21. Chapter 21
Andrew and his brother sat in companionable silence by the fire in Andrew’s study, he with a glass of cider and Jack with his usual whiskey. Tonight, the ladies had hied off to Almack’s, and both men, along with Jack’s wife, Vivian, had made their excuses and stayed behind.
He glanced over at his younger brother. The two of them had come far from their previously strained relationship.
In his youth, Jack had been in love with Lydia.
She led Jack to think she returned his affections and then had cruelly laughed off his proposal of marriage.
Devastated and angry, Jack ran off to join the Royal Navy.
Because of Lydia’s scheming, for the last decade, Jack and he had rarely seen each other and had only been on the most formal of terms.
But Jack returned home this past summer, bent on repairing his connections with the family.
As they spent time together again, they had forged a new friendship, which had healed old wounds.
Andrew leaned back in his chair, content to spend a quiet evening in the company of family.
He couldn’t be happier to have his brother back in his life.
A thud sounded against the French doors that led out to the garden.
Andrew whipped around as the door burst open, and a man stumbled into the room.
Andrew and Jack shot to their feet. The man braced himself against the desk, and a pair of large brandy-colored eyes peered out from a soot-stained face. No…it couldn’t be.
“Andrew…” the figure moaned, then slowly sank to the floor.
“Dear God, Emma!” He raced over and scooped her up off the floor.
She let out a cry of pain. He immediately set her back on her feet but left one arm around her waist to prop her up.
Andrew looked down and saw a dark red stain on her jacket that could only be blood.
“Oh, Emma, what’s happened?” He pulled her gently against his chest.
“I believe…I’ve been shot.” Then her eyes fluttered shut, and with a soft moan, she slid into unconsciousness.
“This is Emma Whittingham?” Jack said, his mouth agape.
“Yes. She’s been hurt badly, from the looks of all this blood. Help me get her upstairs to my suite without anyone seeing us.”
Jack, to his credit, quickly shook off his initial shock.
He went through the door and out into the hallway, where he sent the footman on an errand to the kitchens.
Then he motioned for Andrew to follow him.
They went directly up the front stairs, with Jack turning the corners first, checking that the hall was clear before motioning for Andrew to continue.
Just as they reached the doorway to his suite, Vivian came out of a sitting room four doors down.
Her eyes travelled over both men and then to the bleeding figure in his arms. “What in bloody hell is going on here?” she demanded.
There was no time for questions. Andrew motioned with his head for Jack to get the door. He strode inside his room and placed Emma gently on his bed. She lay motionless, and he was appalled at the blood which spread across the sleeve of her jacket.
“Winston!” Andrew yelled. “Winston!”
“Will someone please tell me what the hell is happening? Who is that?” Vivian repeated her question from the doorway.
Jack pulled her into the room and shut the door. “That is Miss Emma Whittingham. She’s been shot. That’s all I know.”
“What!” Vivian peered more carefully at the unconscious form on the bed.
From the dressing room, Winston came bustling out. “You bellowed, my lord?”
“I need some towels and some help getting her out of this jacket. She is bleeding profusely. We must stop the bleeding.” Andrew could hear the panic leaking into his voice.
Winston’s eyes bugged out of his head. But he immediately ran back to the dressing room and emerged a moment later with a stack of towels. Andrew turned to his brother.
“Jack, can you send for Mr. Davis? He can be trusted to have discretion, yes?” George Davis had been Jack’s ship’s surgeon for many years before resigning last year to settle in London and get married.
“Yes, of course. I will ride out and fetch him immediately.” Jack swiftly left the room.
Vivian seemed to take stock of the situation, for she hefted her skirts up and climbed onto the bed next to Emma. “Andrew, you lift her up gently, and I will try to get her arms out of this jacket.”
Andrew slid an arm under Emma’s shoulders, and together, the two of them managed to slide the oversized jacket off one arm.
As they slid it off the injured one, Emma came to with a scream of pain, her eyes wild.
She groaned as Andrew laid her gently back against the pillows.
Winston handed over a towel, and Andrew pressed it against the wound on her upper arm, hoping to stanch the bleeding.
“Andrew…” she croaked. “My arm is on fire.”
“You said you’d been shot, my love.” He brushed his fingers across her cheek.
A small gasp came from across the bed. Vivian gaped at them, mouth hanging open.
He didn’t know what had shocked her more, Emma being shot or the endearment that had slipped out of his mouth, but at the moment, he didn’t have any inclination to explain his relationship with Miss Whittingham.
“Vivian, can you go wait for Jack and George Davis and escort them up here without the staff seeing the surgeon arrive?”
Vivian nodded her head and shimmied off the bed.
Andrew turned to Winston. “Nobody comes into this room except the surgeon or Jack and his wife. No one knows she is here. Can I trust you to make sure of that?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Shall I bring up some spirits? The surgeon may need them to clean the wound.”
