Saints and Sinners

by Karen V. Wasylowski

  “Pardon me. Martha, be so good as to move aside.” Mark summoned all his strength to rise again, swinging his legs over the other side of the bed only to become immediately light headed. Bugger. Panting and worn, he looked down. His bandages were beginning to come undone, blood seeping through.

  “Oh, no! Do you see what you’ve done? You’ve opened your stitches. Oh, please lay still.” Martha turned back again to confront Bridges. “You heard what I said. You will not bleed him, sir. Not again. That is something I will not allow!”

  Mr. Bridges took a step back. “How dare you!”

  “Who in blazes is this fool? Allow me to handle this, if you will.” Mark reached for her, thinking to pull her around to the other side of the bed with him, protect her from that angry voice with the blurry face, bring her to safety. “Do you know who I am, sir?” he croaked. And bloody hell, if you do, tell me. I’d love to know.

  “Oh, Bob, drink this and hush.” She shoved an empty glass into Mark’s hand then spun back around to face Bridges. “I repeat, I am afraid I cannot allow you to bleed my patient.” Martha’s hands curled into small fists at her sides, she raised her chin. “If you approach this man, you approach at your own risk.” Her heart was beating so wildly she was surprised her apron bodice wasn’t jumping.

  “Damn your patient, and damn you!” The physician shook with rage. “And to think I wasted my valuable attentions on you!”

  By now, Mark was relatively upright and had finally steadied himself. “Listen to me you bastard. How dare you speak to her in that – oops. Hello. Anyone. I really must insist someone help me here!” Mark looked frantically around as his legs gave way and he began to sink to the floor, hitting his head again on the bed before he checked himself.

  “False alarm. I’m all right. Please don’t concern yourselves.” He was unaware that no one was paying attention though, he could see nothing – blood was streaming down his face. Stitches across his eyes and scalp had given way; in fact, wounds that had been previously healing were now ripping open and seeping blood everywhere, a gory sight. “I say, you – wherever the hell you are – stop shouting at her!”

  “I’m all right, hush, now. He doesn’t frighten me.” Without taking her gaze from Bridges she reached behind herself to push Mark back into the bed, all the while trying to appear confident and calm before her enemy. Their enemy.

  However, as much as she patted the bed behind her, she couldn’t find her patient, and it was too late now to turn around and search for him. If she had, she might have noticed the horrified onlookers peeking around the back of the curtain. Sweet mother of God I am doomed, Bridge’s is going to have me taken out and shot; at the very least she was certain to be sacked by morning.

  “Yes, by all means, speak with my superiors; and, I shall as well. I shall tell them how you jeopardize patients’ lives daily with your experiments. You use your excessive bleeding of the indigent to test theories of care, that if successful, you then employ on the wealthy! Unfortunately, if you are unsuccessful, your patients – along with your mistakes – are buried!”

  “Bleedin’ ‘ell,” muttered someone as other patients began to grumble.

  “See here,” Mr. Bridges was becoming anxious with this talk. “You obviously know nothing about this. It is what comes from treating nurses as if they were on an equal footing with doctors! Your kind are severely ill-trained regarding the necessity of balancing the humors within the body – blood, phlegm, yellow bile and black bile. And that, my ignorant miss, is only achieved by bloodletting! Now, step out of my way!”

  Unfortunately, Martha reacted instinctively when Bridges began to strong arm his way past her, sticking out her foot and causing the physician to stagger forward into a cart of instruments and fall to the floor.

  “Oh, dear. I am so very sorry, sir.” Martha felt terrible. She’d not meant to hurt the man, but when he sat up with an overturned bowl his head onlookers howled with laughter. Furious and humiliated, Bridges attempted to regain his footing several times, his arms and legs flailing about like windmills, while Martha tried to assist.

  “Take your hands from me!” he shrieked as he finally stood. “You did that deliberately!”

  “No! Well, yes, but it was unconsciously done, a stupid, mindless reaction. You’re not injured, are you?”

  When she saw his toupee was now crooked it was too much for her, and she began to giggle herself. “Oh, dear. No truly. I didn’t realize you would actually fall.”

