Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Anthony
Wychwood House
They met Doctor Bell in the street enroute to Wychwood House. With a younger soldier to help carry the sheriff, they quickly arrived at the Navarres’ home.
Wychwood House was a chaotic whirlwind. People shouted. A woman swooned. Doors were slammed. More swooning. Dramatic sobs. A man burst into the sick room, carrying every bedsheet in the house.
Anthony and his soldier companion were forcibly dragged in front of the hearth in the kitchen and stripped. A woman wearing spectacles gave him a pair of linen trousers that were too short and a shirt that was too large to wear. He was grateful for the dry garments and changed quickly.
The noise and chaos of the Navarre household was very different from his family’s. To claim Saltwick was austere was an understatement. His ancestral home was as cold as the northern coast and just as severe.
Not surprising. It reflected the people who lived there.
A woman burst into the kitchen and made a small noise of surprise at finding two soldiers in various stages of dressing. “Oh, pardon me.”
“We’re nearly finished.” Anthony tucked the linen shirt into the trousers.
Steely gray shot through her hair. She flexed her hands and wiped them on an apron, as if anxious and unsure what to do. “Tea. You could use tea.”
“Tea sounds lovely, but only if you’re having a cup.”
“I shouldn’t.” She glanced around the kitchen, lower lip trembling. “I should… should make Lucas’ favorite. He needs to keep his strength up.”
As far as Anthony was aware, the sheriff was still unconscious. “Whatever you think is best.”
She nodded and fetched the kettle hanging by the hearth and busied herself with the business of tea. If her hands shook while she poured the brew, Anthony would not mention it.
With her own cup in hand, she sank back into a chair. “Thank you for what you did for my son, for carrying him home.”
Anthony mumbled the appropriately modest words. “What news from the doctor?”
She burst into tears.
“Oh dear—” Helpless to stop the tears and completely at a loss as to how to comfort her, he excused himself.
In the hallway, he pulled the soldier to the side for a quiet word.
Spencer, the man’s name was. Anthony found it a waste of time to learn the name of new recruits and the lower ranks.
They seldom lasted. Names were only worth learning once they climbed up the ranks a rung or two, but Spencer had proven himself useful tonight.
“We’re returning to the fort. Fetch our horses while I get my coat.” Anthony refused to ride back in nothing but a gauzy summer -weight shirt.
He climbed the staircase to the bedrooms upstairs.
Wychwood House was a landmark in Sweetwater Point but he had never been inside until he rushed in with the sheriff.
Three stories tall, it was one of the tallest structures around and impossible to miss with its stately design.
It sat alone on a sizable plot of land. Other houses in the neighborhood, all grand in their own manner, seemed humble by comparison.
He wouldn’t call the house opulent, but the quality of the craftsmanship was undeniable. The wood was polished and glowed with warmth from the oil lanterns. Thick draperies kept away any seeping cold from the windows. Carpet runners in the hallway absorbed heavy footsteps.
Mostly what struck him was the sound of the place.
Wychwood House was alive with people. It burst at the seams with noise.
Tonight, the sounds were crying and distress but Anthony could easily imagine it was just as full of laughter and mirth on any other day.
The house exuded warmth, both from the fireplaces and from the occupants.
It was a joyful place, excluding tonight. Completely different from his own home.
Hand raised to knock on the door, the door opened and nearly collided with Dr. Bell.
“Pardon me,” he said. “How is he?”
“Awake, the poor bastard. The claws went deep and the intestinal trauma severe. His gut was torn to shreds,” the doctor answered. Bloodstained cuffs peeked out from his coat sleeves. Really, that said it all. “I’ve done all I can.”
Poor bastard indeed. There was no coming back from such a wound. If he had been lucky, he’d have bled out in the alley. The fact that he was still alive meant he would suffer before the end.
No wonder his mother had burst into tears.
Retrieving his coat would mean an uncomfortable conversation with the sheriff—what did one say to a man on his deathbed?—but he could not venture out into the night without it.
Anthony paused outside the sheriff’s sickroom. Voices carried out.
“Take care of Prudy for me,” the sheriff said.
“Don’t you dare say that to me, Lucas Navarre. Those are dying words—and don’t you dare,” Nina said, each word a struggle between sobs. Anthony could well imagine the tears rolling down her face.
“I really don’t have a choice.”
“Well, I won’t because you’re going to be fine. Fit as a fiddle.”
“Promise me?—”
More sobs. Finally, in a choked voice, Nina said, “As you wish, you bastard.”
