Chapter 6 #7
Another grasped the wood stretcher tightly, slipping slightly in the mud. “The wound… It’s…terrible. He’s losing so much blood. He’s… We didn’t think he’d make it.”
Victoria’s stomach twisted. The weight of what lay on the stretcher pressed against her chest as though it could smother her. Her father had already done too much tonight. She had no choice but to act.
“Yes, I will repair him. There is little choice. If you think Wilhelm to be tenacious and unrelenting, then you must understand the baron to be twice as indomitable.”
Moving with grim determination, Alphonse guided the stretcher into the shadowed tunnel.
Victoria’s soft footsteps answered him, barely audible on the stone stairs.
She appeared at the top of the landing, wide-eyed and pale.
Her chest tightened as she took in the gaping wound, the dark, glistening entrails exposed, the blood pooling beneath him.
Her hands trembled despite her resolve. Alphonse’s own hands, trembling faintly, betrayed the effort to maintain stillness in front of her.
“I—I cannot do this alone, I fear. We must move quickly,” Alphonse urged.
“He’s lost too much blood. Help me get him onto the table. ”
Victoria, heart hammering, grabbed the ether contraption without hesitation and administered it.
The acrid scent filled the lab, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and damp stone.
Alphonse began removing Wilhelm’s clothing, and Victoria’s hands were pressed into service, helping with trembling determination.
“Let me,” she said, her dark eyes intent, guiding her father’s hands with a steadiness she did not yet feel. Alphonse nodded, and together they secured Wilhelm’s arms, strapping them tight to prevent movement should he awaken.
“Hand me the tray,” Alphonse instructed, slipping into a precise rhythm as he began the repair.
Victoria watched, asked questions, and learned, absorbing every motion, every nuance.
Hours passed. Wilhelm groaned and flinched against the ether, surprising them both.
Alphonse’s tremors worsened as fatigue set in, every movement jagged, every heartbeat a warning that time was slipping.
“Quickly,” Victoria urged. “We must close him before he wakes fully!”
Alphonse’s hands shook violently, but Victoria’s calm, precise movements steadied the rhythm of the work.
She rethreaded needles, pressed damp rags into the wound, and followed each instruction with exacting attention.
The sight of her father—red-eyed, exhausted, trembling—struck her to the core.
She understood now the full weight of caring for him.
He was no longer merely her protector; he was fragile, human, and in need of help.
“Victoria, tighten the straps,” he commanded sharply as Wilhelm stirred, brown eyes flicking open beneath the partially shifted blindfold.
Her hand, already slick with blood, moved with careful precision. “His blindfold!” she said, but it was too late; their eyes had locked. He had seen her.
Alphonse, with no idea Wilhelm had spotted his daughter, quickly adjusted the blindfold.
The baron’s heir twisted and groaned, slurred words breaking through his drugged haze. Victoria and Alphonse worked feverishly, the metallic clink of tools, the drip of blood onto the stone, echoing like the tolling of the bell—a reminder of the stakes.
“Everything is fine,” Victoria whispered fiercely. Thunder rattled the windows. The flicker of candlelight cast jagged shadows across the lab. Alphonse’s protest was drowned beneath the storm outside and the groans of the baron’s heir.
Wilhelm twitched beneath their hands, reminding them of the fragile balance between life and death. Victoria adjusted her stitching, Alphonse guiding her, teaching her angles, pressure, and precision. Finally, the wound was secured, tied, and the immediate danger passed.
Victoria slumped against the table, exhausted but exhilarated. Alphonse cleaned the blood from his arms, tossing her a rag she barely used.
“You did it,” he said, pride nearly strangling his voice.
“I didn’t do all that much,” she whispered, though the faint smile that tugged at her lips betrayed the thrill of mastery she had felt in guiding life back from death.
Outside, the storm subsided, leaving the lab in a tense, reverent silence.
Victoria’s gaze lingered on Wilhelm, on her father, on the tools and chemicals that had brought them through the night: ether, opium, linen, scalpels, needles, and dampened rags.
Each held a memory, a lesson, a grim victory over fate.
Alphonse offered her a small glass of brandy, and for the first time, Victoria felt truly seen by the father she had longed to assist fully; she had proven herself. “Your days of cleaning the patients are over,” he said softly. “Come, have a drink. You’ve earned it.”
She stepped into the nook behind her father’s desk, feeling the weight of the night settle into her bones. The haunting flash of Wilhelm’s dark eyes watching her before they had fixed the blindfold crept over her excitement, dampening it like rain. What if he remembered?
And so it began…