  “Or even ‘ow far a little fella like ‘im could fly,” shouted out one of the others causing everyone to laugh louder.

  Everyone but the proud physician; Bridges was beyond livid. He grabbed her wrist, twisted her arm behind her. “I shall show you what it means to cross me, bitch!” he hissed, back-handing her brutally across the face. Her head snapped to the side and she flew backward, first hitting the already upset instrument cart edge – bowls and water and knives sent flying in all directions – then slamming into a nearby cabinet with a crash.

  Everyone was frozen in silent shock seeing the blood ooze from the side of her head, her face turned away, her limbs limp. No one could believe what had happened. When someone near her body nudged it with his foot, she rolled over… her eyes open but unseeing. “Shite, I think she’s dead.”

  That was when all hell really broke loose.

  “NO! You bloody bastard! I’ll kill you for this!” Mark had finally struggled forward, an immense, horrific, monstrous sight, blood seeping down his face from reopened wounds, blood and bandages trailing the floor behind him, blood saturating his legs and arms.

  He looked like a nightmare come to life.

  Mr. Bridges began to scream. He shrank back in terror as Mark lurched forward, step by halting step, a massive form of revulsion, his inhuman growls of pain, emotional as well as physical, eliciting scream after scream from the terrified physician, as closer and closer the bloody form staggered, step by agonizing step until…

  Arms reaching out for the doctor, Mark stopped.

  His eyeballs rolled up into their sockets.

  He began to sway, round and round, back and forth.

  Someone screamed, “he’s going down – get out of the way!”

  And, like the mighty oak, Mark fell – taking with him tables, chairs, the screen, and one incoherently raving physician.

  Chapter 18

  The hospital administrator had walked out for a moment when Anthony Milagros took the opportunity to ransack his desk, his fear of being caught making him jump back when he suddenly heard the screams. “Madre de dios! What was that?”

  This was their second visit to this hospital in twenty-four hours. The entire family had spread out across the city, searching hospitals and infirmaries for Mark, even the jails, everyone mad with worry.

  Luke put his hand up for silence.

  “Was that even human?” asked George.

  “No. That was Mark’s voice. Listen.”

  “Mark?” George walked to the window and looked out. “Don’t be ridiculous. Sounded more like a cat fight going on down the street. Let me close this.”

  “It was Mark. Damn it, George, don’t look at me like that! I know my brother’s voice! I heard him! Dear Lord, that was my brother!”

  Although Luke was frozen to the spot by the horror of it, George was not – he reached the door first, yanking it open. “That’s good enough for me. Come on, Luke!”

  “Yes. Yes!” A shaken Luke charged past him with both George and Anthony close on his heels.

  The scene greeting them outside the office was chaos. People running, crying, orderlies charging toward the back of the hospital and up the stairs. There were shouts and shrieks, and by the time George, Luke and Anthony arrived, a mob had formed shouting out wagers.

  “Get him off me!” Beneath a huge and bare bottomed patient, a terrified man was sobbing like a baby as nearby two orderlies were carrying away a lifeless female body.

  “What the hell happened here?” A
nthony shouted at a terrified looking nurse, but instead of answering him she turned and ran out.

  “George! Uncle Tony!” Luke pushed his way to the prone figure. “Come here! It is him! That’s Mark!”

  “How can you tell when he’s faced down?” asked George

  “I’d recognize that hairy arse anywhere. George, help me.” Both men pushed through the crowed then slowly lifted up the unconscious figure, between them carrying it back to the bed, and laying it down gently… face up.

  “I’ll be damned!” George brushed Mark’s hair back from bleeding stitches. “How in hell did you recognize him by his backside?”

  “It’s farted in my face enough times. Uncle Tony, come quickly!”

  “I’m here, Luke. Behind you. Move to the side, let me see him.”

  “Mark! Mark, wake up! Are you all right? Is he alive? My God, what have they done to him? Who did this?” Luke demanded to the room in general. “Come forward you bastard!”

  “Luke stop shouting – I want to listen to his heart.” Tony pressed his ear to Mark’s chest. “Thank the lord, his heart sounds strong. I need soap and water.”

