“Astounding,” Callum mumbled under his breath. He’d yet to meet a lady who could appear so calm in the face of such a harrowing turn of events. Any number of Beatrix’s “betters” would have fainted like useless little birds at the sight of so much blood, at the cries of another man’s excruciating pain. But not she.
As the blood began to stain Beatrix’s hands, she only appeared more resolute that they should save this man. Callum watched her issue more orders with defiance of the tragedy, yet still keeping her wits about her and a civil tone in her voice. Together, everyone ported the older man onto a nearby bench and carried him into the house, Beatrix still holding fast to his injured leg.
“This should serve!” she said, pointing to the first of the servant’s rooms off the kitchen. Of course, thought Callum, she’d lived in one of these very rooms for two days. She would know where to take him.
They waited as a maid stripped the used linens from the bed and laid out freshly laundered ones, then they delicately placed the driver on the bed. After demanding a pair of scissors and a cover to protect the driver’s modesty, Beatrix set to work cutting away the fabric of the man’s trouser leg.
The sight below the cloth nearly caused Callum to be sick. What looked surely to be pieces of bone appeared through the gash, but Beatrix merely washed around them as though they were nothing more than fallen flower petals.
“Someone must fetch this man something for his pain,” Beatrix stated firmly. “Have you any willow bark? Any morphine or laudanum?”
“Why, I… I don’t know,” Callum stammered. “I can inquire of the housekeeper.” He hurried from the room and returned with the older woman, Mrs. Powell, who held aloft a brown glass bottle and a small spoon.
“Here miss, this will help him greatly,” the older woman said, dosing out a spoonful and holding it, waiting for Beatrix’s approval.
“All right, he can have it,” she said, squinting slightly while reading the bottle’s label. “But we mustn’t permit him to fall asleep from its effects. We will have no way of knowing if it is merely the dosage or weakness from blood loss.”
“Very good, miss. I shall stay beside him myself,” Mrs. Powell replied.
Beatrix lifted the apron once more and frowned. “The bleeding still has not assuaged. How long did you say it will take for the physician to arrive?”
“If we’re very fortunate, sometime this evening,” Callum answered quietly. The worry was evident in his voice.
“I’m afraid I shall have to sew this, despite the bone not yet set. It won’t matter if he fails to mend properly if he dies in the next hour. Should he need to, the physician can reopen the wound to tend the bone.” Beatrix looked around, then asked, “Do we have the needles and thread?”
Callum once again left the room, and in his absence, another man filled the doorway.
“What in the blazes? What happened to that poor man?” he shouted, causing Mrs. Powell to turn to him sharply. Before she could answer, Callum returned.
“Peter! What are you doing here?” He held out a small tray with boiled needles and new thread to Beatrix.
“I heard some shouting and then father came inside, raging furiously about no manners and servants who don’t know their place, or something. I truly was not paying him any mind. But this, this must be what he meant!” Peter looked in horror at the injured man, recoiling slightly when Beatrix threaded a needle and removed her makeshift bandage.
The man winced in spite of the medication as Beatrix’s first stitches went in, both Callum and Peter fighting back the urge to turn away. Rather than witness the poor driver’s intense suffering, Callum kept his attention instead on Beatrix. The look of sheer determination on her face coupled with the confidence of knowing what to do added a new layer to the enchantment she held over him.
Whatever it takes, I will make her mine. Those who dare oppose can be damned!
Chapter 22
When Beatrix emerged from the room several hours later, the physician still had not arrived. She was empty inside from the effort of tending to him and from the fear that she might not have done enough. Tending to her father’s men in times of extreme crisis was one thing, but daring to assist one of the Marquess’s servants was another matter.
She leaned against the wall outside the room and let her head fall back, closing her eyes and continuing to wipe at her hands. She’d washed them several times, but the heat of the man’s blood still seemed to seep into her fingers no matter how hard she’d scrubbed.
“How did you know what to do?” a soft voice asked. Beatrix startled and looked to see Lord Bellton standing in the hallway.
“I have had to treat many an injury and illness over the years,” she explained, shrugging her shoulders slightly. “In truth, I don’t know that I thought about it much at all. It simply needed to be done.”
“Whatever power you called upon for strength and guidance, it was an incredible sight to behold,” he said. “I am indebted to you now more than ever, as though my debt weren’t already insurmountable.”
“Think nothing of it,” she answered, a determined note in her voice. “I did what anyone would have done. What you would have done yourself.”
“Me?” Lord Bellton laughed derisively at himself. “I did not even know if we had some tinctures in the house! I had to go ask someone for needles and bandages! Supposedly everything I can lay eyes on at any given moment belongs to me, yet I knew not what I even had to save a man’s life. I assure you, I could never have done what you just did.”
“I have every faith in you, that you would have mustered up the strength and conviction to do it when needed,” she answered, smiling wearily.
“I am very much afraid that your faith in me is misplaced, and that I am wholly undeserving,” Lord Bellton said, looking down and seemingly rather ashamed.
“I have no such fear,” Beatrix said, holding out her hand and reaching for his. She held his tightly when he took her hand. “I know that you will be the man you must be whenever the opportunity arises.”