Anthony backed away slowly and then stepped heavily as he approached the door. He knocked and waited until Nina bade him enter.
She sat at the bedside, a handkerchief dabbing at the corner of her eyes. The sheriff lay in bed, wearing a linen shirt not unlike the one Anthony wore, and face waxen against the pillow. A light sheen of sweet rested on his brow.
“Good to see you awake, sheriff,” Anthony said.
Lucas attempted to sit upright and winced. “For all the good it does me. I’d rather be unconscious again.” He spoke slowly, as if every word took effort and caused considerable pain.
“Drink the tea the doctor prescribed,” Nina said, offering up a cup.
“Not until… the beast…”
Anthony held up a hand, silently bidding him to stop. “Captured. Jollett is on his way back to the fort.”
“He’ll hang for this,” Nina said.
“No,” Anthony said bluntly. “Hanging is not an option.”
“Because the only effective way to kill a beast is to chop off the head and burn the body,” she said. “Fine. I don’t care how you do it, as long as it is done.”
Oh dear. She was not going to appreciate his explanation. “Ben Jollett was recruited from the jails with the promise that he would not hang.”
“He attacked a person! The doctor said—” She blinked, as if tears obscured her eyes, and turned her head away. “Stop looking at me like that, Lucas, and drink the damn tea. I’ll pour it down your throat if I have to.”
The grim prognosis had to be the root of Nina’s emotional outburst. Indeed, the entire family’s emotional outburst. He could overlook it and allow her a bit of grace, and not because she was a member of the fairer sex and prone to histrionics.
Quite the opposite. In their previous dealings, she had proven herself to be calm and collected. This was a… trying time for the family.
“Ben Jollett was recruited from the jails with the promise that he would not hang,” Anthony repeated. “He accepted the bite. In exchange, his life is spared.”
“That’s not right,” Nina said, rising to her feet so abruptly that she knocked over the chair. “The law is quite clear that a dangerous beast must be terminated.”
“That is the law for civilians. This situation is more… nuanced. Jollett is a recruit.”
“A recruit.” She made a disbelieving sound. “So, he can attack people with impunity because you made a pinky promise? No. I won’t accept it.”
“The military honors their word. Jollett enlisted,” Anthony replied. “He took the bite. Ten years of service if he changed or the rest of his sentence in prison if he did not. Either way, he avoids the hangman.”
Frankly, the conversion rate was too low to eliminate every recruit who ran into complications. Fortunately, Anthony kept that to himself.
“That is some hogwash,” Nina said, her voice growing louder. “Jollett avoids consequences.”
“I did not say there would not be consequences.” His words did not appease Nina.
She took a step towards him, finger jabbing him in the chest. Her face was tilted up to state at him and her lips parted, ready to shout him down.
“Nina,” Lucas warned, voice weak.
She ignored him and did not back down, which was an admirable if stubborn trait.
“Yes, he did enlist. I assume the same military that honors their word also expects enlisted soldiers to behave in a manner befitting their uniform. Randomly attacking people sullies their reputation. I can’t imagine why you believe this to be good policy. ”
“You sound like a lawyer,” Anthony said. Her mouth opened and her cheeks flushed, as if truly offended. He continued, “Jollett did enlist and there is a protocol for these unfortunate incidents.”
“Unfortunate incident? Lucas was gutted . His bowel was perforated. There’s no fixing—” She turned away, a hand balled up over her mouth.
“The prognosis is unfavorable,” Anthony agreed. Gut wounds were dangerous because they quickly became septic. There was nothing to be done when the intestine literally spilled into the abdomen.
“I’m home. I’m warm. I have family to pour drugged tea down my throat so I won’t feel a thing,” Lucas said.
“I am very sorry.” His words were inadequate, but he couldn’t think of anything meaningful to say. “Jollett will be held accountable.”
“Forced servitude in the military is not enough. He needs to pay for the life he took.”
“That is not for me to decide, but I agree.”
Silence fell over the room, save for Nina’s quiet sobs.
“I came to fetch my coat,” Anthony said.
“Right.” She pulled her shoulders back and smoothed a hand down the front of her bloodstained shirt. She retrieved the coat from where it had been tossed onto the floor. “It’s ruined. You’ll never get the blood out.”
Anthony shrugged it on. “I only need to wear it to the fort and then I’ll have it burned.”
He shrugged it on, doing his best to avoid the fabric stiff from dried blood.