He prayed Therese would wake soon. Even if she slid back into sleep—or was it unconsciousness? He didn’t know, but if he could tell the children their beloved mother had opened her eyes and spoken to him, that would at least hold their fears at bay.
He re-entered Therese’s room. Both bedside lamps had been lit, turned low, and moved to chests farther from the bed, leaving most of the room in shadow.
He approached the bed, where Therese was lying on her side beneath the covers, facing his way. She’d been stripped of her clothes and lay sheathed in a crisp white nightgown with a wide neckline. Beneath her head and shoulders, a thick white towel had been spread over the pillows, its pristine color starkly contrasting with the darkened blood matting the hair at the back of her head.
Beyond the bed, close by the wall, Mrs. Portland rose from the straight-backed chair in which she’d been sitting. “My lord, as Dr. Sanderson’s been summoned, I deemed it wisest not to attempt to wash the wound. I daresay the doctor will want to do that himself.”
Recalling the comment of the doctor at the crash site regarding the risk of infection, Devlin nodded. “Indeed. I believe that’s so.”
Mrs. Portland inclined her head and waited, clearly uncertain whether to sit again or leave.
Devlin managed to arrange his features into a softer expression before he looked at his housekeeper. “Thank you for your help—you can go. I’ll sit with her ladyship for now, and Parker will, no doubt, be along shortly.”
Both of them knew Parker would insist on watching over her lady, of whom she was exceedingly fond. As, indeed, the entire household was.
“My lord.” Mrs. Portland bobbed a curtsy.
Devlin nodded vaguely and returned his gaze to the silent figure in the bed. A moment later, the door clicked shut.
He paused for a moment, then slowly walked to the side of the bed and stood looking down at Therese’s still face. An emotion—a fear—he’d never felt before gnawed with jagged teeth at his heart. Once again, he had to remind himself to breathe.
He filled his lungs, then exhaled and allowed his gaze, again, to trace her features. So silent, so still, so lacking in all animation, her face seemed devoid of the softness, the life—the love—he was accustomed to seeing behind her every expression.
It was as if she was holding her face in a deliberately blank mask, as if, even in her present state, she felt pain and sought to hide it.
After uncounted minutes, he drew a tortured breath and looked around. Wreathed in shadows, an armchair stood a little way from the bed. He reached out and drew it to him, then tugged it still closer to the bed and sat. Then he leaned forward and took one of Therese’s cold hands in his. Gently, he chafed her icy fingers between his palms.
And prayed to every deity he knew that she wouldn’t leave him.
He was still sitting in the armchair, staring at Therese’s face, when the door opened and Sanderson walked briskly in.
Glancing at the clock on the dresser, Devlin rose; he felt stiff all over, but although it felt as if hours had passed, in reality, it was barely past one.
Sanderson’s gaze had gone straight to Therese. “I came as soon as I could.” His eyes narrowed, and he rounded the bed, going to the other side. Placing his black bag on the coverlet at the foot of the bed, he said, “I’ll need better light.”
Devlin looked at Parker. As he’d predicted, she’d slipped into the room some minutes ago and taken up the position vacated by Mrs. Portland. Without waiting for his order, Parker went to one of the lamps left on a nearby chest, turned up the wick, then carried the lamp to the bedside table next to where Sanderson stood, his gaze on Therese. Parker set down the lamp, angling it so it threw light across the bed, illuminating the back of Therese’s head.
Devlin stirred and opened his mouth, but Sanderson held up a hand. “Wait. Let me examine the wound first.”
He leaned forward, reaching across the bed and gently easing aside the matted clumps of pale-gold hair so he could study the injury.
After a moment, he glanced at Parker, who had remained by the lamp. “Raise the lamp, to about your head height.”
Parker obliged; the lamp and the light it cast wobbled, but then she settled her grip, and the flame steadied.
Sanderson leaned farther across the bed, peering intently before gently probing, then he huffed and straightened, letting Therese’s bloodied hair fall from his fingers. “All right. Now I’ve seen the damage, what happened?”
“She was in a railway compartment on the train to Alverton Priory when the engine derailed and crashed,” Devlin said.
Sanderson’s gaze flicked up to his face. “How close was she to the point of collision?”
“Three—no, four—carriages from the engine, if you count the coal car.”
Looking down at Therese, Sanderson frowned. “Do you know what happened to give her that gash?”
Devlin looked at Parker.
“I was sitting beside her.” Parker carefully set down the lamp. Sanderson looked her way, and she continued, “She and I were on the forward-facing seat. When the crash occurred, we were flung forward, onto those sitting opposite—the children and Nanny Sprockett—and the luggage that had been on the rack above us tumbled down on our heads and shoulders.”
Parker paused, her gaze on her mistress. “My lady’s dressing case landed on the back of her head. I’m sure it was that, because I helped lifted it off her. That case was the heaviest, and it has metal corners.” She straightened, clasping her hands before her. “I didn’t notice anything amiss at that point. We got to our feet, and I handed her her bonnet… I told her it was safer on her head, and she put it on and tied the ribbons.”
Parker’s voice wavered on the last words, and Sanderson murmured, “Perfectly sensible.” He glanced at Devlin.
Parker wrung her hands. “But if I hadn’t given her the bonnet and told her to put it on, we would have seen—”
“You can’t know that.” Devlin forced himself to speak in an unflappable tone. “Given the lack of light in the train and outside, it’s not certain anyone would have noticed the bleeding, at least not immediately.” He caught Parker’s anguished gaze and more gently said, “No one could have foreseen this. It’s not your fault, Parker.”
Sanderson nodded. “Indeed.” He returned his gaze to his patient. “So when did she notice the bleeding?”
“She didn’t.” Devlin, assisted by Parker, explained how Therese had helped organize getting the injured and dead out of the wreck. He concluded, “It wasn’t until right at the end, when she’d done all she could and I finally found her, that she fainted.”
“Hmm. So when she stood back from action, as it were.” Sanderson nodded as if that was somehow significant. “Right, then.” He looked around. “I need a basin of hot water and clean cloths and bandages.”
Devlin arched a brow at Parker, and with her customary rigidly controlled demeanor back in place, she bobbed and went to pour into a bowl the hot water she’d already brought to the room.
After ferrying various towels, cloths, and prepared bandages to the bed, she carried the bowl to Sanderson’s side.
Sanderson picked up a thick white towel, folded it, then knelt on the bed behind Therese. “If you could lift her slightly, Alverton?”