Highest Stakes (48 page)

  "Just how ye survived the ordeal 'tis beyond my ken." The rough Scottish brogue sprung from the soberly dressed man who stepped into the dim light and drew a flask from his satchel. "But here ye are to be patched up at my hands."

  He proffered the flask to the captain, who closed his eyes to refuse, as if in doing so, he could shut it all out. But his visions would not be vanquished. He wanted to die. He wished that death had already taken him, that Philip had finished the job rather than leaving him broken and emasculated before the woman he loved. He averted his head, scorning the proffered drink.

  "'Tis not the way of it, lad," the physician reproached. "'Twill ease yer pain. Ye can drink it yourself, or I will funnel it down yer gullet, but you will drink, nonetheless. The arm needs to be examined and the wound cleansed. Ye'll appreciate the draught once I commence."

  Now placing the voice with the face, Robert realized he was again under John Pringle's care, the surgeon general who had set his broken leg at Dettingen. "Dr. Pringle," he murmured.

  "Aye," the doctor answered, pleased with his patient's new alertness.

  Robert scanned his surroundings, a sparsely furnished room with a hard cot and close stone walls. "Where am I? How did I get here?"

  "One thing at a time, lad. Ye'll drink a wee dram first, and then we'll talk."

  Robert glowered but knew he would gain little by further refusal. He reluctantly accepted the drink, sputtering on the unexpected contents of the flask. Pure whiskey.

  "'Tis from the high country, lad." The physician laughed. "In my twenty years of physick, I've ne'er found a surer cure for all manner of ills than Highland whiskey. 'Tis this same potion I used to bathe yer wounds in hopes of staving off the infectious fever."

  As Robert watched Pringle cut away the bloodstained bandages to expose his mutilated appendage, he was dubious of the treatment's efficacy. Waves of nausea suddenly rocked his mutinous body at the sight.

  "You've lost much blood, lad. The artery was nigh severed, ye see, and the arm should ha'e come off. 'Tis like now to putrefy, but Major Drake—"

  "Don't speak that name!" Robert cried and then groaned from the exertion.

  The physician raised a brow but methodically continued his examination. "Ha'e it yer way, then.
The nameless major
, he wouldn't hear of amputation. There was no talkin' sense to the mon. So, at the risk of yer life, he put ye on that infernal conveyance and brought ye to me. Your leg wound was clean enough and pieced back together, but God knows what I can do to save the arm. I need appeal to your sense of self-preservation, Captain Devington, and advise it better to lose the arm than lose yer life."

  "My life, you say? What is left of my life?"

  "You are much changed from young mon I knew at Dettingen. What reason ha'e ye to be so bitter?"

  "There is naught worth saving, Pringle."

  "Och, surely I know this ailment," he said sagely. "'Tis a disease that admits of only one treatment."

  "What would you know of it?"

  "Ailments of the heart? More than you think, mon. Medical science has proven the only cure is the possession of its object."

  Robert laughed bitterly. "'Twas seeking such a cure that put me in your hands, Doctor."

  "I had suspected. The lass would'na ha'e ye?"

  "'Twas not the lass, but the family."

  "Aye," he replied sympathetically. "Come, mon, ha'e another dram of whiskey."

  Robert reluctantly took another draught and gasped when Pringle poured a splash over the wound and began to probe. The deep gash extended cleanly through the biceps muscle and the tendon. Pringle determined the main artery, also near-severed, would diminish blood flow to the appendage, but this was the least of his worries.

  The captain's elevated pulse, weakness, and pallor, combined with the inflamed tissues, confirmed Pringle's fear of sepsis. Although bloodletting close to the injury site was the traditional treatment, the doctor was no fool. His patient had lost too much blood already and was far too weak to sustain further bleeding. Surveying the maimed appendage, Pringle advised Robert that if he survived at all, he would likely never have use of the arm again. He once more advised amputation.

