Treat No Evil （First Person） #3
I frowned. “I left that inch, but only because Jane stopped me. He later decided to take it himself.”
“What method did he use?”
I was even more impressed. Discussing the specifics of a man’s suicide attempt with a woman would have been quite beyond me a few months earlier.
“He made a noose from his bed ropes and hanged himself. Another half-minute would have finished it.”
“Can he speak? Can he eat? Shall I presume he has a V-shaped scar he will carry the rest of his life? How bad is it?”
She joined Jane and her sister at the very top of the list of women for whom I held the utmost respect.
“Excellent questions. He has neither eaten nor spoken, nor given indication that he will. I asked the kitchen to send up broth, but he collapsed the moment he arrived. He drank water several times today; I believe he will survive on the broth for a time.”
She nodded as if that were good news, or at least within expectations.
“Very well, I will care for your cousin. I agreed with the general to do this for one month, and I will do my best.”
“I thank you. I am greatly in your debt, and if you do not find it too unseemly for me to say so, I pay my debts. It would be my privilege if you might consider yourself under my protection.”
She regarded me steadily. “I do not doubt that. However, my debts for your cousin have already been settled by the general. If you require payment, I will ask it on behalf of another, but not for some time.”
I nodded, quite happy to grant anything she would deign to ask.
“Might you give me your cousin’s name, sir?”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
She gasped. This woman, who had taken in everything so far without batting an eye, was stunned by my cousin’s name.
Her eyes became round as saucers. “Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam?”
“Do you know him?”
“No sir, but I know of him.”
I found this intriguing, but gave her the opportunity to speak or remain silent as she chose.
“How much do you know of your cousin’s activities on the Continent over the last two years?”
“I know he was in Badajoz and Salamanca, both bloody battles. However, he steadfastly refused to give details. I respected his privacy when he would not answer… or at least I respected it once I determined no amount of brandy could drag it out of him. Was that a mistake?”
She considered her answer, which I appreciated. I would much rather have a correct answer five minutes later than whatever someone blurted out on the spur of the moment.
“No sir, I cannot say you have. A man’s privacy should be respected, and there is little chance a man like you could drag out details your cousin did not feel inclined to give.
Some men return from war trying to rid themselves of the images by giving them away to everyone who will listen.
Others try to lock the images in a deep, dark corner of their mind.
It seems your cousin is the latter. I believe you acted correctly; your questions would only have driven him away. ”
“And yet, your reaction suggests you know something I do not. Is that correct?”
“Yes. It is not exactly common knowledge, but known well enough in the circles I frequent.”
“Would you feel it a violation of trust to enlighten me?”
“Among those who know such things, your cousin is a legend. He was indeed at those two battles, and at least two others equally severe. At Salamanca, he woke up screaming just as a corporal threw him off a funeral cart into a grave. He was apparently the last man of his unit alive, and even that just barely; he had been lying on the battlefield, covered by a dead Spaniard, near death for an entire day and night. I am not at all certain that was the first or the last time he was one of fewer than a handful of survivors.”
I sat, mouth agape. How was it possible I was unaware of this? How had my cousin managed to keep this from me? Was I derelict in my duty for not drawing it out of him? Could I have helped him had I paid more attention?
“Mr Darcy, whatever you are thinking… STOP! Stop right now!”
I obeyed her commanding tone. Apparently, she had learned something besides taking orders at the hospital. When she saw she had my undivided attention, she continued.
“If your cousin wanted you to know these things, he would have told you. I doubt very much you would have been able to draw it out of him, and it would have been a severe violation of trust for you to try. These things are known to soldiers, but they very rarely talk about them with their family. They come home to enjoy the normality of life, and recounting their battles is rarely helpful. If he wanted to talk about it, he would have. The family provides something else he needs.”
I studied her carefully. “Were you always this wise?”
She chuckled grimly. “I am not wise. I am simply experienced and sensible.”
She seemed to rethink things she had seen, done, or heard; her hand, resting on the table, tensed. I covered it with mine—as she had done earlier—and waited for her to calm.
I had to admit; she was a damned impressive woman. I wondered what it was about the town of Meryton that seemed to grow them by the half-dozen.