed to work even on Ellen in her unconscious state, because her eyelids fluttered and she coughed.
“Ellen,” Thomas said urgently, squeezing her hand. “Ellen! Open your eyes, dearest.”
Her eyelids fluttered again, and he realised inconsequentially that he had never noticed how long and dark her lashes were, a thick fan brushing the paleness of her cheek.
“Tho-Thomas?” she whispered thickly, before coughing again. “Uh.” She tried to lift her hand towards her throat, but he squeezed her fingers gently.
“Don’t try to talk, dearest. Your throat is very bruised.” Gazing at her, he tried to smile reassuringly as she opened her eyes fully at last, looking directly at him.
“I feel so tired,” Ellen whispered, and her lashes drifted down again. Panicking, Thomas looked at the doctor, who nodded reassuringly.
“After blood loss like that, she will be weary for some time. Beef tea every day will soon see her right, though of course you must watch carefully for infection.”
Thomas listened carefully as the doctor spoke, outlining what must be done for Ellen’s care. He promised to attend every day to check on her until she was entirely recovered from her ordeal, too.
“I wonder if I might speak to you regarding the, ah, perpetrator?” Thomas said quietly as Dr Smithee began to pack his things away in his bag again. He did not wish to leave Ellen, but gently laid her hand down and eased off the bed, moving over to the window and beckoning the doctor to join him.
“I take it someone told you who attacked Ellen?” Thomas asked softly.
“Indeed.” The doctor peered at him over his spectacles. “Forgive me for saying so, my lord, but it sounds as though Lady Louisa may be somewhat, ah, disturbed.”
“I trust we can rely on your discretion in the matter? I will make it worth your while.”
Dr Smithee looked properly horrified. “Of course, my lord! My patients’ confidentiality is of the utmost importance!”
He wouldn’t be a doctor to the aristocracy otherwise, Thomas supposed. Word would soon spread of his inability to keep secrets.
“That’s good,” he said aloud. “My aunt has made me aware that this is not Lady Louisa’s first episode of violence. She came horrifyingly close to killing Miss Bentley today, and it is obvious to me that she must be withdrawn from society and treated for her illness. I was wondering if you had any recommendations?”
Smithee squinted a little and sucked on his teeth. “I understand you are an American, my lord—have you perhaps heard of the Bethlem Hospital?”
“Bedlam, you mean? I have, but surely such a remedy is entirely unsuitable for a young lady such as my cousin, however disturbed her mind!” Thomas had read of the infamous hospital for the insane in the newspapers, and indeed going to tour the facility had been suggested to him, though he could think of nothing more grotesque.
“Indeed, I should never recommend such a place. Bethlem is the most famous, but there are several treatment facilities for those of unsound mind, both in London and in the countryside. A friend of mine I attended medical school with is the senior psychiatrist in residence at a small facility on the Isle of Wight. They accept only a few patients from the upper classes at a time, who are looked after very well, of course. Perhaps I should write him a letter and enquire whether they might have a vacancy?”
“Thank you,” Thomas said gratefully. “We shall be leaving London as soon as Ellen—Miss Bentley, that is—is fit to travel, and I should hope to have somewhere to take Lady Louisa before that.”
Ellen coughed from the bed, and Thomas turned away from the doctor immediately, eager to return to her. Though he knew Louisa would have to be dealt with—and he would have to talk seriously with Clarice, too—right now, he couldn’t bear to be away from Ellen’s side.
Susan, however, seemed to have other ideas. Intercepting him before he reached the bed, the maid curtsied deferentially before saying “Begging your pardon, m’lord, but we need to make Miss Bentley comfortable.”
Thomas frowned, looking at Ellen reclining against her pillows. She looked perfectly comfortable to him.
“Get that dress off her and settle her into bed,” Susan said more bluntly, and he nodded, finally understanding. Ellen’s dress was blood-spattered and stained, and she would surely be distressed if she woke to find herself still wearing it.
“I should go and check on my aunt, and ensure Lady Louisa is safely confined,” Thomas suggested, and Susan gave him an approving nod and another curtsy.
