She clung to him, holding him tightly as she returned the kiss. Her head was spinning, her pulse racing, and she could taste the salt of her own tears.
Slowly he released her. “Good night, Laura,” he said softly.
“God be with you, Nicholas.”
Then he was gone. Her tears blinded her and she almost stumbled into her room. Bitter sobs shook her body as she flung herself onto the bed. Her heart was breaking.
Please God, please let him live! Let him live because I love him so!
The light in the room was the palest of grays. Dawn was almost upon Venice. Laura lay awake on the bed. The posy of anemones were in a small bowl of water, their bright heads upturned. They had been so wan, their stems bending and their flowers drooping, but they were refreshed now and as beautiful as they had been the day before.
She watched the pale light beyond the windows. She heard Nicholas’s seconds passing her door, their spurred boots loud. They knocked at a door and she heard the low murmur of voices. The hotel was so still then that she could distinctly hear the hum of insects out on the balcony. The footsteps returned then, spurs jingling, and she clenched her hands tightly, willing herself to remain where she was. She wanted to call out to him, to rush out and beg him on her knees not to go, but he would not welcome that and it would not help him to face the ordeal. She closed her tired eyes. The footsteps passed from hearing and silence returned.
The limpid light softened and brightened with each passing minute now, but Laura’s face was hidden in her pillow and she did not see. The only sound was the slow ticking of the clock as the moments passed relentlessly by.
“Fräulein
Milbanke!
Fräulein
Milbanke!” Major Bergmann was hammering at her door.
Laura got up. Her heart felt like ice as she stared at the door. She could not move toward it, for to do that would be to hear that he was dead…
.
“Fräulein
Milbanke, come quickly please! Sir Nicholas is badly wounded, but he lives.”
With a choked cry she ran to the door and would have gone to Nicholas’s room, but the major caught her arm. “I warn you,
Fraulein,
it is very bad and the doctor does not hold out hope.”
She stared at him. “No,” she whispered, “No, I will not believe
—”
“But you must, for it is true. Sir Nicholas was struck twice.”
“Twice?
But how could that be?”
“It shames me to acknowledge that the Baron von Marienfeld is my fellow countryman and fellow officer, for today he behaved in a most craven and disgraceful manner. He discharged his second pistol when Sir Nicholas was unarmed. It is always the baron’s custom to take both pistols from the outset, for his aim is as true with the left hand as with the right. Sir Nicholas, as is the more usual custom, took only the one, meaning to replace it afterward before taking the second. Both men took up their positions and the first shots were discharged. The baron was wounded a little in his shoulder, but Sir Nicholas was hit very badly in his left arm. He was still standing at this point, however, although losing a great deal of blood and obviously faint. But rather than face him equally a second time, the baron discharged his second pistol immediately. It was an act of cowardice and callousness such as I did not ever think to witness, and only the fact that Sir Nicholas swayed on his feet at that moment saved him from certain death.”
“Where did the second shot strike him?”
“It grazed his temple. It was meant to strike his head a mortal blow.”
She closed her eyes weakly. So close, so very close….
“The baron has been forced to flee from Venice,
Fraulein.
He may be close to the governor, but even that would not assist him under these vile circumstances. To fire at a defenseless opponent and to do so before witnesses is an act with consequences from which even he could not hope to escape. He will never be able to hold his head up here in Venice again, for all will despise him even more than they already do. He is an evil man,
Fräulein
Milbanke, the devil’s henchman.”
She nodded. “I must go to Sir Nicholas…
.
”
Still he detained her. “Wait one moment more,
Fraulein,
I beg of you. I think it only right to tell you that the doctor wishes to amputate Sir Nicholas’s left arm; he says that that is his only chance
—and a very slender one at that.”
“If it is his only chance, then it must be done.”