  George, assisting the whimpering physician to his feet, hissed in the man’s ear. “If you’ve done this to my cousin, I shall beat you to death with my bare hands!” That was all Bridges needed to hear. The physician began screaming in terror once again.

  “Silence!” Anthony barked. “Someone, bring me a lantern so I can examine this fellow.” With no staff around to help, a patient hobbled over with soap and water while another brought a lantern. “Thank you both, now please be good enough to return to your beds. Please, everyone, return to your beds before someone else is injured.” Anthony began washing his hands at the nearby basin. “Why is there no staff? Who is in charge here?”

  “Sister Clarke, your worship.” The man who had brought over the lantern mumbled in awe to the Spanish nobleman.

  “Well, where is she!”

  “She was kilt, we think. On the other ‘and, Amos was one who looked at ‘er, and ‘e’s blind as a lamppost. O’course, ‘e kicked ‘er by accident like and she never moved. So, it’s a quandry.”

  “Luke, George find out who is in charge here. Bedlam was better supervised.”

  “George, you go. I want to stay with Mark.”

  George nodded and rushed off.

  After a few moments of examination Anthony finally began to relax. “Well, I do not believe Mark’s injuries are as bad as they look at the moment. Stitches over his eyes have broken, he’ll have a scar here. And see here, he had been beaten as well; badly beaten. It appears he has heavy bruising on his chest, stomach, legs. Someone please bring me fresh warm, soapy water, needle and thread. George, you’re back. What did you discover?”

  “I found the administrator, he’ll be here in a moment. He had no idea where the nurses are however.”

  One of the patients in a nearby bed slowly raised his hand.

  “Yes, yes,” snapped Anthony. “Speak.”

  “Sister Kelly and orderlies took Sister Clarke away and they was cryin’. Whatever ‘appened must ‘ave been bloody awful, I’d say, what with all the shoutin’ and then that fella there risin’ from ‘is bed like a demon from ‘ell, takin’ down screen an’ all – ‘All’ bein’ Mr. Bridges I mean. Actually, t’were bloody wonderful, now I think on it. ‘e stayed down long enough for me to win a hat.”

  “It was hell!” Shrieked Bridges as he backed away. “That heathen attacked me like a wild beast!”

  “What did you call my brother?” Luke lunged for the man as George lunged for Luke.

  “Luke! Get hold of yourself, man! Nothing can be gained by flying off the handle.”

  “Yes. Yes, you’re right, George. Of course. Don’t know what came over me there.”

  “You must promise not to kill anyone.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, I’m not a bloody idiot! I am fine! I’m fine. All that is important now is seeing to Mark. It’s just… I’m just… I mean, look at him. Dear God, I can’t believe he suffered like this.” Luke’s voice broke and he turned away.

  “I understand.” George patted his cousin’s shoulder in comfort. “Mustn’t give way to despair, or bitterness though. Remember, revenge never did anyone any good. Stiff upper and all that.”

  “You’re right of course, George. Thank you.”

  George then calmly turned to the doctor, grabbed him by his coat lapels and began screaming in his face. “I promised I’d beat the life from you, you son of a bitch, and so I shall! How dare you! Do you know who that man is? He’s no heathen off the streets! That is my cousin, a finer man than you could ever hope to be!”

  “Help.” Doctor Bridges gulped as Luke pried George’s fingers loose. “Bloody hell, I could have done that just as easily as you!”

  “Yes, I know, but I wanted to.”

  His wits slowly returning now Bridges noted the wealth and standing of the two younger men arguing over which would beat him to death, observed the very elegant older nobleman tending to the patient he had assumed was a drunkard, and finally began to realize he may have made a huge mistake.

  “Forgive my error, dear sirs; kind sirs. I had no idea. No one said anything to me, I swear it! In fact, this is the first I’ve seen of the man, being Christmas and all. I was just so very frustrated. It was the nurse’s fault, you see – honestly it was! I was very angry that she hadn’t informed me of his presence, or the severity of his wounds; and, when I tried to assist him, she interfered. Yes. That woman was impeding patient care. I merely moved her from my path, an action which your cousin evidently misconstrued. That was when he leapt from the bed, probably in my defense now that I think on it. Yes, I’m certain of it. Exemplary fellow.”

