“Mrs. Rafferty was the matron of our stillroom and in charge of the herbal garden. She was very knowledgeable as a healer. She and the captain often disagreed on the best approach based on their different experiences, but they shared the same goal of helping patients heal.”
Ashley retrieved the bowl from the hearth and gathered everything necessary to change the bandage on Ravencroft’s … no, onDavid’sarm. She washed her hands with gin and unwound the stained muslin from his forearm.
He grimaced as he stared at the angry red swelling along the stitches. “Skin is not supposed to be that color.”
She shook her head. “Captain Blackthorn developed a treatment protocol in India during the war, after comparing notes with some local surgeons. Many people ridiculed him for what he did, yet the mortality rate among his patients dropped significantly, as well as a reduction in the number of amputations he had to perform because of gangrene.”
David’s face paled. “Green?”
She made sure the basin was in the correct spot on the floor and held his arm over it, bottle of gin in her other hand, and met his gaze. “This is going to sting.”
Chapter 11
David licked his lips. “How about another splash of whiskey, without the tea?”
Ashley poured two fingers’ worth in a glass and helped him sit up enough to drink it, and encouraged him to eat one of the meat pies. “You probably don’t feel much like eating, but food will help you heal faster.”
After eating and drinking, he lay back with a deep sigh of resignation. “Do your worst. Or best.” He gestured with his left hand. “Whatever it is I’m supposed to wish on you.”
While she fussed with capping the bottle of whiskey and switching back to the bottle of gin, then uncovering and stirring the bread mixture, the alcohol had time to spread through him. He hissed as she dribbled the gin on his arm, and she winced in sympathy. This was so much easier when the patient was unconscious. She patted dry his arm and hand, staying away from the wound itself.
When she pulled out the first handful of the mixture from the bowl, he opened his eyes and scrunched his nose. “That smells like moldy bread.”
“Because it is.” She worked the mixture between her fingers, making sure it had broken down to the consistency of gruel, and began to spread a thick layer of it along the line of stitches. A quick glance at his face revealed that he was trying to be stoic, but the rapid, shallow rise and fall of his chest and fluttering pulse at his neck gave away that he was in pain.
“Tell me how you broke your leg,” she said to distract him.
“I was fifteen and foolish.”
She bent his arm back, resting his hand on the mattress by his ear, and applied more of the mush poultice. “Everyone who reaches adulthood has been fifteen and foolish. Not everyone breaks their leg.”
“Was a hot day. Went swimming with friends. Jumped off the bridge into the river, like I had a hundred times before.” He squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled sharply. “Water was lower than usual. A boulder was closer to the surface than usual.” He hissed again as he watched her apply more of the mixture to his arm.
“And?” she prompted.
He squeezed his eyes shut again. “My so-called friends ran off when they saw I was hurt. Except Liam. Even then he was bigger than me, though we were born only weeks apart. Carried me to the house until servants heard his shouts and came to help.”
One more scoop should be enough. “They took you to the music room rather than your bedchamber?”
He gave a tight nod. “Mother thought it made sense to keep me in a room on the ground floor while I healed. And I’d have access to all the instruments to ease my boredom while I was confined to bed. Or a Bath chair.”
She wiped her hands on a towel, got him to hold his arm up, and began wrapping a fresh dressing and bandage around his forearm.
“Thought I was quiet and brave about it, until the surgeon arrived and explained what he was going to do. Only then did I see the edge of the broken bone sticking out. Liam says I screamed and fainted.” He watched her reaction to his admission.
Ashley paused, her heart aching for the injured boy. “Probably best that you were unconscious for what the surgeon had to do.”
He’d been clutching and releasing the sheet with his left hand as he spoke, but now he pointed at his forehead. “My hair was solid brown until then. White streak started growing in after that day.”
She tied off the bandage, which included more layers than previous bandages to absorb the moisture from the poultice, and rested his arm on his stomach. “I have heard of people’s hair turning white after they suffer a shock or trauma. Yours is the first I have seen in person.”
He shuddered. He stretched out his left hand, the blankets just out of reach. “Cover me, Ashley,” he said so quietly she barely heard him. He shuddered again, and she realized he was shivering.
Quickly she pulled the blankets back up to his chin and tucked them over his bare shoulders. “Oh! I almost forgot.” She grabbed the garment that had been draped over the foot of the bed, and held up a bottle green silk banyan, trimmed in dark blue. “Next time you get up, you have this to put on. Mr. Westbrook sent it over.”
“Liam?” He squinted in confusion.
“Since thieves took your coat, hat, and shoes, and your shirt was ruined, even if you are feeling well enough, you can’t leave. I arranged with Mr. Westbrook to get some of your things.” She pointed at a package on the dressing table. “He had your manservant Gilroy pack your shaving gear and other toiletry items, and, ah, changes of linen.” At the last item she felt her cheeks heat.