“In my opinion he stands more chance
without
the attentions of a doctor-surgeon! On the field of battle I have seen more men die after treatment than I care to remember. There is another thing, however, and that is that before the commencement of the duel, Sir Nicholas took me aside and gave me specific instructions that on no account were any injuries he might receive to be treated by amputation. He was most firm on this and demanded that I gave him my word as an officer and a gentleman. This I did, I believe that I am right, both because I honor my sworn word, and because such chance as he may have will be eliminated by such savage surgery in his present weakened state. There you have it,
Fraulein
Milbanke, and I tell you because I know that the doctor will try to persuade you to give your permission for the operation to be carried out.”
“My
permission? But I have no right
—”
“You are Sir Nicholas’s friend. He spent yesterday with you and he fought the baron because of you. I think you have the right to decide. If you wish the operation to be carried out, then I will not stand in your way. I may be wrong to stop the operation; I know only that I have done what Sir Nicholas asked of me. You are not bound by my promises if you believe the doctor is correct. Do you see what I am trying to say? I think Sir Nicholas is a brave and valiant man, and I do not want
honor
to deprive him of his life.”
She smiled a little.
“Honor. Honor
appears to be everything,” she murmured, walking slowly on towards Nicholas’s room.
Dr. Meyer was a sallow-faced man with graying hair. His white uniform outlined his lean, bony shape as he bent over Nicholas’s still figure. Nicholas’s valet, Henderson, stood at the other side of the bed, holding a bowl of water and some fresh dressings. The wiry little valet looked anxiously down into his master’s ashen face. Nicholas did not move; his eyes were closed and the aura of death lay over him.
A bandage had been hastily applied to the wound on his right temple, but already a red stain marred its whiteness. There had not been time to remove his coat and the doctor had cut away the arm of the garment that a Bond Street tailor had labored over so long and lovingly. Such a sad end to a magnificent coat…
.
The blood from the shattered arm flowed freshly, staining the Hotel Contarini’s expensive silk coverlet. At last the doctor succeeded in stemming the flow a little, and then he straightened, giving Major Bergmann a cold disdainful look before turning to Laura.
“Forgive me,
Fraulein,
for subjecting you to this ordeal, but I must beg of you to give your permission for me to remove Sir Nicholas’s left arm immediately.” He wiped his bloody hands on a cloth.
“I have no right, Doctor.”
“There is only you, and I must turn to you because others present here would deny Sir Nicholas his chance of survival.” Again a disdainful look at the unfortunate Major Bergmann.
“Doctor,” she said, “can you tell me exactly what the chance is?”
“He has lost a great deal of blood, far too much. I am afraid that the ball lodged in his arm will make the flesh putrid and that that will in turn lead to a terrible death. Therefore it is my opinion that such a possibility must be avoided by the removal of the arm.”
“But the flesh may not become putrid.”
“There is that possibility.”
“And it is certain that the shock of such an amputation may prove too much for him in his present condition.”
“I know my profession,
Fraulein,”
snapped the doctor, “And I most certainly pride myself on my speed in such matters. Sir Nicholas would suffer the minimum of pain. I cannot emphasize strongly enough the necessity for the arm’s removal.”
She hesitated. But what right had she to go against Nicholas’s own expressed wish? She found herself looking into the hostile eyes of the valet. You are to blame, said those eyes, but for you Sir Nicholas would not be lying at death’s door. You are the cause of it all….
And he’s right, he’s right!
She forced herself to meet the valet’s gaze, however. “Do you know why Sir Nicholas was so particular with his instructions about amputation?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Tell me.”
“Because he believes in the work of his close friend, Dr. Daniel Tregarron of Langford. Dr. Tregarron believes that sometimes a bullet can be left in a wound without causing the patient any harm, and he’s proved it on King’s Cliff by tending a gamekeeper who got shot in the leg. The bullet is still in that leg and the gamekeeper as hale as the next man.”
Dr. Meyer snorted disparagingly, “This man Tregarron is a charlatan, and a lucky one at that. Centuries of medicine have proved that leaving wounds only results in putrefaction.
I
am the surgeon-doctor here, not this Tregarron, and
I
warn you all that unless I remove that arm swiftly, then Sir Nicholas Grenville will most certainly die.”
