Three Weeks With Lady X

Page 73

She took the cloth and wiped the blood from Thorn’s face and neck, carefully avoiding the wound itself.
The doctor glanced up. “If he doesn’t return to himself, you’ll have no need to treat the wound or ward off fever.”
“He will wake up,” India said flatly.
The man grunted, finished the last stitch, and cut off the string with a small knife. “That’s all I can do,” he said, wiping his hands with the edge of the sheet. “Either he’ll wake or he won’t.”
“There must be some treatment for head wounds of this nature,” India said, eyeing the doctor. His waistcoat was splattered with Thorn’s blood.
“Not that I know of. You can try to give him some water, but he won’t live long if he doesn’t open his eyes. That’ll be a sovereign, payable immediately,” he added briskly.
“Fred, please escort this man to the door. The butler will pay you,” India said, giving the doctor a look that had him scuttling out the door and down the stairs.
India sank onto the bed and took Thorn’s hand.
His wound was still seeping blood, but she didn’t want to touch it until she had a clean cloth. A doctor had once told her he thought that dirty wounds were more likely to become infected. Lord knows, the Thames was dirty.
“Thorn,” she whispered. “It’s India.”
He didn’t stir.
“Please come back,” she said, leaning over so that her lips touched his cheek. “I can’t lose another person I love to that river, Thorn.” Her throat tightened. “Please, please, wake up.”
Fred reappeared, looking anxious. “Mr. Dautry’s man is wondering if this would be a good time to wash the river water off and change the bedsheets.”
India looked up. “I will do that.”
The footman looked horrified, but India impatiently waved a hand at him. “I’ll need help with the sheets. What’s Mr. Dautry’s man’s name?”
“Mr. Pendle.”
“Please ask Pendle to lay out clean sheets and night clothing, as well as warm water. Mrs. Stella is bringing clean cloths. Meanwhile, I’ll go to Miss Rose.”
“She’s in the nursery,” Fred said. He hesitated and said, “It was Miss Rose who insisted that we send a carriage for you, my lady. I hope that was the right thing to do. There was such a commotion when he was brought home that she heard it in the nursery. The duke and duchess are at their country house, so I sent a message to you. And, of course, to the duke as well, but his seat is two days away.”
“You were absolutely correct to call me,” India reassured him. “I’ve sat in many a sickroom. Will you please send a messenger to Lady Adelaide to inform her of the circumstances? And where are the men who pulled Mr. Dautry from the river?”
“Messrs. Bink, Dusso, and Geordie are bathing and changing their clothes.”
India frowned. “Who are these men? Do you mean to say that they are in residence here?”
“They are former mudlarks,” Fred said, “and very proud of it too. They’re the ones who saved Mr. Dautry. By all accounts, they got him breathing again.”
“I will thank them later,” India said. At the moment she had to visit Rose.
When she reached the nursery, she found the child listening as her tutor read aloud from a history of ancient Rome. Rose sat on a straight-backed chair, Antigone perched on the rocking cow beside her.
As India entered, Twink’s voice broke off. Rose pulled Antigone from the cow and stood, clutching her doll tightly in her arms. The tutor came to his feet and bowed. In the corner, Clara bobbed a curtsy.
“Mr. Dautry is alive,” India said quickly. “The doctor just left.”
“Has he woken up?” Rose’s voice was tight and high.
“Not yet.” India went to her and knelt down. “He’s going to be well, darling.”
“They said that about my father as well,” Rose said.
“May I pick you up?” India asked.
Rose nodded. India scooped her into her arms, carried her over to the sofa, and sat down. The little girl remained bolt upright on India’s lap.
“I’m very grateful that you sent a carriage for me,” India said, stroking her back.
“Lady Adelaide said that you work miracles,” Rose reminded her.
This hadn’t been what Adelaide was referring to, but India nodded. “If there is a miracle to be had, I shall do it,” she said fiercely. “I promise you that. And if that miracle doesn’t happen”—India forced the words out because they had to be said; she could not leave the child in the grip of utter terror—“if Thorn is lost to us, Rose, you will come and live with me.”
India felt Rose shudder. “I shall probably be sent to America, to my aunt.”
“That’s not what Thorn would have wanted—wants. He wants you to live here in England. And remember? I announced to half the world that you are my daughter.” India’s arms closed tighter, and she coaxed Rose back against her shoulder. “I can think of no greater privilege than that.”
Rose made a little gasping sound, but said nothing. Still, her body relaxed in the circle of India’s arms, and her head sank against her shoulder. “He won’t die, will he?”
“Not if I can help it.”
India put her cheek against Rose’s bright hair and rocked her back and forth. “How is Antigone?” she asked.
“She’s not feeling very well,” Rose whispered. “She feels sick, as if she swallowed river water too.”
“You must soothe her.” India put the child on her feet and looked into her eyes. “Tell Antigone that she is loved, and that she will be safe and warm. Tell her that Thorn would want her to be hopeful and never give up, because he isn’t the sort of man who gives up, is he?”
Rose shook her head. “Never.”
“Neither am I,” India said. “I will not give up on Thorn, and neither will you. Now I’m going to return to him and put a poultice on his forehead. If you are worried and want to know how he is, just send Clara to me.”
“I won’t give up either,” Rose said stoutly.
India gave her a hug and ran out the door.
Chapter Thirty-nine
By the time India returned to Thorn’s bedchamber, she felt calm again. She was at her best in a crisis, when others fell into hysterics. She stopped to introduce herself to Thorn’s butler, who was clearly beside himself with worry.
Between the two of them, they made certain that every member of the household had work to do, from Mrs. Stella to the grooms, who could work scrubbing river water from the carriage.
“You’ll meet the mudlarks tonight, my lady,” the butler said. “They just left for Cheapside to find a patent medicine that Mr. Dusso knows of.”
What on earth had Thorn been up to? Could it be an odd reunion, where the four of them plunged back into the river and revisited their childhood? But she had no time to chat; she hurried back to Thorn’s bedroom and shooed out his valet, who had changed the sheets but not yet bathed his master.
She talked constantly as she dipped a clean cloth in warm water and began to wash Thorn. She told him how much she had missed him, and was missing him now. She might have cried a bit, especially when she pulled back the sheet in order to wash his legs and feet. She had never clearly seen all the scars that covered his legs, the pale slashes that cut through a rough covering of hair without disguising the muscle that lay underneath.