Chapter 4 #2
Though his hand did not feel entirely steady, Ben’s fingers tightened around the pistol as he heard the door to the attic open. Not that he had strength enough to do a damned thing if it was Underwood and his men. He didn’t even have the strength to stand, let alone run.
“It’s me.”
His frayed nerves, which had been on edge for hours, found solace in the young woman’s gentle tone. He’d heard the front door open and close a long while ago, and felt fairly sure Underwood had gone, but he’d not dared relax until he was certain.
“I’m so sorry. I’ve not been able to come until now, I’ve brought you…”
Her head appeared at the top of the stairs, her sweet voice low and easy, but she froze when she saw him. Damn, he must present a pretty picture to make her look so appalled.
“You’re ill.”
She set down the items she’d brought and hurried to his side, placing her hand on his head. Ben groaned and closed his eyes, for her touch was blessedly cool.
“You’ve got a fever.”
It was nothing he didn’t know, obviously, and her voice was calm, but he knew as well as she did what it meant, and how serious it was likely to be.
“I ought to have come earlier to change the dressing. I knew it, but Captain Underwood was here and I… I didn’t dare.”
The words trembled with guilt, with anxiety, and Ben reached for her hand.
“This is none of your doing. You did right to stay clear. I’m sorry to cause you such worry. I think the best thing is if I leave now, before things get worse.”
Though she allowed him to hold her hand for a moment, her eyes flashed blue fire, her expression so fierce that he was a little taken aback despite knowing how brave she could be.
“Don’t be a fool. If you leave now, you’ll likely die, and getting you out of the house in this state will be nigh on impossible.
My tender mercies may be second rate, but I’m afraid they’re the best you’ve got.
Now hold still while I look at the dressing. ”
Ben bit back a curse as she carefully untied the bandage holding the poultice in place and removed it. He watched her face, seeing signs of dismay as she revealed what he already knew. Still, she did not flinch nor fall into a panic and his admiration for her only grew.
“It’s rather inflamed. I must wash it at once and make another poultice.” She chewed her lip, no doubt wondering how to do such a thing when everyone was up and about. Noticing him watching her, she straightened her spine, her chin going up as she met his eyes. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Ben watched as she got to her feet and reached for the food she’d brought him.
There was a fresh loaf of bread and a round of cheese wrapped in a tea towel.
She’d brought a knife too, and a plate with a large slice of the chicken and ham pie she’d promised, to which she’d added pickled cabbage and some hard-boiled eggs.
Ben regarded the plate dubiously as she handed it to him.
“I’m not terribly hungry,” he admitted, his stomach not liking the look of the food overly much, though he knew it would be delicious and that he ought to be starving.
She turned back to him, her expression stern.
“You’ve got a fever.” Her tone was blunt, no nonsense, and though he could see the fear in her eyes, he heard no trace of it in her voice now.
“You know what that means as well as I do. I pray my limited skills are enough to get you through this, but you are going to need to be strong to fight it off. So, if you haven’t eaten every morsel by the time I get back, we are going to be having words. ”
Ben quirked an eyebrow, finding himself increasingly impressed by this little slip of a girl who dared to order a notorious smuggler about like he was no more than a lad. Still, she had a point.
“Aye, aye, Miss Honey,” he said gravely.
She blushed but said nothing, giving a taut nod.
“I’ll be as quick as I can,” she promised, and hurried back down the stairs.
The Vicarage, Little Valentine, 22nd January 1816
Izzy felt sick. Though there had been no sign of pus, the bullet wound was definitely infected despite her care. She needed to make another chamomile wash to cleanse it, as well as the yarrow poultice. But how could she—
“Are you ready, Miss Izzy?”
Izzy jolted as she got to the kitchen to discover Mrs Adie wearing her best bonnet, clearly ready to go out the door. Polly was with her, her face glowing with anticipation.
Mrs Adie looked her up and down, disapproving. “You’re not going like that, I hope?”
“Going?” Izzy repeated, entirely lost.
“It’s the meeting today, miss. The Venturesome Ladies,” Polly told her, looking as if she found it hard to believe it could have slipped Izzy’s mind. It was certainly the highlight of Polly’s day whenever there was a meeting.
Izzy swallowed a curse, putting a hand to her head, which was aching with worry and fatigue. “Oh, I…” Drat it, how was she to get out of this?
“I knew it. You’re not well.” Mrs Adie folded her arms, giving a smug nod. “Didn’t I say so?”
“Oh, er… yes. Yes.” Izzy made her voice scratchy, putting her hand to her throat now and wincing. “The putrid sore throat.”
Polly took a hasty step back, wrinkling her nose.
Mrs Adie rolled her eyes. “Lord above. Back to bed with you, I’ll get Mrs Mabbs to brew you some—”
“No!” Izzy exclaimed before remembering her sore throat. “No, please don’t bother Mrs Mabbs. I’m not that poorly. I know how to brew a tisane to soothe it, I can do it.”
She waited as Mrs Adie gave her a critical once over. “Very well, but mind you go for a lie down and get some rest. There are dreadful dark circles under your eyes.”
“I will, Mrs Adie. I promise.”
Izzy let out a sigh of relief as the two women headed outside, leaving her the kitchen to herself.