Everyone looked at Laura now. They forced the unwelcome decision upon her. She looked down at Nicholas. How dark his lashes were against his pale skin. Even now he was so very handsome, so beautiful, almost…
.
She raised her eyes to the doctor. “I’m sorry, but if will not be party to any amputation.”
“Then,
Fräulein,
on your head be it.”
“I did not seek this responsibility, sir, but as it has been thrust upon me, I will act accordingly to my conscience.”
He nodded. “Very well. I will do what I can for him within the limits placed upon me. I can only bind the wounds and make him as comfortable as possible.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
He worked as swiftly as possible, applying fresh dressings, and fifteen minutes later he prepared to take his leave. “If, and it is unlikely, he survives to this evening, then I am to be sent for again.”
“Very well. Doctor.”
He and the major left then, and Laura was alone with Nicholas and the valet, whose hostility was still very much in evidence. With a heavy heart she sat down on a chair beside the bed, thereby signifying that she had every intention of remaining in the room, whether the possessive valet liked it or not.
The room was very hot, for the doctor had ordered the kindling of several of the terracotta charcoal stoves and the closing of the windows against the ill humors present in the fresh air outside. She could hear the whine of mosquitoes in the stuffy atmosphere. She looked at the valet then. “Would Dr. Tregarron have closed the windows and had stoves lit?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then, as we are following the gospel according to him, we will open the windows and extinguish the stoves.”
He smiled a little reluctantly. “Yes, ma’am.”
The cool Venetian breeze whispered pleasingly and refreshingly over the room, moving the hangings of the ornate bed where Nicholas lay so still. Laura’s eyes went to the table beside her.
Augustine Townsend’s beautiful face stared at her from its dainty little frame. In front of the miniature lay a folded, sealed document
—the last will and testament of Sir Nicholas Grenville of King’s Cliff in the county of Somerset.
Laura bowed her head, the tears stinging her tired eyes.
The long, dark shadows of the Venetian sunset lengthened across the floor. Outside the sky was a dazzling gold as the day at last came to an end, but still Nicholas lingered uncertainly between life and death.
Henderson sat on a chair in a far corner of the room, his tired head nodding forward on his chest as he slept. Like Laura, he had not slept the night before, and the anxiety and uncertainty of the day had taken its toll. Laura remained at Nicholas’s side. While he still lived and breathed, then there was hope…
.
Major Bergmann had returned several times, but there had been nothing to tell him. Nicholas neither deteriorated nor improved. The
maître d’hôtel
had personally brought a tray of food to the room, but neither Laura nor the valet had had any appetite, although they had thankfully accepted the dish of tea he insisted they take. Henderson quite obviously still blamed Laura for what had happened, but he had managed a smile when she had remarked that the
maître d’hôtel
quite obviously believed that come what may, the British took tea!
Now she leaned her weary head back against her chair. Her thoughts returned to the moment she had embarked upon her journey to Venice. Little had she then thought events would take this disastrous and momentous turn. She held Nicholas’s right hand and it seemed suddenly that his fingers stirred a little. She sat forward immediately, her heart beating like thunder. Now his lips moved, as if he was trying to form a word. She bent close. It was almost unintelligible, but to her it was only too clear. It was a woman’s name, ‘Augustine’
.
But there was no time to give in to the heartbreak that single utterance brought her. “Henderson!” she cried, “Henderson, quickly! Sir Nicholas spoke. Bring Dr. Meyer!”
The valet was rudely jerked from his slumber and without question he ran from the room.
Anxiously, Laura returned her attention to Nicholas. “Nicholas? Can you hear me?”
There was no reaction.
“Please, my love, open your eyes!” She held his hand against her cheek.
“Augustine?”
“Open your eyes.”
His eyelids flickered a little and then he was looking at her. He seemed puzzled at first, as if he did not know her, but then a smile touched his ashen lips. “Laura.” He was barely audible.