Page 46 of The Defiant Governess
Nine
As the surroundings were familiar to her, Jane was able to cut through fields and woods to reach the manor house before Saybrook arrived with Peter. The servants were clustered near the main entrance, somber and awaiting further instructions concerning the injured family members. Mrs. Fairchild’s eyes were already red from crying, but Jane noted that everything she had ordered was in readiness.
There was nothing to do but wait.
Jane did so impatiently, pacing up and down the hall in silence. It was with great relief that she saw the doctor’s curricle come racing up the drive.
At the same time, she saw Saybrook’s black stallion approaching and rushed to meet both of them. A groom led the curricle away and Dr. Hastings came to stand with her to await his patient. Jane had met him once before, when he had been summoned to treat Cook for a nasty fall she taken down the cellar stairs. She had liked him at once, and knew he had a very good reputation as a medical man. She slipped him a sidelong glance as she waited nervously, taking in his erect bearing, his close cropped silver hair and whiskers and his clear hazel eyes which hinted at both intelligence and a sense of humor.
It was a reassuring picture—and he didn’t disappoint her image. Even before Saybrook had brought his tired horse to a halt, the Doctor had quietly told two footmen to take Peter, instructing them exactly how to hold the injured child.
“This way, Doctor,” called Mrs. Fairchild.
As Jane turned to follow, she noticed that Saybrook dismounted stiffly and appeared to stumble as he started to walk to the house. But then the Doctor was fast disappearing and she hurried to catch up.
At the doorway to the Blue Room, Dr, Hasting turned and raised a hand to halt the people behind him. “I will examine the boy alone, if you please,” he announced firmly. “If I need assistance, I will summon Miss—” His gaze searched for Jane—“Langley, is it?”
She nodded.
“Excellent.” To the marquess her added, “I’m sorry, Your Lordship, but you and the others will only be in the way.”
Saybrook stood at the head of the stairs, his arm clutching the newel post as if he were in need of physical support. He acknowledged the doctor’s words with a brief nod.
The door closed.
“You may all go back to your duties.” Jane spoke quietly to the two footman and anxious parlormaid who had accompanied them upstairs. Turning to Mrs. Fairchild, she continued, “Perhaps it would be best if we had some chairs brought?—”
A cry of alarm interrupted her and she turned to see that Saybrook had collapsed and was lying unconscious on the landing. With a sharp intake of breath, she rushed to where he lay. As she gently turned him onto his back, his coat fell open …
Mrs. Fairchild let out an anguished cry. His waistcoat was soaked in blood and a jagged gash in the cloth revealed an ugly wound at his ribs.
“Hot water, linen bandages and basilicum powder! Now!” ordered Jane, hoping her tone would spur the older woman into action. “James, Charles, get His Lordship to his bed.”
Fortunately, the two footman were sturdy fellows and able to lift the marquess without difficulty. His bedchamber was just across the hallway, and Jane hurried ahead and flung back the covers on the massive carved oak bed, then signaled for them to lay the marquess on the fresh linen sheets.
“Ease his boots off, please,” she called as she placed a pillow under his head. “One of you fetch a pair of scissors—and a bottle of brandy.” All the while, her hand was unconsciously smoothing the dark hair back from Saybrook’s pale forehead.
Two maids arrived with a basin of hot water and a tray of medicines. Someone had thought to include a knife, and without waiting for the scissors, Jane began cutting away Saybrook’s upper garments. She was not a total stranger to violent accidents and the sight of blood. At home she had sometimes accompanied Nanna, whose skills included nursing, on her visits to some of the surrounding tenants. Unbeknownst to her father, she had helped Nanna treat all manner of farm accidents, from broken limbs to severed fingers. It was hardly proper for a young lady of refinement, but it made her feel useful.
Even so, she blanched and felt faint as she got his shirt off and saw the deep wound between his ribs. With trembling hands, she took a clean cloth and sponged the blood and gore from his chest. The bleeding had slowed considerably and she prayed that he had not lost too much. The very idea spurred her to work faster. She folded a length of linen into a soft pad and covered the wound, applying a good amount of pressure with the heel of her hand. After a few minutes, she took it away and, satisfied that the flow was stanched, doused the jagged gash with a liberal amount of basilicum powder.
“James, lift his shoulders—carefully, now.”
As the footman eased Saybrook up, Jane made another pad and wrapped it in place with a long length of bandage. She glanced around the spacious room, taking in the elegant dressing table and tasteful furnishings until her eye came to a large dresser.
“Find me a clean shirt, Mary,” she said to one of the maids, who knew exactly which drawer to open.
Jane slipped the garment over Saybrook’s head, then motioned for the footman to ease him back down to the pillow. The white linen sheets accentuated the pallor of his skin underneath his light tan. Now that she had a moment to think, Jane felt afraid. She grasped his wrist, seeking a pulse. It was there, but weak and erratic.
“One of you knock on the Blue Room door and let the doctor know he is needed in here, too, just as soon as he is done with Peter. The rest of you may go.”
She had kept hold of Saybrook’s hand, her fingers slipping from his wrist to entwine with his. They were cold as marble. She pressed her lips together.
Oh, please,don’t you dare leave us,she thought
Saybrook’s eyes fluttered open. “Peter?” he whispered faintly.
Jane grasped his hand tighter. “The doctor is with him now,”
