“Doctor Harkness,” Catherine said, surprised at how anxious she felt when it came to Lord Rutherford’s condition. “Have you been able to help him?”
Doctor Harkness nodded and a great swell of relief rose in Catherine’s heart.
“I have been able to do a good deal to help the gentleman,” he said with a small inclination of his head. “The wound was deep and if he had been left, then I have no doubt that he would have died.”
Catherine pressed her lips together tightly, a little surprised at how strange she felt hearing such a thing from him. “I see.”
“He will recover,” the doctor said with such determination in his voice that Catherine felt herself reassured. “The wound will need to be dressed with the poultice every morning and evening and he will need to rest for at least a week before he even considers removing himself from his bed.”
Catherine nodded fervently, as though she were somehow responsible for Lord Rutherford’s care. “Of course.”
“I will return,” the doctor continued with a small bow. “And I shall send all charges to this house.”
“We will pay you at once,” Lady Ann said, coming forward as the doctor made to take his leave. “I thank you.”
“I thank you,” Catherine echoed, before sinking down into her chair, her eyes wide and her hands tightening together as she held them in her lap. So Lord Rutherford was not about to die, even though he had lost a good deal of blood and she had feared that he would never again return to the land of the living. Perhaps, in time, he might be able to tell her himself what had happened, why he had a knife in his side, and whether or not what was written in the note had been by his own hand.
“It seems we are going to need The Shadows,” Catherine murmured as her sister handed her back her teacup, the heat of the cup warming Catherine’s cold fingers. “I am convinced that there is something more to Lord Rutherford’s current circumstances.”
Lady Ann considered this, then nodded slowly. “Then we must hope that we can discuss it all come the morrow,” she said firmly. “For now, it is time for us both to retire. You look done in and I confess that I am utterly exhausted.” With a small smile, she held out her hand to Catherine. “Come, my dear sister. You must retire before you fall asleep where you sit.” With an encouraging smile, she squeezed Catherine’s hand. “Lord Rutherford will be quite all right now, it seems.”
“The maids will sit with him,” Catherine murmured, as though she needed to confirm to herself that such a thing would occur. “And when Papa returns from the masquerade, he will retire immediately, as he always does, and will not have any knowledge of what has occurred.”
Her sister nodded. “And we will rise before him, as we always do,” she added, half pulling, half leading Catherine from the room. “And then we shall speak to The Shadows and try to ascertain what we ought to do next.”
“That sounds like a wise consideration,” Catherine agreed, her steps slow as she quit the room. “Even though I dislike Lord Rutherford intently, I am truly glad that he has not succumbed to his injury.”
“As am I,” Lady Ann replied with a wry smile. “Now, no more thoughts of Lord Rutherford or what has occurred this evening. You must rest and I intend to make sure you do so.”
Catherine tried to find something to say, something to convince her sister that she was quite all right and did not need to be treated so, but she could only smile, her eyelids drooping as Lady Ann ushered her into her bedchamber. Catherine’s maid was waiting, having clearly been woken to look after her mistress.
“Good night, Catherine,” Lady Ann said softly. “I hope you have a very restful sleep.”
“And you also,” Catherine managed to say, before stumbling into her bedchamber and sitting down heavily in her chair, ready for the maid to begin to untangle her hair. She was so weary, she did not even manage to remain awake until the last of her curls were brushed out, her head bobbing with exhaustion, her eyes closed. And when she finally slept, all she dreamt of was a gentleman sitting before her, with blood pouring out of his side.
4
Stephen tried to open his eyes but found they were much too heavy. Every single part of him seemed to be in pain, to the point that he could not even draw breath without something hurting. When he tried to let out his breath slowly, a moan escaped his lips.
He did not know where he was. He did not know why he was here, struggling to remember anything that had happened. All he knew was that he was battling between sinking back into darkness and forcing himself awake using the pain as an anchor to bind him.
“Lord Rutherford.”
A voice spoke his name and he jerked toward it, letting out another moan as a burst of agony clawed through his side.
“You must rest, Lord Rutherford,” the voice said, and he felt a hand pressing his. “You are safe. Have no fear.”
Struggling to open his eyes and unable to form words with his tight lips, Stephen wished he could find a way to speak, to ask who had found him and why she had brought him here. He could not remember anything, his mind scrambling with thoughts and feeling his heart clutch with a new fear when she lifted her hand.
“Please.”
The effort it took to say even a single word practically flung him back into unconsciousness. Gritting his teeth, he tried his best to stay awake, holding onto his sense of fear as though it was the only thing that was keeping him awake.
“There is nothing to fear, Lord Rutherford.” The gentle voice was back, the soft fingers touching his. “You are safe. You will need to recover from your wound.”
Wound? He did not know what the lady spoke of, another question burning on his lips as he fought to find the strength to speak.
“You were injured at the masquerade ball,” the voice continued, as though she knew his question. “I do not know how, but the injury was severe. The doctor says that you will need time to recover and that you must remain abed for a sennight at the very least.” Her fingers pressed his with a little more strength, as though she were trying to reassure him, but Stephen felt nothing but panic running through him, terrified over his lack of memory. With an effort, he forced his eyes open, the lids lifting reluctantly.
For a few moments, all he could see were a few blurry shapes, with nothing having any definition. And then, slowly, the shapes began to move together, although his vision continued to struggle to find its focus.
“Lord Rutherford, you must rest.”
The lady who stood to his right was looking down over him, her brows furrowed as her thumb ran over the back of his hand. He tried to turn his head, gritting his teeth as he did so, only to find himself in a flood of pain. The lady leaned over him a little more and ran one hand lightly over his forehead.
“You do not feel overly hot, at least,” she said softly. “That is a relief.”
Stephen blinked slowly, his eyes feeling heavy and sore. He wanted to rub his hands over his eyes but did not have the strength to lift them. “Who are you?” he rasped, his eyes taking in her face but unable to focus on any distinguishing features. With a sense of relief washing over him, he closed his eyes and let his head turn to the side, no more energy left within him.