Chapter 15 #2
I tried using shreds of Richard’s own shirt to stanch the bleeding, but it would not be stopped, and then I dipped the cloth into a basin of water and tried washing the blood away, but he had begun to bleed so rapidly that I could not keep up with it.
Thanks to my time at Black Hill, I was quickly able to fashion a tourniquet and stop most of the bleeding, but I also knew it was dangerous to keep the device in place too long.
It was becoming clearer that he needed more help than I could give.
I took off my shoes and, before leaving, bent close to the half-conscious Richard. “I will return with help,” I said.
I intended to send Sam for Mr. Carter, but as I began to cross the second-floor hall toward the stairs up to the servants’ quarters on the opposite end, I saw in the darkened far end Blanche Ingram at the door of her room, candlestick in hand, as if waiting for me to return.
No—I could not risk getting caught by her, of all people.
But where to turn now? Richard’s condition would become serious if he lost much more blood.
Hidden in the shadows, I looked desperately about: the schoolroom was across from me, and the room where Adèle slept beside her nurse—Sophie might help, but I could not risk waking the child; beyond that was the room the Eshton girls shared. And next to me: Jane’s room.
Jane: the last person I could risk learning my secret. Besides, as I knew from her first meeting with Mesrour, she had no facility with horses—I could not send her on a dark ride alone to Carter’s house. No, Jane was out of the question.
But as I hovered in the hall, wracking my brain for an answer, another low, desperate moan erupted from the wounded man upstairs.
I had to act swiftly, or I might have a dead man on my hands.
Even in my panic, I understood that Jane was exactly the sort of steadfast, coolheaded person I needed beside me in this emergency; I knew she, more than anyone, could be trusted to do what I asked of her.
Well, she had said, had she not, that she would risk danger for me, as a friend? I would have to test that now. I would have to leave her with Richard and make the ride to fetch Carter myself. Without giving my doubts time to surface, I stepped closer to her door and tapped softly.
“Am I wanted?” I heard from inside. She was awake. My heart warmed at her voice, though a part of me had hoped I could still have spared her, and myself, the dreadful task ahead.
“Are you up?” I asked softly.
“Yes, sir.”
“And dressed?”
“Yes.”
“Come out, then, quietly, without a light, please.” The door opened slowly. “I want you,” I whispered. “Come this way: take your time, and make no noise.” I took her hand and led her to the hidden door, but as we reached the third floor, I had a thought. “Have you a sponge in your room?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you any salts—volatile salts?”
“Yes.”
“Go back and fetch both,” I whispered, and I handed her a candle and she hurried back the way we had come. Even if Blanche were still holding vigil, I figured, she would think nothing of seeing the governess alone at the far end of the hall.
Meanwhile, I stepped into the room and confronted a whimpering Richard.
“Someone is coming to sit with you,” I said.
“It is no one of import—just the governess. But on pain of death, you will say nothing to her, nothing about your wounds, nothing about your sister, nothing at all. If you want to live, you will obey me on that, no matter what.”
Frightened by my words, he nodded silently. I hoped he would obey. I hoped I could keep Jane from learning about Bertha, keep her suspicions on Grace Poole. I hoped I wasn’t making a terrible mistake.
I hurried down the steps to wait for Jane. It was only moments until she returned, and she followed me wordlessly to the door of Bertha’s apartment, where I tried to prepare her for what she would see inside. “You don’t turn sick at the sight of blood?”
“I think I shall not,” she responded. “I have never been tried yet.”
“Just give me your hand,” I said. “It will not do to risk a fainting fit.”
She placed her small hand in mine. It was warm and steady, like Jane herself. Though I dreaded the consequences of what I was about to do, at the same time I felt some peace, for, standing there beside her, I could not at that moment have wanted a better companion.
As we entered the outer chamber, I saw Jane’s eyes wandering over it.
The door to Bertha’s chamber was open slightly, and from behind it came an animalistic snarling.
Leaving Jane, I walked quickly into the room, where Grace was attempting to soothe Bertha as she lay bound on the bed.
Bertha gave a loud, wild laugh at my entrance.
With as fierce a gaze as I could muster I made it clear to Grace that she must keep Bertha contained—and quiet—at all costs, and administered a dose of sedative to ensure it.
