“Like this?” Her father held out a hand, and Belle realized that if anyone besides her father had come upon them like this, the situation might look compromising.
“I didn’t know how else to manage.”
“Why not wake him?”
“I didn’t think I should.” What was that saying? Never wake a sleeping...oh, that was for infants, not men with fever. “He has a fever,” she said abruptly. “Could you help me?” Now she indicated the heavy form of Mr. Arundel, and her father immediately crossed to her and held Arundel up while she extricated herself.
“That’s not nearly as nice,” Arundel said, once she had moved away.
“I imagine not,” her father said. “And this will be worse yet.” He gestured for Belle to prop up the pillow. She did so then poured the laudanum onto the spoon. Her father took it and said, “Open up.”
To Belle’s surprise, the man did as he was instructed. But then her father had raised two children almost entirely on his own when her mother had passed away. He had experience nursing.
Arundel grimaced slightly at the taste of the laudanum but swallowed without protest. “Awful stuff.”
“I agree, but without it that wound of yours will become unbearable.”
“That must be the burning pain in my side.”
Her father placed a hand on Arundel’s forehead and then glanced at Belle. She realized she’d been standing there, staring at Arundel like a ninny. Immediately, she grasped the ewer, sloshed water into the basin, and dipped a cloth into it. After wringing it out, she handed it to her father, who placed it on Arundel’s hot forehead. “Better?” he asked.
Arundel grunted faintly. His eyes had closed, and he didn’t speak again for a few moments. Belle thought perhaps he had fallen asleep as he didn’t stir when her father turned the compress over. Belle dipped another cloth in the cool water and handed it to her father, taking the used compress in exchange. It was far too warm, which was a bad sign. Fever meant infection and infection usually meant death. Belle glanced at Arundel. Please don’t die here, she thought.
Not only would his family have questions, but it also couldn’t be good for business for their patrons to know there had been a dead body lying just a floor above their biscuits and Earl Grey. And on Fenchurch Street, there was no keeping of any secrets. Tomorrow morning, every neighbor would be talking about the man lying in Belle’s bed.
Her father pressed the cool compress on Arundel’s forehead, and his eyes opened again. They were more velvet blue now, foggy with the effects of the laudanum. “And who are you again?” he asked. It was a surprisingly coherent question for a man in his condition.
“We are friends of Mr. Randall,” her father answered.
“Charles,” Arundel said, before closing his eyes again. “Need to contact Baron,” he mumbled.
Her father looked at Belle, and she shrugged.
“Expecting me. Need to tell...danger.” Arundel was falling in and out of consciousness now, and Belle would have left him to it.
“Which baron is this then?” her father asked. “I’ll send him word that you are here.”
“Farm,” Arundel muttered.
“Baron Farm?” Belle whispered. There were probably hundreds of barons in the country, but she doubted any were Baron Farm. Still, what did she know? She could try and find out, but it wasn’t as though they had a copy of Debrett’s lying about. Perhaps they could ask the doctor when he came to call or Arundel’s family. If only the rain would stop it would mean travel would be faster and easier and Arundel could die somewhere else.
Then feeling guilty at the thought, she amended—he could recover somewhere else.
“He’s resting now,” her father said, standing and stretching his back. “You were supposed to come and wake me.”
“I planned to give him the laudanum and then wake you,” Belle lied.
Her father gave her a long look. She didn’t know why she even tried to lie. She wasn’t any good at it, and even a stranger could usually tell when she wasn’t being truthful. Her father most certainly could. “I am awake now and will take over. You should go and rest.”
“We should both rest. He’s asleep and not likely to wake any time soon.”
“Someone needs to keep him cool,” her father said. “I don’t have any ice, but I can keep changing the compress.” He glanced at the window. “If this infernal downpour would cease, I’d open the window.”
“At least the rain will keep most people indoors. We shouldn’t have a rush of customers,” Belle said.
Her father laughed. “That’s the first time you’ve ever seemed pleased about losing business. Now, go and rest, Isabelle. No arguments.”
The fact that he’d used her full name indicated he meant what he said. There was no point in arguing now. Belle took a wrapper from a hook on a wall, then, with a last look at the injured man, carried it to the parlor. He certainly was handsome. Her body tingled at the memory of the feel of his weight against her chest. Belle settled into a chair and pulled the warm wrapper around her. She hadn’t intended to sleep, but she must have, because when she opened her eyes again, her father was calling for her.
And his tone was one of panic that made her jump to her feet and run.
Chapter Four
Jumping to her feet might not have been the best idea. Forgetting to eat dinner probably wasn’t a good plan either, though to be fair, she hadn’t planned not to eat. She had just forgotten with all that had happened last night.
Belle swayed unsteadily then took a deep breath. The parlor came into focus. “Belle, come quickly!” her father called again. Her heart thudded hard against her chest. His tone was unusual. He was always so calm and collected, even when the shop was full of customers demanding this tea or that biscuit. Now her father sounded alarmed.
“Coming!” Belle rushed across the parlor and pushed open the bed chamber door. She saw immediately why her father had sounded panicked. Arundel was standing in the middle of the room, stumbling about drunkenly. Her father was attempting to take hold of his arm and guide him back to bed, but every time her father managed to grab onto him, Arundel shook him off.
Her father was not a large man, but he was taller than she, and Arundel seemed to dwarf her father. She’d known he was a large man. It had taken three footmen to carry him up the stairs and his feet hung off the edge of her bed. But seeing him in the middle of her room, bare-chested and broad-shouldered, he looked like a giant. A well-built, powerful giant. Belle bit her lip as her eyes took him in.
She should stop ogling him and try to help. “What happened?” she managed to say.
“He’s burning with fever,” her father said, moving so as to avoid Arundel’s waving arm. “He insisted on rising from bed. I couldn’t convince him otherwise.”
“I imagine not.” Belle winced as Arundel bumped into her dresser, causing the contents on top to topple over and fall to the floor.
“Where is it?” Arundel asked, his speech slurred. He turned again—a veritable bull in a china shop—and knocked over the ewer, causing it to shatter. The sound must have caused him to focus because he stared down at the floor then stooped and lifted the washbasin. “Here it is.”