Chapter 26 #2
Martin was lying on the ground, a few feet away from a ladder leaning against the rear wall. Fen stood over him, whimpering.
Theo hurried to join George at the fallen man’s side. Martin’s eyes were closed, and he was very still. How long had he been lying here?
“Do you think fell from that ladder?” George asked. “Oh hell, is he alive?”
Theo’s hands were shaking as tried to ascertain the answer to that question. “Yes, he’s breathing,” he said at last, almost winded by his own relief. “I hope he hasn't broken anything.” Leaning closer, he said gently, “Mr. Martin? Can you hear me?”
Martin made a thready sound in his throat but didn’t open his eyes.
“Are you hurt?” Theo asked, carefully running his hands over the man's limbs.
Nothing.
Theo looked at George, meeting his worried gaze.
“We need a doctor. Is there one around here?” George asked.
“I believe there’s a man in the next village,” Theo said. “Morgan’ll know.”
“I’ll run over there,” George said, getting to his feet. “I'll be as quick as I can.” And with that, he disappeared around the corner of the farmyard, leaving Theo with Martin.
Theo observed the man uncertainly. He had the sense that Martin was conscious, at least to some extent, though he was neither moving nor speaking. There was something about him, though, that seemed tense and aware.
Theo shivered. It was not a warm day, and the ground underfoot was hard-packed dirt.
Martin wore no coat, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up.
Theo touched his hand—it was ice cold. How long had he been lying here?
Theo was reluctant to attempt to move him when he had no idea how he might be injured, but perhaps he could make him more comfortable.
“I’m going to leave you for a minute,” he told Martin. “I’ll see what I can find in the house to warm you up.”
He squeezed Martin’s hand, and thought that Martin maybe squeezed him weakly back, though he couldn't be sure.
Getting to his feet, he hurried to the back door of the house.
Thankfully, it was open. Passing through a sparse kitchen, he entered an even sparser front parlour, nothing in it but a single wooden chair in front of the fire.
So bare compared to the house the man had once lived in with Stephen Lockhart.
Finding nothing useful there, Theo moved into the next and last room—Martin’s bedchamber—which, while also depressingly bare, at least had blankets on the bed. Theo yanked them off and returned to Martin.
Bundling one of the blankets up, he knelt beside Martin and carefully slid it under his head. His fingers grazed over a lump at the back of Martin’s head, presumably sustained as a result of his fall. At least there was no blood.
Theo carefully covered Martin up with the other two blankets, then stood and looked him over, noticing for the first time that one side of his face looked faintly wrong, the outer edge of his eye and his mouth slanted downwards.
Apoplexy, his mind supplied, and he felt a chill of fear.
Martin made a garbled sort of sound in his throat then—an attempt to speak?
“It’s all right,” Theo soothed, dropping back down to his haunches and setting a comforting hand on the man’s chest. “You don’t have to talk. Mr. Asquith’s gone to get the doctor.”
Martin gave a helpless whimper and made a weak grab for Theo's arm with his right hand.
Not knowing what else to do, Theo wrapped Martin's hand in his own, stroking his thumb over the back in what he hoped was a soothing gesture.
“The doctor will be here soon,” he said, though the truth was, he had no real idea how long it would take for the doctor to arrive. Or how Martin would fare until then.
Christ, he hoped the man did not die while they waited.
To his relief, George returned fairly quickly, reporting that Morgan had been at home and had agreed to ride out to fetch the doctor.
By then, Martin appeared to be rallying a little.
He still mostly lay with his eyes closed, but from time to time, he would open them, or attempt a few garbled words.
“Should we move him into the house, do you think?” George asked after a while. “He doesn’t seem to have broken anything, and he's moving a little now.”
“Yes, let’s do that,” Theo agreed.
Together, they carefully lifted him, George talking soothingly as they carried him into the house and laid him down in that spartan bedchamber, tucking the blankets around him.
The bed was only big enough for one person, the mattress plainly stuffed with straw, the sheets roughly homespun.
It could not have been more different from the luxurious four-poster bed he’d slept in at Blackfriars with its fine linen sheets and velvet hangings.
It was some time before Morgan arrived with Doctor Carr, an impatient, tired-looking man. After hearing Theo’s brief explanation of how they'd found Martin, he disappeared into the bedchamber to examine him while the other men waited outside.
When he emerged a quarter hour later, he was frowning deeply.
“I think he may have had a mild apoplexy,” he said.
“Perhaps it happened when he was on that ladder, and he hit his head when he fell off—he’s certainly got a lump at the back of his head, though I don't think he’s fractured his skull, thankfully, or any other bones.
His ankle looks bad, though. Swollen. Could be a sprain.
” He paused, sending Theo and George a speaking look.
“He's exceptionally lucky you came here and found him.”
“Will he be all right?” George asked.
The doctor shrugged. “It’s difficult to know.
If it's just a concussion, he’ll probably recover within a few weeks at most. If, as I think, it’s an apoplexy, even a mild one, it could be quite a bit longer.
” He frowned then. “I gather he lives alone? He won’t be in a position to look after himself.
Do you happen to know if he has family?”
“Not that I know of,” Theo said. He glanced questioningly at Morgan who shook his head, his expression troubled.
“What will he need help with?” George asked.
“If it’s an apoplexy, more or less everything, certainly to begin with,” the doctor replied. “He was able to move a little when I examined him, but his left side isn't as responsive, and his speech was bad, though he did seem to understand what was going on.”
“What do you mean when you say more or less everything?” George asked.
“I mean that he’ll need help with all the essentials,” the doctor said.
“Eating, washing, dressing and so on. It’s impossible to say how long that might go on for, and the extent of any recovery is uncertain.
There’s no question of him being able to deal with harvesting this year.
” Glancing at Theo, he added, “You may need to consider getting a new tenant, Mr. Caldwell.”
“Absolutely not!” George broke in. Without waiting for a reply from the doctor, whose gaze was moving between Theo and George uncertainly, George turned to Theo and said, “We have to help him, Theo. We can move him up to the main house to be nursed, and I’ll take care of things here while he recovers—I can stay on as long as you need me. ”
“I can help too,” Morgan put in. “I know what animals and crops Mr. Martin has, and we usually help each other at harvest time anyway.”
George smiled warmly at him, then turned back and gazed at Theo, waiting for his answer.
Hell. There was no way out of this, was there? Not that he wanted to get out of it precisely, but it was obvious this situation was going to tie him to Blackfriars for God only knew how long. And for a man who’d spent his entire life avoiding ties and responsibilities, that was a daunting thought.
George didn’t seem to see Theo’s uncertainty. His gaze was hopeful and trusting, as though he believed implicitly Theo would do the right thing.
And really, there was no question of disappointing George. Theo couldn’t bear to see how his expression would change if Theo failed to meet his expectations. Couldn’t bear to be diminished in George's eyes.
So, in the end, he pushed his misgivings aside and turned to Morgan. “Do you have a cart we could use to take Mr. Martin up to the house?”