Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Charlotte stood in the hallway as Aamina returned, her heart almost clawing its way out of her chest. Lingering by his bedside was a mistake.
“Miss Charlotte, are you well?”
Shaking her head, a sob crept up in her throat. “He woke momentarily, and I believe he recognized me.” She cupped her hands over her mouth, her breath coming rapidly now.
Holding fresh linens to her chest, Aamina peeked into the room at their patient. Her mouth flattened as her keen eyes inspected the scene.
“He is deep asleep. I will convince him it was a dream. Do not fret.” Aamina pressed a comforting hand to her arm. “I could always give him a little more laudanum if he makes a fuss.” The maid waggled her eyebrows.
“I fear it will make no difference. What if he doesn’t wake up? The wound seems to be festering.” Charlotte swiped at the tears gathering in her eyes with a shaky hand.
Aamina gritted her teeth. “Should I fetch the doctor again?”
“No, he will only want to give him a bloodletting. Lord Spencer has lost enough blood. We will wait and see.”
The maid’s eyes darted to the side, and she rubbed her lips together as though mulling over her words.
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure. We were discussing the lord’s condition downstairs, and I heard it said from our head groom that we might be able to clean the wound.
He is a veteran of the army. Jenkins fought bravely and said he tended many wounds.
The doctor would scoff at his suggestions, but perhaps we should ask him? ”
Her eyes cast up to the ceiling, Charlotte considered. She needed to be more vigilant, now that Peregrine had seen her.
“What would this treatment entail?” she asked, her stomach heavy like lead.
“I will see to Lord Spencer, then I will fetch the man. Would that please you?”
Tapping her fingers against the wall behind her, Charlotte resigned herself to trying something different. Perry was in poor enough condition that she was willing to take the risk.
Pacing outside his room after Aamina left, Charlotte waited for her head groom.
The small tuft of white hair remaining on Jenkins’s head bounced slightly as he made his way to Charlotte, walking behind Aamina.
Jenkins nodded to Charlotte. “I believe I may be able to help Lord Spencer, Miss Charlotte. I brought my concerns to the doctor, and he dismissed them. I beg you to hear me.”
Charlotte waved them into the empty room next to Perry’s.
“I will not hurt him more. He is already suffering,” she said, her tone serious.
Jenkins tilted his head to one side, his eyes darting between Aamina and Charlotte’s. “It will hurt a little.”
Charlotte pinched the bridge of her nose. “What do you suggest?”
“On the battlefield, we had few options for caring for the injured, but we had much success cleaning wounds with the liquor we had on hand. Somehow, it proved a stronger cleaning agent than water, which was scarce at times.”
“You would bathe his injuries in liquor? It sounds preposterous.”
Jenkins shrugged. “The cleaner we kept the wound, the less it festered.”
Gritting her teeth, Charlotte considered. “I see.”
Aamina shook her head. “It wouldn’t hurt to try. He is already poorly. If he gets no treatment, he might die.”
Pacing to the window, Charlotte glanced at the sunny scene outdoors. A butterfly danced from one bright blue delphinium to another, oblivious to the life and death decisions she was making. Releasing a slow breath, she turned and gave a slight nod to Jenkins.
“Will you see to it? I do not want him to see me if the treatment awakens him.”
The groom nodded. “I am happy to be of service, ma’am.”
“I will help him in your stead,” Aamina added. “We will clean his wound and pray for God to have mercy on Lord Spencer.”
They waited for the cloak of darkness to protect them as they attempted to cleanse Perry’s wound.
Unable to stay away, Charlotte stood outside the door as they removed the infection that had been festering, using hot water to clear away the mess.
Each moan and cry from his mouth was a dagger to her heart.
Hearing him suffer was almost as bad as having to maintain a distance between them while Jenkins and Aamina worked on him.
Hutchins and Bexley watched on to provide support and extra muscle if needed, while Charlotte wept softly in the hall.
“My lord, you must be still,” Jenkins spoke softly. “We are cleansing the wound and you will feel much better.”
Perry gave a sharp cry. “You are killing me,” he shouted. “You are killing me.” The last words were strained and painfully hoarse.
Unable to resist, Charlotte peered into the room, her eyes latched onto his legs moving frantically beneath the sheets.
Aamina reached for the bottle of burgundy liquor as Jenkins soothed the patient. “You will be feeling much better in no time, my lord. Please.”
Perry stilled, as Aamina bent over him to pour the liquid into the wound.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Charlotte tore her gaze away and leaned against the wall, once again out of sight.
The shouts as the alcohol touched his wound tore at her heart. Sliding down the wall to crumple into a heap, Charlotte buried her head in her arms, willing his pain away.
“It burns,” Perry sobbed. “It burns. You are a monster, sir.”
“There, there. There, there, my lord. The worst is over,” Jenkins’ rough voice could be heard over her silent weeping.
The quiet, muffled sound of Aamina moving around the room caught her attention.
The footman carried bowls of bloody water and soiled instruments out of the room.
Perry made a few more sounds as her maid made him more comfortable, and finished cleaning the area.
She watched and listened, desperate for any signs that his pain had abated.
At last, Aamina emerged into the hallway, taking Charlotte’s hands in hers. “It is done. We changed his bedding, and his wound is freshly bathed and bandaged. I have great hope this will heal him.”
With an eager nod, Charlotte blinked back tears. “May I see him?”
Aamina nodded, releasing her hands and leaving her to enter Perry’s bedroom.
Standing in the doorway, her eyes raked over his body lying peacefully at rest. The light of a single candle flickered, casting a warm glow on the bed. How she hungered to go closer, to inspect for herself that he was well.
Tossing a glance over her shoulder, she stepped into the room. The steady sound of his breathing told her the worst of his suffering had passed. Her eyes could only satisfy her so much, his proximity a temptation too great to resist.
One touch.
Just one final touch.
Then she would leave him. Leave to God what she hoped, with her entire heart, only He could repair. There was nothing more they could do.
Stroking the back of her hand on his still-heated brow, Charlotte savored one last caress. She moved her hand down the side of his arm, only a whisper of a touch, and curved the tip of her fingers into his.
Staring down at the strong hand that had once held her so reverently, her breath caught. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she blinked to hold them back.
This was goodbye.
It had to be.
Whether he lived or died, from this moment, she had done her best. And she would continue to do so by staying away from him.
Keep to her own private rooms and cease dreaming of what could have been.
For that destiny had never been hers. She would watch him leave on his mighty horse with a smile on her face.
Because she did her best.
Even if her best meant losing him forever.