“Not until Davis arrives. Right now, I need you to stand sentry at the door.”
“Yes, sir.”
When Andrew was alone with Emma, he took a towel to the wash basin to dampen it; he wiped her face clean of the soot she used to disguise her features, revealing a deathly white pallor.
He again put pressure on her wound, trying to stop the blood, which was quickly soaking the towel.
Emma still had her eyes closed, so Andrew jolted when she spoke.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go.
Didn’t want to frighten the children. You said you wanted to take care of me.
I wager you didn’t imagine a scenario like this.
” She opened her eyes, and her mouth turned up in a wry smile.
How could she smile at him when she was quite possibly bleeding to death?
“I will take care of everything. You just hang on until the surgeon gets here. If I can just get this damned bleeding to stop!”
Emma’s eyes fluttered closed again. Andrew leaned his forehead against hers. “Emma, hang on.” His voice rasped. “Please don’t die. I won’t have it, you hear me! You are absolutely not allowed to die.”
Time passed impossibly slowly as he watched Emma’s pale face and kept pressure on her wound.
“Andrew, I’ve brought Davis.” Jack’s voice came from across the room.
Andrew stood to greet the surgeon. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“It’s no problem. I’m glad I was at home and not at the hospital. What is the situation?” Davis strode over to where Emma lay on the bed.
“She was shot in her right arm. I’ve been trying to put pressure on the wound to stanch the bleeding, but I have no idea if it’s working.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “She has been in and out of consciousness.”
“May I assess the wound?”
Andrew nodded. Jack laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze as Davis tore the sleeve of Emma’s shirt to look at the wound.
Davis called out, “Could you come here and help me roll her gently onto her side so I can see if there is an exit wound? If we are lucky, the ball isn’t lodged inside her shoulder.”
Andrew climbed on the bed and gently rolled Emma toward him. She moaned, her face taut with pain. His stomach clenched in response.
“It looks as though the ball just grazed her arm and took with it a chunk of flesh. Flesh wounds often bleed profusely, but the bleeding is slowing and starting to clot nicely. I’ll need to clean the wound, then I will sew it up as neatly as possible.
” The doctor rolled Emma onto her back. “But I see her shoulder is dislocated. We must push it back into the socket before I can do anything else.”
Andrew exchanged a grim look with his brother.
A dislocated shoulder was thankfully not life-threatening, but this was going to be painful.
Davis looked down at Emma. “I need you to stand up, my dear. I’m going to have to fix your shoulder if you want to use this arm in the future.
I won’t lie. It will hurt to pop it back into place. ”
Emma lost any color she had left, but she nodded her head. Andrew helped her off the bed.
“How can I help?” he asked.
“Let’s help her over here, back against the wall, and hold her steady.”
Andrew pressed Emma against the wall, using his body to prop her up and a steady hand against her good shoulder. He whispered in her ear, “Be brave, my sweet. I will take care of you.”
Then he nodded to Davis, who, with one swift push and a sickening pop, thrust Emma’s shoulder back into place. Emma screamed, her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed into Andrew’s waiting arms.
Davis gestured for him to bring Emma back to the bed. Then he reached into his bag and took out needle, thread, and a bottle of laudanum. Turning back to Andrew, he said, “Do you think you can get her to drink a small amount?”
Andrew laid Emma carefully on the dark blue counterpane. He leaned in close. “Emma, darling, wake up just for a few moments.” He brushed gentle fingers across her pale cheek. “Emma.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “Andrew?” They were glazed with pain. “Everything hurts.”
Davis handed Andrew the bottle of laudanum and then went to gather up the rest of what he would need to stitch up her arm.
“I know, love. Here, drink a little of this. It will dull the pain. The surgeon will have to stitch you up. Drink,” he commanded.
She obliged him and swallowed two sips of the bitter liquid. Then she leaned her head back against the pillow and closed her eyes as if it was too much effort to keep them open.
“Lucy is going to be so angry with me,” she mumbled. “I promised her I’d quit.”
Comprehension rushed through him. “Emma, what were you doing tonight?”
“The necklace.” She raised her hand weakly, gesturing to her throat.
“I was going to give the proceeds to Lucy and the children when I left. They are better off without me. I am just a scandal waiting to happen.” She let out a small sigh.
Her head rolled to one side as she succumbed to the effects of the poppy.
He closed his eyes. She had been planning to run away.
Just as he feared. A necklace? He looked over at the bloodstained jacket lying next to her on the bed.
Picking it up, he checked the pockets. Sure enough, in the left interior pocket, Andrew pulled out a gleaming diamond necklace.
He shoved the necklace back into the jacket pocket before anyone else could see.
“You fool,” he quietly berated her unconscious form.