Authors: Leigh Greenwood
Dr. Burton looked tired and worried. Valentine settled him into one of the deep chairs and Kate fixed him a cup of tea. He accepted it gratefully, but said nothing until the maid had finished laying breakfast and left the room.
“It’s more serious than I thought.” He grimaced. “Mr. Westbrook is a strong man, but he fainted when I cut the bullet out.” He took another swallow from his cup and looked up, his wrinkles deepened by worry. “He lost a lot of blood last night. He lost still more today, and that’ll make his recovery longer and more difficult, but he’s basically a healthy man with a strong Constitution. Normally I’d predict a rapid recovery, but the wound has become infected.”
Kate felt stricken with guilt. She knew she should have tried to clean it.
“It’s probably due to the long wait before the bullet could be removed. I’ve cleaned it as well as I can. It’s probably just as well he’s unconscious. Few men could stand the shock of brandy poured directly on raw flesh. My fear is he may develop gangrene. If he does, he will die.”
Both women turned ashen.
“I’ve given him a draught to make him sleep for the rest of the day, and I’m leaving some more with you. Use it sparingly, but don’t be afraid to give it to him. He must be kept as still as possible during the next few days. He needs absolute rest. Now, how do you intend to divide up the nursing?”
“We don’t know anything about nursing,” Kate said, thoroughly alarmed by his report. “I mean to hire a nurse. Isn’t there someone you can recommend?”
“I will do what I can,” Valentine interposed, “but I am not brave in the sick room.”
“You’d fidget the man to death,” the doctor declared fretfully.
Valentine swelled with indignation. “Valentine is not a
stupide,”
she declared. “I can do this nursing. I just do not do it very well,” she finished meekly.
“You may have to do it any way you can,” the doctor replied. “Old Marie was the only good nurse we had, and she went to live with her son when her husband died. The midwife is awaiting a birth right now, and if you allow Brigette Faneuil in this room, I’ll drop the case. She’s a drunk, and filthy into the bargain.”
“I’ve never nursed anyone before,” Kate said, grimly acquiescing to the inevitable, “but I’ll try if you will tell me exactly what I should do.”
The doctor studied her briefly, taking notice of her intelligent eyes and determined jaw. “You’ll do,” he said brusquely. “Not that we appear to have much choice. I’ll make some written notes in case of an emergency, but for the most part, I can tell you more easily than I can write it out.”
“The first thing is to prepare a herb poultice to draw out the poisons. It must be changed at least three times a day. Be very careful to cleanse the wound with warm water laced with brandy, and be sure to use a fresh bandage. As few people as possible should touch the wound. It may need to be drained, but I’ll take care of that.”
“I hope he will stay quiet, but he already has a slight fever and I expect it will mount over the next few days. Try to keep plenty of liquids in him. You can bathe his face, or even his whole upper body, but the best thing you can do is keep him still. His body will do the fighting for you.”
“The wound should be inspected regularly in case the infection gets worse. I’ll come if I’m needed, but I’m too old to be running back and forth all day, and I’m not a nurse. Any questions?”
Valentine was so upset she could barely shake her head, but Kate had herself under control. She was scared, but now that she knew what to do, she was able to face it. Brett’s only hope lay in her ability to accept these duties calmly and carry them out. She tried to smile, but her face felt wooden.
“I’ll take the night hours, and Valentine and Charles can handle the day. That way you’ll only have one of us to teach. Please be as specific as you can about what I’m to look for and what treatment to undertake. I’ll do better if I know what I’m seeing, even if it’s something dangerous.” She stopped abruptly. “Please, Doctor, tell me how he
really
is. Will he get better? Will he live?” she asked in a hollow voice.
“With careful nursing and good luck, he will recover completely. A small scar where the bullet entered and a bigger one where I took it out ought to be the only signs he was ever injured. There may be some stiffness in the Shoulder. The bullet nicked a bone and I removed some splinters, but it missed the lung. He’s lucky to be alive at all, so maybe his luck will hold. We should know within forty-eight hours. I think we’re going to come through all right. Just be calm and keep your wits about you and hell have nursing that’s as good as he could get from anybody else.”
