Page 66 of Lord Carlisle's Enticing Lure
Lady Tracy clapped her hands twice, and her tall, sturdy-looking footmen stepped forward. “You will carry her up to the blue bedroom. Mary,” she called, and a young maid stepped forward. “Get us some sturdy bedding. Big enough to carry this lady. Hurry.”
Meanwhile, the surgeon listened to Giselle’s heart, took her pulse from her good wrist, nodded to himself, and tested the blood flow in her legs by pressing on her ankles. Through it all, he hummed. Not a tune, not a high or low note, but onehmmmm, as if he were a bee.
The maid was fast, gone and back in minutes with a bed quilt.
Two footmen, under the direction of the butler, slid Giselle into the cover they held like a sling. Cupping her into the cradle of it, theygingerly took her up the stairs to a bedroom on the next floor. There they laid her upon a wide bed.
Clive took her hand as the surgeon—Donald Yarborough by name—bound her forearm above and below the wound with thin strips of leather that he had extracted from his bag. Once he strapped her arm above and below her wound, he removed from his kit a horrendous-looking machine, a tall brass screw with a handle.
“Dear heavens,” Clive exclaimed. “What in hell is that?”
“My Petit screw, sir. From His Majesty’s army tour of the thirteen colonies. Saved many a life.”
“How do you use it?” Clive had never seen such a contraption.
“It screws down on the leather bands. Stops the bleeding, it does. Stand back.”
Clive sat with athunkin the nearest chair, silent and helpless, watching the man move with a dexterity that belied his years.
“Lady Tracy sent the maids for a pot of hot water. Bring it here,” he instructed James the footman. He mixed salt into a pot of hot water, tested its temperature on his own elbow, nodded to himself, then dribbled the mixture liberally over Giselle’s arm.
At once, she bucked. Her eyes flew open and she made a muted cry.
“Hold her down, sir.” Yarborough was not deterred by her reaction. “It’s the salt. But she comes around, so I can administer a few drops of laudanum. She’ll take the cleansing better that way.”
Clive winced, but held his tongue. The man knew what he was about.
After the application of a few stitches to her arm, Yarborough pushed up Giselle’s skirts, cut them away with long shears, and cleaned her wounds there.
For the next few hours, he repeated the cleansing and the changing of bandages.
Dawn crept into the room as he finished his tasks, asked for yetanother bowl of fresh, hot water, and rolled down his shirt sleeves.
“Your assessment, sir?” Clive watched him wash his hands, clean his sewing needle and his iron screw for his tourniquet.
“Her wound to her arm will heal. But it is by far the worst of the four. Those on her legs, as you saw, required only a few stitches. All of them must constantly be bathed in warm water and new bandages applied. All of that will make her scream. A good dose of laudanum will ease her suffering. Do not hesitate to give her another dose. She must not disturb those stitches in her arm, either. Tie her free hand down, if you must. But keep her calm.” Yarborough handed Clive a vial of laudanum. “If she becomes feverish, wipe her down with cool cloths. Try to make her drink water and strong tea. No spirits. I will return later today.”
Clive caught his arm. “She will recover?”
“She will.” Yarborough gave him a quick smile. “Slowly. She has lost much blood. Her attacker tried to slash her wrists. Always a severe wound. But your lady is healthy. Give her time, plenty to drink, broth and soup. Use the laudanum as she needs. Spare it not. Let her recover in peace and quiet.”
“The laudanum will not make her permanently addicted?”
“After today and tomorrow, diminish the quantity each time you administer it. I will give you a dropper. Rest easy, sir. Your lady will recover well.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
August 24, 1805
Giselle rediscovered thecolors of her world whenever she opened her eyes to find Clive, tall and dark, a silhouette in grays and earnest hopes, beside her bed. His familiar form remained through many a night, asleep in a large chair into the pale-blue dawn and the gold of midday.
He remained, ever present, ever watchful and smiling, feeding her endless cups of broth and tea.
“You must rest,” she rasped one day.
“I will when you are better.”
She blinked fat tears away, unable and unwilling to argue with him.
