Chapter 27 #3
Lady Morpeth straightened and looked at Alasdair, her gaze steely even as her stance wavered and Nurse Gastrell rushed to her side to steady her.
“For now, I will defer to the physician in the room.”
Over the next hour, Alasdair continued to try to persuade Arabella to leave the bedchamber, but she refused. She would not leave Alasdair’s side. She hoped he knew it was for him that she stayed and not for Giles, but how was she to let him know?
“Let Mrs. Andrews stay, if she wishes to,” Lady Morpeth said. “She has a power over you, Dr. Andrews, that the rest of us do not. She may convince you to do what the rest of us cannot.”
“Cut me, Doctor,” Giles now moaned from the bed. “I do not want to die.”
“Ye may still recover, Lord Morpeth,” Alasdair said.
Giles raised his head an inch or two. “But, if I worsen, you will perform the surgery?”
“I . . .”
Giles’ head fell back to the mattress. “Promise me.”
“I cannae.”
“Why?”
“’Tis nae how medicine should be done.”
Giles groaned.
“And . . .” Alasdair hesitated.
“What, Doctor?” Lady Lyndmouth seemed frantic.
“I would need to take my arm out of the sling, and I fear there is still enough residual pain in my right shoulder that my skills would be limited.”
“I will help.”
Everyone in the room, save Giles whimpering on the bed, turned to look at Arabella.
Arabella did not know why she had said that. She only knew it was her instinct to help Alasdair. And she had always had a strong stomach and no fear of her father’s sickbed, even when she was only ten years of age.
“Dr. Andrews will tell me what to do. I will do what he cannot with his right arm.”
“Ye have nae training,” Alasdair sputtered.
“That is true. But you have the training. And I am very good with fine work.”
“Fine needlework!”
“Yes.” Arabella straightened her shoulders.
“That is what I have been allowed to do. But my fingers are nimble, and my eyes are sharp. And, as you said, you will only attempt the surgery if there seems no other way for Lord Morpeth to survive. And I will only become involved if your arm should hamper you.”
“There will be blood.”
“Do not women face their own blood every month without fear? Is fresh blood from a man so different?”
“Ye could kill him.”
“Yes. It will be a terrible responsibility. The same one you would shoulder.”
“I forbid it.”
“Well, as you said, I have no training. I can do nothing without your help.” She pulled him down and whispered in his ear, “But if you are forbidding me as my husband, I will remind you that you do not have that power over me.”
He flushed and said nothing.
Lord Morpeth continued to worsen. He was delirious. He gave off a foul heat that filled the room. His pulse grew thready.
Alasdair knew the crisis was imminent.
Lady Lyndmouth begged. Lady Morpeth looked grim.
Alasdair, Arabella, and the butler Andrews gathered in Lord Morpeth’s dressing room. With Arabella’s help, Alasdair took off his shirt and the swathe and sling. He tried moving his shoulder. He winced.
“Can you use the arm?” Arabella asked.
She stood close to him. Even with his increasing fatigue, he longed for her, wanted to touch her cheek, feel her hand on his chest.
“To a certain degree. ’Tis more that the pain restricts movements I would normally do with ease.”
The butler helped him put his shirt back on, now allowing the right arm to be inside the right sleeve, and left the dressing room.
“You will be able to do the surgery?” Arabella asked.
“’Tis nae advisable.”
Arabella said quietly, “So you will do nothing.”
“Usually, ’tis the best course.” Alasdair returned his right arm to the sling, leaving off the swathe. Arabella helped position the sling in place, and, for a moment, her hand lingered on his forearm.
“But not always,” she said.
“Aye. Only most of the time.”
“So we will wait until he dies.”
“I willnae kill him.”
“Are you worried you will be accused of that?”
“Nae. I am worried I actually will kill him.”
“But you may also kill him from inaction. Sometimes, Alasdair, isn’t great harm caused by doing nothing in the attempt to avoid harm?”
He did not know if she was talking about the surgery or about his own failure in regards to her. Years ago, he had done nothing when every part of him had yearned for her. He had let fear of rejection keep him from pursuing her. He had not risked failure.
To protect himself, he had chosen to cherish her only in his heart rather than to cherish her in his arms.
And that had been a mistake. If he could take her at her word, she had yearned for him and would have welcomed his affections. And, in time, she would have likely consented to be his wife.
So much hurt would have been avoided if he had been brave. If he had risked himself.
Now, alone with her in the dressing room, he thought of making a bargain with her. I will perform the surgery, Arabella, if ye consent to be my wife. It was a bittersweet fancy he quickly put away.
“Aye, Arabella.” He put his left hand to her cheek briefly and strode out of the dressing room.
“Every man with strong arms and a strong stomach will need to help. We must have the best light possible. And I will go now to the kitchen and look at the boning knives.”