Kate was so grateful for his kind words that she felt like crying, but she told herself she had no time to waste on tears. Everyone was depending on her, and if she couldn’t take a few kind words without her eyes filling, she’d never manage to keep her nerve if Brett got really ill.
“Do you know how to make a poultice?” Kate asked Valentine.
“Mais non!
Never do I go into the kitchen. But the very fat Nancy can make one, and I will set the girls to making bandages.
Merde!
And I took such care to buy the very best. If I did not love Brett like my own brother, I would not turn my inn into a hospital with sheets being ripped to bits and poultices brewing in stew pots. Nothing like this ever happened to me in Paris, and there they shoot each other all the time.”
“Quiet, you shameless hussy,” commanded the doctor in not very stern reproof. “You know you love every bit of excitement your little heart can stand.”
“Quelle horreur!
You say such things about
ce chére
Valentine?
Bête noire!”
Kate looked from one to the other expecting Valentine to throw something. But she just stood there, eyeing the doctor in a speculative fashion, and Kate decided if Valentine was an example of the average Frenchwoman, she would never understand them and the sooner she returned to England the better.
“I’ll leave everything about the kitchen and household to you, Valentine. Charles can watch Brett while I sleep, but he must not leave the inn. Mark can run any errands required. Is there somewhere he can sleep?”
“Certainement.
He can sleep in the room next door. Then he can hear Brett all the time.”
“Good. Now I’m going to finish my breakfast. I’ve barely eaten for two days and I’m starving. I’m going to spend the morning with Brett then sleep all afternoon. You and Charles can divide up the time as best suits you. I’ll take over after dinner.”
“Could you come see Mr. Westbrook then, Dr. Burton? You can tell me how he’s doing and what I have to do during the night. And please come as soon as you can in the morning. I’ll probably be frantic by then, wondering if I’ve done the right things. Valentine, if Nancy would prepare that poultice now, maybe the doctor would show me how to apply it before he leaves.”
The doctor had listened to Kate give her Instructions in considerable admiration. It was obvious she was still scared, but she had conquered her fear and was already organizing those around her. He smiled warmly. “That’ll be fine, miss. I’ll be delighted to help if you’ll allow me another cup of tea.”
“The one with the angel face collects her wits quickly,” Valentine observed, no less impressed than the doctor. “She will not let him die. Me? I go to the kitchen to dispute with Nancy. Bah! She is so fat she does not know if she walks on one foot or two. Poultices,” she scowled. “Such nasty things. And to think I gave up Paris for this.” She turned dejectedly toward the door. “Jacques would laugh to see me now.
Mon Dieu,
how he would laugh. Pagh!” she snorted, a martial light in her eye. “I will cut his throat, the little rat. No one laughs at Valentine.” Her mincing Steps became firm once more, and Valentine closed the door behind her and sailed down the passage to do battle with the mistress of the kitchens.
An hour later Dr. Burton was gone. He had applied the poultice to the wound and bandaged it again, instructing Kate on how to keep it moist. She had had to fight down her nausea when she was confronted with the raw flesh oozing poisons, but knowing so much depended on her helped steady her nerves and calm her stomach, and she was able to listen to and remember most of what the doctor said. She tried to fix the smallest details in her mind so she could notice any change in Brett’s condition. She didn’t dare forget anything.
Nothing happened to disturb the remainder of her morning. She had lunch in her own room and lay down afterward. She expected to fall asleep right away, but instead found herself still tossing about half an hour later, haunted by the fear that Brett would die as a result of her ignorance and neglect.