  The hospital administrator came running into the ward then and Bridges turned on him, all righteous indignation now. “Do you see what one of your nurses has done? I insist you sack that woman immediately. She nearly killed my patient!”

  “Just a mo, guvnor...”

  “Be quiet, all of you! Why are you here? Get back to your beds. Now!” Bridges began to smooth back his hair and straighten his clothing. “Such disloyalty! Such treachery! Mr. Hastings, it is your responsibility as Hospital Administrator to have this woman arrested, or at the very least, dismissed. In fact, I really must insist upon it. She put a patient’s life in jeopardy and attacked me!”

  “If I may interrupt.” Anthony was uninterested in this hospital squabble. He needed to notify Fitzwilliam that they had finally found his son, make certain his godson was stable, and then return Mark to his family as quickly as possible. “I shall be writing a note which I would like you to have delivered immediately to Lord Richard Fitzwilliam at a Mr. Darcy’s home across from St. James Square; however, it is to be handed to Mr. Darcy personally, not Lord Fitzwilliam. When he learned his son was missing the man began having chest pains and I gave him a sleeping draught. He may still be resting.”

  “Pardon me.” Bridges’ eye began to twitch. “Whom did you say”

  “Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy at Pemberley House, the note will be regarding Lord Richard Fitzwilliam.”

  “Mr. Darcy? Lord Fitzwilliam? No. No, you must be mistaken.”

  “I assure you Mr. Bridges, I am not. Sister, there you are. Would you bring me another basin of clean, warm water so that I may tend to these wounds? Thank you. I would also like you to assist me with my examination if you will. My eyes are not as good as they once were.”

  “You cannot be serious.”

  “Sir, I am seventy years old, of course I am serious.”

  “No, I mean about the identity of this man’s father. You cannot believe this vagrant is any relation to Lord Richard Fitzwilliam, can you?

  “El imbecil!” Anthony had had enough. “This vagrant as you call him is the Honourable Mark Fitzwilliam, son of Earl Fitzwilliam of Somerton. If I were you I should do everything in my power to assist in tending to his wounds, then move him into an area that is away from any po
ssibility of infection, provide him with a clean nightshirt – the one he is wearing is little more than a rag – and, discover why your patient was found bleeding on the floor in the midst of a brawl!

  “And, believe me, I should do all that before you face his father!”

  Within hours two carriages pulled up before the hospital along with an enclosed cart that had been well cushioned and prepared to transport a prone, injured man – because, by God, Fitzwilliam was taking his son home! “Ah. Here they are,” Waiting outside the doors of St. Thomas Hospital George motioned to a waiting orderly, slipping a coin into the lad’s hand. “Please be good enough to go inside and inform Doctor Milagros and my cousin that Himself has arrived.” He then hurried down the hospital steps to greet them.

  Matthew jumped from carriage before it even came to a complete stop. “How is he?” he called out to George as he ran, the other men still assisting Fitzwilliam and Darcy down the carriage steps, everyone yelling insults and orders at each other that went completely ignored.

  Matthew turned and shouted, “Quiet! I can’t hear what the devil he’s saying! Repeat what you just said, George!”

  “Calm yourself. I said Uncle Tony has been monitoring Mark, say’s his heartbeat is remarkably strong and there is no fever. However, Matt, prepare yourself – he looks awfully bad. Seems he was worked over by a couple of toughs.”

  Matthew swallowed. “Do we know who did this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Then I shall kill them.”

  “Evidently you are too late for that. I’ll explain inside. The main thing now is he will survive the injuries. It might have been worse; but, frankly, not by much. I was hoping Uncle Fitz would wait at home.”

  “You can’t be serious. I had to sit on him to keep him from galloping over here on horseback.”

  “Well you had better prepare him for quite a sight. Mark is bruised head to toe.”

  Matthew wanted to vomit. This was completely his fault, drunkenly handing Mark a thick packet of money, in plain sight of any thief or cutpurse wandering past or lurking in the shadows. What was I thinking, to have placed such a burden on my brother? To have placed him in such peril? Well, that’s it, isn’t it? I was thinking only of myself, my wounded pride. And because of me he could have been killed. “Is Luke with Mark?”