Ellen woke with a throbbing ache in her arm and a desperate thirst. Coughing hurt, a great deal, until a strong arm behind her shoulders pushed her up to a sitting position and a glass was held to her lips.
Water dribbled into her mouth, soothing and cool, flavoured lightly with honey and lemon. She swallowed, coughed, sipped a little more.
“Easy,” Thomas’ voice said quietly into her ear. “Drink slowly.”
“Thomas?” Exhausted by the effort of drinking, she whispered his name as her head rolled back against his shoulder. An unseen hand took the glass away, and Thomas guided her gently to lie down again. “What happened?” Her voice was a thin thread, every word a huge effort to push out.
“Louisa attacked you.”
All at once, Ellen remembered. Her whole body stiffened, her eyes flying wide open as she jerked, trying to sit up.
“It’s all right,” Thomas soothed, gently pressing her back down. “She can’t hurt you. You’re quite safe.”
It really hurt too much to speak, but Ellen lifted her arm to look at the bandage swathing her arm. She hadn’t imagined it, then, the dreadful pain as Louisa’s knife stabbed through her flesh.
“Ellen,” Thomas said, and she raised her eyes to look at him. He sat close beside the bed in a chair, his coat cast aside, shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms. He looked haggard, and for the first time she could recall, there was no smile on his handsome face for her. “Oh Ellen, I’m so sorry.”
She shook her head at him, forced out a few words. “Not your fault.”
“Clarice confessed Louisa has been violent before. She attacked a maid, once; stabbed her with a pair of scissors for supposedly making eyes at one of her suitors. She seems to need to be the centre of attention, and once Clarice admitted that, I realised her jealousy towards you might have turned more sinister.”
How could he ever have known Louisa might snap like that, though? Ellen shook her head at him again, reaching out to touch his cheek as his head lowered, though she winced as she moved her arm.
“Not your fault,” she whispered again.
“You’ll never have to see her again. I promise you that. Mr Gallagher is looking into a hospital for the disturbed of mind, which the doctor who saw you suggested.”
“Not Bedlam!” Ellen’s eyes widened again.
“No, not Bedlam. A place on the Isle of Wight, I understand. A country house, a place where Louisa can rest and be treated for whatever sickness of the mind makes her act so.”
Silent, Ellen watched Thomas. He must be devastated, she thought. “And when she is better?” she whispered finally. “Will you marry her?”
Thomas’ head snapped up, his expression pure shock. “Marry Louisa?” he exclaimed. “Good God, no! How could Louisa ever be pe
rmitted to marry anyone? What if she had children, Ellen?”
“You think the madness might be passed on?”
“That, or she might be a danger to them herself! I could never forgive myself if she harmed a child, knowing I had it in my power to ensure she would never have the chance. No,” Thomas shook his head. “Should any man ask to marry Louisa, I would be compelled to tell them the truth.”
No man would marry Louisa then, Ellen knew. Or if one did, it would be solely for her dowry, and he would likely do something awful like shut her up in Bedlam. At least in refusing her the chance to marry, Thomas protected her from that.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “You must be devastated. I know you loved her.”
Chapter 15
Thomas blinked in surprise as Ellen whispered her sympathetic words, her delicate hand outstretched to touch lightly on his wrist.
“You think I’m in love with Louisa,” he said, in dawning realisation. “I am most assuredly not, Ellen.”
Her sidelong look expressed cynicism at his denial.
“Really! Yes, I was somewhat blinded by her beauty at first, but it did not take me long to recognise she and I have absolutely no interests in common. Every time we try to talk, it ends in uncomfortable silence as I run out of things to say to her.”
Ellen’s lips twitched. She did not think she had ever even seen Thomas reduced to an uncomfortable silence; he never seemed to have any issues talking to her.
Seeing her amusement, Thomas lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against the back of it gently. “It has taken me a quite unconscionably long time, however, to realise I have already met the only woman with whom I can imagine spending the rest of my life in perfect harmony and contentment.”
Ellen’s brow furrowed as she obviously wondered who he meant, causing Thomas to shake his head and laugh. She was too modest.
