Page 28 of The Ones Left Behind
“Dismissed,” Matthias added sardonically to Hornsby’s back, but then he was alone with his demons and thoughts. He closed his eyes, but it only served to produce flashing lights that accompanied the throbbing in his leg.
He reached for the bottle; pausing with his hand on the neck, he considered Kitty’s words. Did she not understand this was a necessary evil? He removed the lid, then swirled the amber liquid around, watching it coat the sides of the glass. If she could find something to ease the pain he would be grateful, but until then, the liquid fire would have to do.
As long as Kitty was provided for, there was little else he could do bar stay alive so that his brother did not inherit. The thought brought another sharp pain to his chest. He had hoped to have married and had an heir by now. He could not yet face that prospect with a woman other than Kitty. How else might he account for the past when clearly she did not wish to be more than friends?
Having her within reach, seeing her every day in the role of housekeeper and being unable to act upon his feelings would be torture, he mused despondently, but surely it would be better than wondering where she was? It still hurt deeply that she had preferred to go her own way—and live in poverty—than ask him for help.
His father had a great deal to answer for if ever they met again. Certainly, he had succeeded in making Kitty feel unworthy of being a lady. Matthias muttered a savage oath.
There had been a time when he had believed Kitty returned his affections, but his sire had cast her from the house.
Why had she gone to Peter instead of him? That question would forever haunt him.
* * *
Kitty spentmost of her time in the herb garden or still-room, determined to find something to heal Matthias which would not also cause further harm. He seemed appropriately wary of opium’s evils, so why was he willing to tempt fate with intoxicating spirits? It was not immediately addictive, it was true, but it could still destroy lives and make a slave of its master.
She had studied Lady Thackeray’s book of notes and thought she had at last unearthed some plants to try. Eagerly, she harvested the leaves from the herbs she needed,
She collected comfrey leaves—not the roots or flowers—per Lady Thackeray’s warning notes in the margin of the book. Mint was the easiest to use and grew in overabundance. She clipped several bunches, stopping to smell the fresh leaves. The lavender she took care to harvest stems with full blooms, which made a more potent oil, then clipped some rosemary to replenish the supply she would use. Her basket was full of fragrance from minty to pine to floral notes.
She had watched Lady Thackeray prepare herbs many times, but the process seemed arduous and she did not have the time to experiment. Line by line, she followed her ladyship’s detailed instructions and was able to produce some credible oils.
After much deliberation, she had decided to use Mr. Satterlee’s Indian herb in a cordial for Matthias to drink, a comfrey poultice for the bullet wound, and some oils of lavender, mint and rosemary for Hornsby to massage deep into the tissues to help with pain.
It was a poor testament to the state of medicine if she was attempting to be a healer, but on the battlefield she had seen many times with her own eyes that the sawbones had little skill beyond amputating limbs. It was then left to the patient and fate whether they lived or died from the inevitable fever.
As she went to present her remedies to Matthias, she prayed he was in a receptive mood. If this did not work, then she did not know what to do. She could hardly deny him spirits if she had no better alternative. One thing was for certain, she had never had to endure the physical pain he was suffering, but the emotional pain in addition—she did not know how soldiers could bear it. Losing Peter had been the hardest thing she could have imagined. Everything in her life had been turned upside down in an instant, in addition to losing her husband and friend. But to watch him die then be wounded yourself, whatever must that be like? She knew Matthias needed her help. Had she been faced with the same situation, in all likelihood, she would have turned to drink herself.
She knocked on the door, knowing Hornsby would be present and waiting on his lordship for his morning ablutions.
“Enter,” Matthias called.
Kitty turned the latch hoping he was decently garbed, for his own sake. She had certainly seen a gentleman unclothed before.
“Good morning, my lord, Hornsby. I have brought some medicaments I hope will help.”
Matthias said nothing, but she recognized the doubt in his face. Ignoring it and persisting, she continued, “I consulted the apothecary and he suggested a special herb from India that is said to help in healing bone. It has been some time since your injury, but perhaps this will help its continued healing. It may taste bitter, but I have made it into one of your mother’s cordials which I hope will make it palatable.” She set it on the table and continued, scarcely taking a breath. She was nervous and hoped very much it did not show.
Next, she held up a cloth filled with herbs. “This is a poultice of setbone, which is said to, well, help the bone set.” She laughed nervously.
Surprisingly, the only protest came when Kitty produced the oils to be massaged into Matthias’s leg. She held up a glass vial of golden liquid. “And finally, this is a mixture of herbs to be kneaded into the tissues.”
“You never said bein’ a valet would mean rubbin’ fancy oils all over you like some Sultan’s harem.” Hornsby conveniently dropped his aitches and pretended offence when convenient.
“Cut line, Hornsby. I will do it myself.”
“It matters not who does it, just see that it is done. This mixture of lavender, mint, rosemary, and willow bark is said to help with pain and slow the inflammation that impairs healing.”
“How quickly do these things work?” Matthias asked, suddenly interested.
“No doubt slower than you would wish, but the apothecary believed in the herb’s properties and your mother’s notes on the poultice and oils were very encouraging.” It was understandable to doubt medicine, having been a soldier. The only tried and true remedies were laudanum and spirits, and everything else seemed quackery.
Nonetheless, he gave a nod and she turned to leave, satisfied for now that at least her efforts had not been dismissed.
“Mrs. Gordon, you have a caller,” Hayes informed her as Kitty reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Who is it?”