She could see his face, so calm and peaceful yet so deathly pale, and she thought she wouldn’t have minded his thoughtlessness if only he were well. She thought of his powerful chest hidden by bandages; now only the muscled arms were uncovered, the arms which had closed around her like bands of steel, crushing her to him while he bruised her mouth with passionate kisses. She could still feel his lips on her neck and ears, remember the touch of his hands on her body, recall the bliss of surrender to his assault and the fearful ecstasy of the pinnacle of their passion. Only now was she beginning to be able to admit to herself that she, too, had found pleasure in that night. She still blushed to think of her brazen entreaty, of her bold welcome, but she also knew that what she had experienced in his arms was something very rare that was given only to a special person.
A smile played across her lips and her body relaxed into the soft feather mattress. She remembered how incredibly handsome he looked when he was happy, the lithe grace of his trim body, and the seductive charm of his movements. It was unfortunate they were always at odds with each other. Maybe when he got well again they could try for a better understanding. True, he had treated her abominably and she could never trust him again, but she didn’t really dislike him. Her plan to leave as soon as he could take care of himself was unchanged, but while he was desperately ill and dependent on her, she would stay.
Panic gripped her the moment the door closed behind the doctor, but she forced herself to settle back and take up one of the books she had borrowed from Valentine. Reading enabled her to keep a close watch on Brett and at the same time keep her fears at bay. Charles came in at eleven o’clock to help change the poultice. The wound was draining heavily and the flesh around it inflamed, but it did not look critical.
To Charles fell the unenviable task of telling Nancy that another poultice would be needed before morning. He was gone so long that Kate began to fear Nancy had refused point blank, but he finally returned saying the woman would make the poultice at three o clock.
“How did you manage it?”
“It was Valentine,” Charles told her, unable to suppress a smile. “When I explained what I wanted, Nancy started shrieking in some kind of French I didn’t understand. When I asked if she’d teach me how to make the poultice, she chased me out of the kitchen. I almost collided with Valentine who was standing in the doorway swathed in a voluminous nightgown, her hair twisted in little paper pigtails which stood out all over her head and her face smeared with a heavy cream. She rounded on Nancy, and somewhere in the middle of a fantastic exchange of Gallic curses, they arrived at the understanding that Nancy would make the poultice and Valentine would give her some piece of jewelry she’s been mad to have for years.”
“Couldn’t you learn to make them anyway, just in case Nancy refuses again?” Kate asked, hoping the fight would smooth over. Brett needed the help of both women.
“Nancy won’t let me anywhere near the kitchen. She only gave in because Valentine threatened to make them herself.”
“You’d better get what rest you can,” Kate said, refusing to waste her time worrying about Nancy until she had to. “I’ll call you when it’s morning.” Charles went back to his room and Kate prepared to wait.
Brett became increasingly restless during the early morning hours, moaning and moving about in his bed. Kate sponged him constantly, but he continued to be hot and uncomfortable. The heavy drainage persisted and the wound seemed more raw and inflamed when Charles brought the poultice shortly after three o’clock. They gave him another dose of medicine, and for the rest of the night only his raspy breathing betrayed that all was not well.
Morning brought Dr. Burton, but no comfort. “It’s just as I expected. The wound is badly infected, but it’s still draining so there’s no need to open it up.” Kate continued to sit with Brett after breakfast, but there was no lessening of the fever or his restlessness.
She was reluctant to leave him at lunchtime, but Valentine marched her off to her bedroom with orders to remain there until supper. Kate was certain she was too worried to fall asleep, but she had no sooner laid her head on the pillows when she sank into such a deep slumber she had to be roughly shaken to wake her up.
Brett was restless throughout the evening, and the wound continued to drain. Kate feared Nancy would refuse to get up in the middle of the night again, but Charles informed her that Nancy had agreed to make as many poultices as they needed. Everyone in the inn knew Brett was fighting for his life.
Kate increased Brett’s medicine as he grew ever more restless, but it didn’t seem to help. He was burning up with fever and she had to sponge him almost constantly. When they tried to give him another dose after changing his poultice, he wouldn’t take it. He became steadily more uneasy, flinging himself about the bed. His fever continued to mount until his lips cracked and his breath came in dry rasps.