Page 47 of The Defiant Governess
He made a movement as if to rise but sunk back with an involuntary gasp. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and his eyes narrowed with pain. Jane bent close to his head. “You mustn’t try to move, sir,” she whispered as she sponged his face with a clean cloth. “I shall take care of Peter—I promise you I will.”
Saybrook tried to speak again, yet she couldn’t make out his words. The effort proved too much for his waning strength and he lapsed back into unconsciousness.
“I see we have another patient.”
Jane rose quickly, hoping the doctor wouldn’t notice the tears in her eyes, and stepped back from the edge of the bed to allow him room. He eased up Saybrook’s shirt and nodded in approval at Jane’s bandage.
“A good job, Miss Langley. Do you have experience in nursing?”
“A little, sir.”
“Well, it seems we shall need it.” He pulled a chair closer and opened his black bag. “I shall have to remove your handiwork so that I may examine the wound.” His voice trailed off as he began to work. With a deft snip of his scissors, he removed the bandages. His brow furrowed at the sight of the ripped flesh. “Nasty,” he muttered as he bent low to listen to Saybrook’s shallow breathing and to probe gently around his side.
Jane clenched her hands together, unaware that her nails were drawing blood.
“Well,” announced Dr. Hastings as he straightened up. “The horn appears to have missed the lung. I think two of the ribs are broken so he will have to be kept quite still in order that they don’t cause any damage. But he is lucky.”
Jane let her breath out slowly.
“However,” continued the doctor, “it is not the wound itself that concerns me most, it is the danger of infection. The next twenty-four hours are critical. If a fever develops, we shall have reason to worry.”
“I will do anything that is necessary,” said Jane.
He nodded. “I believe he is in good hands.” Reaching into his black bag he withdrew an amber bottle and placed it on the night table. “Tincture of laudanum. He will be in great pain if he wakes during the night. Try to give him six drops in a glass of water every three hours.” He also placed a jar of salve next to it. “The bandage should be changed every few hours and this should be applied to the wound.”
There was a pause as he looked searchingly at Jane’s face. “Are you sure you don’t want me to hire a woman from the village who is experienced in the sickroom?”
“No!” Jane hoped she didn’t sound too shrill. “I should rather do it myself, truly.” She took a deep breath.” And Peter?
The doctor’s look of concern didn’t lessen as he rebandaged Saybrook’s side. “I have set his broken arm, but he has not regained consciousness. Head injuries are very difficult to diagnose. Hard as it may sound, we must simply wait and see. He may come round in an hour, or a week or …”
“I see.”
“You must send for me at any time if there is a change. Otherwise, I shall call first thing in the morning. And you must allow someone to help you.” He regarded the hollows under her eyes with concern. “Or else I shall have three patients on my hands.” He reached out a hand to touch her shoulder and flashed a smile of encouragement. “It shall all come right, Miss. Good day.”
“Thank you, Doctor Hastings.”
Jane sunk into the chair the doctor had vacated. For a moment she was assailed by an overwhelming sense of despair. But then she set it aside, her jaw set in defiance of the odds. “I won’t let them go,” she whispered to the darkened room. “I won’t!”
“Miss Jane?”A candle flickered in the darkness and Jane snapped her head upright. “You must take a bite to eat, my dear, and lie down for a proper sleep. I shall sit with His Lordship while you do.” Mrs. Fairchild hovered by her chair with a tray of sustenance sent up by Cook.
“No, no, I’m awake—I must have just dozed off for a bit.” Jane straightened slightly in the chair and looked at Saybrook. He was still sleeping though his breathing sounded even more erratic. She reached over to press her palm to his forehead. “Lud, he feels so hot. Do you think so, too?”
Mrs. Fairchild touched his brow. “Yes, he does seem warm. But come, I can do that,” she added as she watched Jane sponge his face with cool water. She waited for a minute, then placed the tray on the night table with a sigh. “At least keep up your strength.”
Jane smiled. “I shall, as soon as I check on Peter.”
Mrs. Fairchild followed her from the room. “Mary is with him now. She knows to call you if anything changes.”
“I know, but I want to see him myself.”
Peter looked almost lost in the huge four poster bed, his tiny form a mere smudge on the snowy sheets. His splinted arm lay outside the coverlet across his chest, which rose and fell with reassuring regularity. But still he had shown no signs of regaining consciousness.
“At least he shows no sign of fever,” murmured Jane.
“No, Miss Jane, he’s been right comfortable,” said Mary. “Now, if only he’d open his eyes.”
Jane’s hand caressed his cheek. “We must be patient—and pray.”
