“Almost done,” Howard said.
Thank God for small mercies. After what seemed months of agony, Howard snipped the thread and moved away. Hew peered down at the wound and nodded. The stitches were not neat, but they would do the job. “More sherry?” Howard asked.
“God, yes,” Hew said. He sat gingerly, fighting through the wave of pain the action caused him, and downed another glass of the weak stuff.
“Should I put sherry on the wound?” Howard asked. “I’ve seen doctors do it, but I don’t know if sherry cleans as well as what they use.”
“It couldn’t hurt,” Hew said. He’d been wrong about that. The sherry burned like the devil’s pitchfork. He spat an expletive or two before he managed to restrain himself again. “I beg your pardon,” he said a moment later. He was panting and sweat streaked down his temples.
“No need,” Howard said. He nodded at his daughter. “Fortunately, she is still unaware, though I venture to guess she has heard it all. I had better brew some tea and attempt to revive her.”
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Howard,” Hew said. “I will just lie here and try not to weep.”
Howard smiled. “You are a stronger man than I.” He took the needle and thread and—to Hew’s disappointment—the bottle of sherry. Hew could hear him rattling something in another room, but the pain was coming in waves, and he couldn’t really focus on anything but breathing through the next rise of agony.
Perhaps bleeding to death would not have been such a bad way to go. It would have hurt less than the remedy, that was certain.
After what seemed hours but was probably only a few minutes, Mr. Howard returned, carrying a tea tray. Hew desperately needed something stronger than tea. Something as strong as, say, gin. Hew wasn’t usually a gin drinker, but at that moment, he would have drunk it down. He desperately wanted something strong that burned his throat and gave him a few moments of pain-free oblivion. Of course, there was always the laudanum, but that was a last resort. Hew did not like losing control of his dreams or his ability to wake. He’d rather the pain than the feeling of drowning in sleep. It was unnerving to know one was asleep but to feel as though one was submerged in a deep pond and unable to swim to the top and take a breath.
Howard set down the tea tray and knelt beside Miss Howard. Hew almost hated to see him wake her. She looked so peaceful lying there. Through a pain-filled haze, Hew watched as Howard lifted the teapot and poured a half cup of tea. Then he moved the cup near her face and wafted the scent of the tea under her nose.
“Smelling salts would have been more effective,” Hew rasped.
“Belle has a very delicate nose,” Mr. Howard said, not looking up from his task. “This will do the trick.”
Hew doubted it, but he was in no condition to argue. Earlier he’d felt as though he were burning up. Now it was as though someone had packed him in snow. He shivered and his teeth chattered, and he rubbed his arms to keep from shaking. If he hadn’t been in so much pain, he would have pulled the covers over his shivering body, but any movement sent waves of pain through him.
The teacup had been under her nose for no more than fifteen seconds, when Miss Howard opened her eyes. “Black Currant,” she said.
Her father nodded. “I knew it would wake you.”
“I could have smelled it a block away.”
Hew inhaled experimentally, but he was only a few feet away and could barely smell the tea.
She put a hand out to her father.
“Now, Belle, take your time. You fainted.” He helped her to sit, and he lowered her head onto her knees.
“I never faint,” she muttered. “It was the blood.” Then, as though remembering him, she raised her head and met his gaze. Her eyes were dark brown now and a bit hazy. “You’re awake,” she said.
“I closed the wound and replaced the bandage,” her father said.
Hew could see the shudder travel through her slim body. “Thank you.” She took the teacup from him and sipped. “No doctor yet?”
“It’s still raining and still early.”
“Not so early. I should go down and ready the shop to open.”
Hew thought it strange that her voice sounded as though it were fading. She looked to be fading as well, as though she were falling down a tunnel and disappearing from view.
“There’s time.” Howard’s voice was faint as well.
Hew must have closed his eyes because when he opened them again, Belle was standing over him.
“He’s still shivering,” she was saying.
He tried to raise an arm to indicate he needed the blanket, but when he moved his elbow, he realized someone had already covered him. And yet, he was still deathly cold.
Hew heard Mr. Howard say something, but he couldn’t make sense of the words. All he could do was stare up at Belle’s lovely brown eyes, lighter now that she was recovered. They reminded him of the eyes of a fawn. He’d seen his share of deer, admired the quiet way they moved and the gentle way they raised their head and looked at a passerby as though he were some sort of new creature. She had those same curious but gentle, large brown eyes.
“You look like a deer,” he said. Her brow creased, and he realized that had come out wrong. “I mean—”
“Shh.” She put a hand on his forehead, and though his body was frozen, somehow her hand was cool against his flesh. “Close your eyes and rest.”
“Stay,” he said.
“I’m right here.” Her hand was replaced by a cloth and that was cool as well. Hew closed his eyes and the world spun. He dreamed of a street, a carriage, and a man with a knife
Chapter Five
Belle loved opening the shop in the morning. There were usually three or four people waiting outside to buy a breakfast tea, having not realized until the last moment they were low. Today the rain had kept everyone inside, and when she unlocked the door, opened the shades, and turned the sign, no one stopped in to shop.
Belle looked up at the ceiling and wondered how her father was getting on. He’d shooed her out of her bed chamber, telling her he would take a shift with the patient. Belle had thought she’d be relieved to get away, but then Arundel had asked her to stay. Now she felt guilty for having left him.
Not that he had any idea what was happening around him. Her father said he’d refused more laudanum, but he was talking as though he’d had a half bottle. He kept saying she was a deer. She might have thought he was calling her dear, except that he was insistent that she looked like a deer, and she understood he meant the animal. Belle had not spent much time in the country, but she’d seen one or two deer in the park. She didn’t think she looked anything like a deer.
But then why was she puzzling over what a semi-conscious man, who would probably be dead by evening, said? Of course, he didn’t make sense. He was delirious with pain.
The bell above the door tinkled as it opened, admitting a woman who was closing her black umbrella and shaking water off her hat. Belle smiled, “Good morning, Mrs. Tipps.”
“What’s good about it?” Mrs. Tipps grumbled. She always grumbled. She’d been coming in once a week for years, and not once had she ever smiled or answered Belle’s greeting with anything other than a grumpy acknowledgment. Belle didn’t mind. It was rather comforting in a way, and she could appreciate the return to routine after the unusual night she’d passed.