Chapter Twelve #3
“Lady Evelyn is right,” Serendipity said. “We all know whose fault this was.”
“I hope Angus killed him.” Merry wiped her eyes and sniffed. “Angus called out that he had gotten the shooter.”
“Well done, Angus,” Lady Evelyn said. “We shall see that he’s amply rewarded.”
A knock at the door made them all turn. Serendipity hurried to open it.
Merry sagged in disappointment at the sight of the maids carrying in trays of tea and food. “How long has it been since we came up here? I meant what I said to Lord Malcolm.”
“It’s not been but a wee bit.” Lady Evelyn opened one of the bottles, sniffed it, and appeared mildly impressed. “They had brandy after all. Well done, Lairie.”
Her maid curtsied. “Thank ye, my lady.”
The dowager poured a dribble of tea into the cups, then added a hearty splash of brandy. She put one of them in Merry’s hands. “Drink, lass. It will help.”
The stout vapors hit Merry’s nose before the beverage ever touched her lips. This brandy was stronger than any she’d had before. The heat of it burned down her throat and pooled in her middle. Licking her lips, she set it aside. “I think I had best hold off on any more until after I see Duncan.”
“One of the guests turned out to be a man who was a surgeon in the war, my lady,” Jenny said. “He’s seeing to Lord Kirkston right now. The barmaid said so.”
“I don’t know whether to be glad or even more worried.” Against her better judgment, Merry took another sip of the caustic brew in her cup. “Did you hear anything regarding the other man? The one Angus shot?”
Hesitating, Jenny exchanged glances with the other maids.
“Jenny? Who was it, and how did he fare?”
“No name was mentioned, my lady, but they said he wore an eye patch.” Jenny gave her a knowing look. “On his left eye. Said his face had them old yellow bruises as if he had took a beating not long ago.”
“Brixham.” Merry downed the rest of her drink in one searing gulp. “Is he dead?”
“Not yet.”
Merry held out her cup. “Another.”
Another knock at the door startled them all. Jenny hurried to answer it. It was the harried barmaid from the dining room. “Beg pardon, but Dr. Hatler asked that I come and fetch Lady Merry.”
Merry slowly rose, not fully trusting her ability to stand, not only because of her state of upset but the effects of the stout brandy. “Who is Dr. Hatler?”
The barmaid curtsied again. “The surgeon seeing after Lord Kirkston, my lady.”
Her balance lost in a rush of emotion, Merry stumbled to one side and caught hold of the footboard’s brass railing to keep from going to the floor.
“Shall I come with you?” Serendipity asked her.
Forcing herself to square her shoulders and take a deep breath, Merry shook her head.
“No. I demanded to see Duncan, and I mean to see him.” She followed the woman down the hallway to the very next room.
The fact that Duncan had been so near and yet they had heard nothing, no screams of pain or cursing while the surgeon treated him, didn’t escape her.
It also made her feel worse. Her precious Duncan must surely be at death’s door.
A short, stocky gentleman opened the door and stepped into the hallway just as they reached it. “Lady Merry?”
“Yes.”
“I am Dr. Hatler, and I wish we were not meeting under such circumstances.”
“How badly is he hurt, sir?” She braced herself for the answer, suddenly wishing she’d allowed Serendipity to come along.
“Lord Kirkston, pending any infection or putrid fever, should experience a full recovery out of sheer stubbornness and determination alone. I have never in all my years seen someone so able to endure pain.” While rolling down his sleeves, he slowly shook his head.
“Thankfully, it was a clean wound, with the bullet passing through his arm without striking bone. Miraculous, really. When I informed him that rest was imperative, he insisted he could rest when he was dead, because he had to get to Scotland as soon as possible.” He shook a finger.
“If you can convince him to stay in bed for at least a day or so, he will be better for it. At least until the danger of infection passes.”
“But he will be all right?” She held her breath, trying to calm the pounding of her heart that threatened to deafen her. She didn’t wish to miss a word.
The surgeon patiently tipped a single nod. “Barring any infection.”
She clasped her hands to her chest. “Thank the Almighty.”
Dr. Hatler became even more somber. “Lord Brixham is asking for you as well, my lady.”
She jutted her chin higher. “I do not wish to see Lord Brixham.”
“The man is dying.”
“Good.”
The surgeon arched a brow, appearing mildly surprised.
“While I am but a man who tries to heal the body, it has been my experience that the mind often needs healing as well. Hatred is a dangerous thing, my lady. When we hate, it is as though we drink the poison meant to kill the person we despise, yet it inevitably kills us instead.”
“Do not judge that which you do not know or understand, Dr. Hatler.”
He gave another solemn nod. “The choice is yours, my lady. A choice you alone will have to live with.”