“I cannot, I’m afraid. Evidence of that sort does not exist, though I have read that some are already at work on this new ‘criminal’ science. But I can give my sworn testimony that this bullet was from a very costly weapon, the likes of which are not commonly used by the masses.” The physician looked up at her and nodded grimly.
“Anything you might say that would benefit my father would be most helpful,” Beatrix said, thanking the man.
“While I do not enjoy repairing the life-threatening activities of some of our betters, I am far less fond of allowing innocent men to perish while guilty men purchase their own freedom,” Sir Williams answered. “Ah, more pressure here, please. I need to insert some stitching where this shoulder has been torn.”
Beatrix did as she was told, passing the lengthy hour in prayer for both her father and Lord Bellton. Her ardent wish was that her father be freed of this charge, but also that the Marquess should awake and hear her own words of devotion to him.
“Miss,” Sir Williams finally said when he had finished sewing, “what were the herbs you called for when you were caring for the injured coachman?”
“I… I’ll have to think about it for a moment,” Beatrix said, yawning. “I believe it was yarrow, and feverfew, and there were two more… what were they? Ah yes, nettle and shepherd’s purse. But some of those are redundant, I only requested them in case the others could not be found. I would say it was the yarrow and feverfew that the servants brought me.”
“Yes, I can see the benefits of those remedies!” Sir Williams said, nodding with approval. “I want this patient to have round the clock dosing with those same herbs. I have some medications that I will also administer, but I am a firm believer that Divine Providence has grown upon this earth all that our bodies require for our health. We will use caution by relying upon both!”
“Will he recover though?” Barclay asked quietly.
“It is only a matter of time before we can know that,” Sir Williams answered, his tone still grim. “His condition is still very grave, especially if fever or infection set in. Of course, he has lost a terrible amount of blood, so much that if I were a more careless man, I’d attempt a transfusion.”
“What is that?” Mrs. Powell asked, apparently fearful of the very word.
“It is the latest breakthrough and only successfully accomplished one time in humans, though it is so untested that only a fool would attempt it if there was still any hope of recovery. The human blood is still such a mystery, even to men of science, that I dare not unless there is no other way.”
“Shall I arrange for quarters for you then, Sir Williams?” Mrs. Powell asked, hoping the physician would not leave his patient in this state.
“I dare say, that is an excellent idea. With two patients already under my care, I might as well move in lest anyone else require my help!” he said with a soft laugh. He turned to Beatrix and said, “Though with you here, I might finally be able to close up shop and finish out my days in my garden!”
Sir Williams left them to go freshen up and retire to his room for a while, and Beatrix agreed that she would stay at Lord Bellton’s bedside. Her mind, though, was still torn with fear for her father and what fate might befall him. Before Barclay left the room, she asked for paper and ink that she might inquire of the magistrate and share what news she had of this event.
Chapter 24
“For the love of green grass, would you hurry up?” the Earl of Weavington demanded, riding up alongside his son and urging him to move on.
“You never told me what is so important, Father,” Peter said, dutifully nudging his horse on. “We’ve sneaked away without even offering our goodbyes, and you’ve yet to tell me what this urgent matter is.”
“Never you mind, just do as I said!” the Earl called over his shoulder, looking back once to ensure his son was indeed coming along faster.
Thinking back on it, Weavington wasn’t entirely sure that shooting Lord Bellton had been the best idea. His intention of shooting that villain Aaron Risewell may not have been so well planned, either. But he had attempted to prevent Aaron from confessing to his dark deed, and he had managed to succeed in stopping him… for now.
There was nothing he could do about it now, though. Weavington had only a few options, all of them hinging on outcomes that were beyond his control. Should the Marquess die of his injury, the thief may very well be hanged and all would be well. But if Bellton recovered—and that seemed rather likely if Weavington’s luck ran as it usually did—and spoke out against him, he would be ruined.
And so would his son. “Peter, I said to get a move on!” Weavington roared when he saw his son slowing his horse. “We must hurry!”
Weavington would have to strike out for his properties in the lower Americas and start fresh there. While it would be a comfortable life on his plantations, it would lack all of the pomp and ceremony that he enjoyed in England. There were very few landowners of noble birth living in the region, and what was the point of wealth and titles if not to mingle with one’s peers while barring the gates against undesirables?
“I must make ready to depart for my properties yet, while still holding out hope that it doesn’t come to that,” Weavington thought, the sweat along his brow running slowly down his face. “But I have business to attend to first! Peterwillbe safely married before word might spread of this unfortunate incident, thus preventing the Duke of Edmonton from changing his mind.”
The Duke might cancel an engagement if Weavington and his family were involved in a scandal, but even he would never permit a divorce due to such a silly misunderstanding as this. It would ruin his own family in the process, and what was a small matter of an accidental killing compared to losing face within the ton and smearing his name in Parliament?
“Father, where are we even headed? You didn’t mention a destination, only that we must hurry,” Peter called, smiling wickedly. “How will we know if we didn’t run right past it if you haven’t decided where we’re going?”
“If you do not stop that insolence at once, I will take a whip to you myself!” Weavington shouted, his nerves racing as he sought to be away from the Marquess’s house.
Peter blinked in surprise, unaccustomed to such threats. His father was surely the type to bluster on about some ridiculous topic or another and raise his voice if he felt overlooked, but this sort of speech was not like him. Rather than question him, he simply pressed on, riding minutely faster just to appease the old man.
After more than an hour’s ride at such a quick pace, they made it home at last. The Earl dismounted with no small amount of trouble and disappeared inside the house, leaving Peter to stare after him. Their one stable hand emerged from the crumbling old barn to take the reins.
“I’m sorry, Johns, I don’t know that my father feels well. It’s quite all right, I’ll walk the horses to cool them off and bring them around to the paddock myself,” Peter said, staring at the door that had slammed closed behind his father.
The stable hand nodded and Peter took his father’s reins, leading both animals to the small pen beside the barn. He did not notice how his mother now looked out from an upstairs window at her son, her face a mask of horror as her husband paced the room behind her, confessing what he’d done.
