Chapter 2 #2
She still spent time out of doors after the family went to sleep, and she even stepped into the water — but no farther than her knees.
With curiosity and particular interest, she looked for the swimmer, but there was no glimpse of him, day or night, and her conviction that it was just a coincidence increased every day.
Then, a succession of three rainy days followed, which chilled the seawater, prohibiting any bathing, even for the children.
A week after Elizabeth’s midnight meeting with the stranger, at noon, during the children’s rest time, the clouds dissipated, and the sun brightened the sky.
Elizabeth immediately seized the opportunity and went for a walk.
She felt suffocated indoors, so it felt thrilling to walk along the shore, inhaling the scent of fresh air cleansed by the rain, with the breeze blowing in her face.
She chose to walk towards the east from their cottage, in the opposite direction to the other houses and far away from all the bustle of the town.
It was a secluded path, running parallel with the road frequented by carriages and riders, hidden by trees and bushes.
It was rarely used, but Elizabeth had tried it often before, sometimes alone, sometimes with Jane, and on a few occasions with her uncle and aunt.
After about two miles, the path led to a wild, thick grove that opened onto a secluded beach guarded by a couple of large, impressive rocks facing the crashing waves.
More than once — both that year and in previous years — Elizabeth had swum behind those rocks, but it was certainly not a proper time for such enjoyment.
As she approached her destination, the clouds gathered again; the breeze turned into wind, suggesting she should return home.
Yet, she walked a little bit farther, planning to rest for a while in the shadow of the grove.
She did so, sitting near a large, old tree and breathing deeply while she watched the motion of the sea and listened to the sound of the waves breaking into a soft foam.
She was about to step closer to the water when she startled, and her heart began to race.
From behind the rocks, a man appeared, dressed in trousers and a white shirt, which was wet through.
She could not see his face and did not care much about it, as her only thought was to depart through the grove before she was seen.
A moment later, another man appeared on horseback, and they appeared to talk.
In her many visits to that particular spot, Elizabeth had never encountered anyone.
Even Mr Gardiner said it was a deserted beach and grove, once belonging to a family that had died many years earlier.
And suddenly, when she was alone and unprotected, two men had appeared there.
How could she be so unlucky? They must have come from the opposite side of the rocks.
If only she could disappear in silence and unnoticed, she would take the other path home — the public one, where she would certainly meet other people and would be safer from unwelcome company.
While she considered her next move, the two men began arguing.
The one in white turned his back to walk away, but the rider dismounted and followed him, grabbing his arm.
They were facing each other, and the sound of their loud, angry voices reached Elizabeth, but she could not make out their words.
Moments later, the argument turned physical; the man in white seemed to wish to leave, while the other one insisted on following him.
The second man was holding something in his hand, and he raised it, bringing it down sharply, causing Elizabeth to let out a cry, which she quickly covered with her palm.
The man in white hesitated, swayed, then seemed to fall, grabbing onto a rock.
He then seemed to recover his feet, while the other man mounted in a hurry, urged his horse forwards, and disappeared behind the rocks.
Elizabeth saw him galloping along the shore, in the opposite direction from her uncle’s house.
With little consideration for her actions. Elizabeth left her secluded position, running towards the man in white, who was now sitting, supporting himself against the rock. A glimpse was enough for her to notice the bleeding wound on his left shoulder and another injury on his right temple.
“Sir, are you hurt? Can you hear me? How silly of me, of course you are hurt,” she mumbled, walking around him.
“Let me see. I can help you,” she continued, agitated, while the man stared at her in obvious bewilderment.
“Miss? What are you doing here? Where have you come from? Are you alone?”
Only then did Elizabeth take a better look, noticing he was all wet, probably from taking a swim in the sea. She started, her heart skipped a beat, and she held her breath while inspecting the bleeding wound on his shoulder. Clearly, he had been hit while his back was turned to his attacker.
“I came here for a walk, but why does it matter? Oh dear, you are hurt. This is a nasty cut. Was it a knife? I must stop the bleeding first. I need to pull your shirt away from it,” she mumbled, her voice and fingers trembling.
“Then I must press something to the injury, to stop the bleeding,” she continued, mostly to herself.
“Miss, it is nothing but a trifling cut. If you would only help me climb into the saddle, I shall ride back home,” he pleaded, and Elizabeth looked in the direction of his nod to see his horse tied up a short distance away.
“Sir, the bleeding is significant,” she insisted. “I must stop it first. You cannot ride back in such a state.”