Under no circumstances was Bertha to be allowed anywhere near Jane.
I locked the door behind me when I left.
“Here, Jane!” I said, moving to the chair where Richard had collapsed. I held the candle over him so that she could see who he was and that he had been wounded. What remained of his shirt was soaked in blood. True to her word, she remained calm and clearheaded.
I handed her the candle, and together we bathed his wounds and revived him with the salts, until he opened his eyes and groaned. “Is there immediate danger?” he asked in a weak voice. What a coward, I thought. I assured him he was fine and that I was about to fetch the doctor.
“Jane,” I said to her, “I shall have to leave you in this room with this gentleman, for an hour, or perhaps two hours.” I tried to sound confident; I was removing the tourniquet as I spoke.
And I was determined to leave no detail to chance, give the two of them no reason to speak a question or command between them.
“You will sponge the blood as I do when it returns; if he feels faint, you will put the glass of water on that stand to his lips, and your salts to his nose. You will not speak to him on any pretext—and—Richard—it will be at the peril of your life if you speak to her: open your lips—agitate yourself—and I’ll not answer for the consequences. ”
With that I gave the bloody sponge to Jane and watched her take up the task I’d given her. “Remember!—No conversation,” I said, and I left them there.
What else could I have done? Should I have let him die for his own foolishness, to protect my secrets? And yet: to think of Jane sitting there, mere yards from Bertha—was I myself a madman?
Thank God, Miss Ingram appeared to have given up on me. I dressed swiftly for the journey and raced to the stables for Mesrour. Pilot barked once to be allowed to come, but I quieted him with a word and made off in a state of both panic and exhilaration.
Though it was hours before dawn, I found Carter attending a dying patient, and despite that I sent in a message that my own errand was a matter of life and death, I still had to wait until he felt he could leave the suffering woman.
In the meantime, I rounded up a post chaise for the surgeon and finally we were off, I still on Mesrour and urging the driver to whip his horses to a faster pace.
It was one of the longest rides of my life; and I confess it was the uncertainty about Jane in that dark chamber alone for hours with Richard—so close to Bertha herself—that made my blood run cold.
Dawn was just announcing itself when we arrived. The driver waited below while I hurried Carter through the silent Hall.
“Now, Carter,” I said as we entered the chamber, “be on the alert: I give you but half an hour for dressing the wound, fastening the bandages, getting the patient downstairs and all.” As I spoke, I could not bear to look at Jane, dreading to think what she might have learned in my absence.
“But is he fit to move, sir?” Carter asked, bending over for a closer look.
“No doubt of it; it is nothing serious: he is nervous, his spirits must be kept up. Come, set to work.” I pulled back the curtain and drew up the Holland blind, letting in more light. Then I turned to Richard. “Now, my good fellow, how are you?” I asked him, feigning cheer.
“She’s done for me, I fear.”
“Not a whit!—courage! You’ve lost a little blood; that’s all. Carter, assure him there’s no danger.”
“I can do that conscientiously,” said Carter, who had already undone the bandages; but in the next moment he discovered the torn flesh where Bertha’s teeth had been, and he frowned at me.
“She bit me,” Richard murmured. “She worried me like a tigress—”
I hurried to stop him from saying too much.
“You should not have yielded,” I said impatiently.
“You should have grappled with her at once.” She had seemed so quiet, he replied; and he had wanted to see her, had believed he could do her good.
His weakness made me furious; not only had he not trusted my word about her condition, but he had explicitly disobeyed my orders, and now was insisting on discussing it in front of Jane.
I tried to soften my tone, to cover my own panic and fury, to keep Richard calm and Jane disinterested.
But I needed him out of my house as swiftly as possible, before my guests awoke—and before Jane heard another word.
As Carter finished the shoulder dressing and turned his attention to the other bite marks on Richard’s arm, the latter whimpered: “She sucked the blood: she said she’d drain my heart.” Yes, I thought, now you see how she has been draining mine.
I turned away in disgust. “Come, be silent, Richard.” I spoke as soothingly as I could. “Never mind her gibberish: don’t repeat it.”
“I wish I could forget it,” was the answer.