On impulse, she lifted the hem of her dress and ripped a strip of fabric from her petticoat.
Then she pulled back his shirt — once white, now soaked with red — revealing the cut.
The blood was pouring, and she could hardly see the injury itself.
Immediately, she pressed the fabric over it, thinking about how to proceed further.
“I need more fabric,” she whispered.
“There are my clothes. You may use my neckcloth, if it is helpful,” he suggested. “I can press the wound for a little while.”
With apparent effort, he turned his other hand and pressed it over hers, against the injury.
Elizabeth withdrew her fingers from under his and hurried to look for the neckcloth.
She retrieved it, then ripped off another strip from her petticoat, folded all the fabric together, and removed his hand so she could press the fresh bundle against the injury.
“Thank you. I am deeply grateful for your kind and quite skilful help. Do you happen to be a nurse?”
“I am not a nurse. My uncle is a doctor, and I have learnt a little from him. Not much… The wound is not large, but it seems deep. You need urgent help,” she said, deliberately avoiding meeting his eyes.
“Miss, did we…by any chance…did we meet a few nights ago, in the water?”
“I believe so,” she replied, her voice as unsteady as her fingers pressing on his skin. “I must fetch help. You should stay here. Press your back against the rock to keep the fabric in place. I shall run home and fetch my uncle.”
“Run back home? Miss, let us speak calmly for a moment. Your concern and care are appreciated, but you take too much trouble on yourself. If you could just help me mount, I shall simply ride back.”
“Oh…well…but…it is not that simple. I must find a way to tie the fabric,” she replied.
On further consideration, he was right; it would take her quite a long time to walk back to the cottage, then find her uncle and return.
While waiting, he might be in great danger from the wound, as well as from the attacker.
“I am thinking about how to keep the fabric pressed over your wound. Do you have a waistcoat? You should put it on and button it, and then I shall make a bandage from your coat. Do you have a coat? I shall tie the coat over your chest, by the sleeves. It will not help much, but it will be better than nothing. Your shirt would be better, perhaps, but it is all wet and dirty.”
“That sounds like a good idea, miss. I am ready to agree to any suggestion.”
“It might work — I mean, it might slow down the bleeding. But sir, you must ride in that direction. To the west, you see? As soon as you reach the first houses, you will see a cottage with a white fence. That is my uncle’s home.
He is an excellent physician. He is probably at the office where he sees patients at present, but my aunt will send for him. ”
She spoke quickly, hardly able to gain her composure. Her hand was still pressing against the fabric. As she spoke, he turned his head, and she had a clear view of his profile from only inches away. She blushed, anxious and agitated.
“I shall go directly to his office,” he answered.
“Yes, that would be better, of course, if you know where it is,” she said, angry with herself for mumbling like a simpleton.
“I do know. If your uncle lives in the first cottage, my house is not far away, and his office is very close. But what about you, miss? I cannot abandon you here alone. We should return together.”
“I shall walk back home just as I came here. Any argument is pointless. I am relieved that you know where to find my uncle. Go there and ask for Dr Gardiner…or Dr Crawford. Now, let me try to bind the wound — we have no time to lose. Can you press here one more time, sir?” she whispered, and he obeyed.
Within minutes, she had helped him put on his waistcoat — a simple action that led to several moans of pain — then she struggled to accomplish the most daunting task of her life: tying a man’s coat over his back, the sleeves bound together in a tight knot across his chest, hoping to hold the poor attempt at a bandage made from ripped fabric.
In doing so, she had to be close to him — closer than she had ever been to a man — her hands, clumsy, quivering, touching his body, while her face was burning with mortification.
The entire time, she felt his stare on her, but he followed her lead, ceasing any opposition.
When she finally completed her endeavour, she realised the result was mostly a failure and it would not last more than a few minutes.
Yet, there was nothing more she could do at that moment.
He called his horse and begged her to hold it still so he could mount; he did so quickly, though with apparent pain and difficulty.
“Thank you, miss. Are you sure you can return home alone?”
“Of course! You should think of nothing else but hurrying to my uncle. Any delay may increase the danger.”
“Miss, I have no words to express my gratitude to you for saving my life,” he said in a grave, formal tone.
“I did no more than you did a few nights ago, sir.”
“This is not the same, by far. I am in your debt, and I shall find a way to repay your kindness,” he said, bowing to her.
The horse finally moved off, and Elizabeth gazed after the rider, suddenly realising they had met twice, both encounters life-threatening in a certain way, yet they were still perfect strangers, without even knowing each other’s names.