  Sunk in despair and heedless of the admonitions, Robert resolved to leave his fate to Providence. If he succumbed to infectious fever and death, so be it.

  "Ye tie my hands to save ye, Captain," Pringle responded, shaking his head in dismay. He had treated many such young men in his time; strong, able-bodied men who succumbed to infection, slipping into fever, delirium, and eventual death, death caused by infection secondary to their wounds!

  Pringle was one of few physicians who yet grasped the concept of infection by unseen organisms. Since his promotion to surgeon general, he had worked tirelessly to contain and cure disease in the army, already making headway in containing dysentery in the garrisons by isolating its victims from the general population.

  Although he understood the process, after innumerable experiments applying different agents to treat wounds, he had yet limited success in discovering an effective anti-septic agent. The whiskey with which he had cleansed Devington's wounds was one of his more promising experiments.

  With a helpless shrug, Pringle administered his patient a dose of laudanum to ease his pain and then helped himself to the flask of whiskey. He could do little to save the captain's life once the wound putrefied, but without his patient's will to fight, the surgeon's work was futile. Pringle resolved in the name of Hippocrates to discover the identity of the girl who held Captain Devington's life in her hands.

A week following her arrival in London, Charlotte was confounded to learn that Beatrix had been given in marriage to Lord Uxeter. Why had her uncle taken her from Robert if he had intended to give Beatrix instead? It made no sense! Nothing in her world made any sense at all!

  She failed to comprehend what atrocious crime she had committed by falling in love. The past two years of her life had been punishing. Her heart had been broken when her uncle first sent Robert away, but his return had given her reason to hope. They had dreamed and planned, just to have their dreams dashed to pieces.

  Elopement had been such a romantic notion, but the reality was harder than she could have conceived. Only their love and their desperation had given them strength to press on. They had almost succeeded, were only a day's ride from the border when Philip caught up with them.

  Why had he done it? He held no love for either Sir Garfield or his brother. Why had Philip turned his back on his best friend? Indeed, it went much further than that. He had nearly killed Robert! All for what? Beatrix was now wed to Philip's brother.

  Charlotte had not seen or spoken to her uncle since his arrival from Newmarket days ago, but this morning he had sent for her. At precisely ten o'clock, she was to appear before him in his library. At the appointed time, the grate of the key turning in the lock admitted her aunt.

  "Charlotte, I am come to take you to your uncle."

  "I don't understand what he wants of me," Charlotte said with tears in her eyes and despair in her heart. "What is my duty when Beatrix is married in my stead? Of what possible benefit was my return?"

  "Your uncle does not suffer duplicity kindly. He regards you as a willful child and will chastise you as such. This is all I am free to say."

  "I meant no disloyalty to him, but why should I not have any say regarding my own life?"

  "You were overindulged and spoiled by your parents, Charlotte. Their marriage was not the way of it. I have told you that a woman rarely has charge of her destiny, especially in her marriage. The best she can hope for is a comfortable match with a man she might learn to manage."

  "But why can't marriage be for love? Why should love be forsaken for expediency?"

  "Charlotte," her aunt said more sternly, "I begin to think you no more sensible than Beatrix. Your obligation is to your family. You owed your uncle obedience for all we have done for you. You have forgotten your duty while in your romantic bubble, but the bubble is finally burst. It is not, nor ever was meant to be, you and Devington. You must accept it. I just thank God you are back in the bosom of your family with no one the wiser. Your escapade could have ruined us, you know! Now, Sir Garfield expects you in the library. Hasten along; his good temper shan't last if you keep him waiting."

  Charlotte followed her aunt to her uncle's sanctum, reminded of her prior audience in his library at Heathstead Hall when he first lectured her on marriage and duty.

  "Take a seat, m'dear." He gestured to the straight-backed chair facing his desk and pulled his timepiece from his pocket.

  "Uncle…" she began.

  He raised a quelling hand in her direction. "Any moment now, Charlotte, and all will be made clear." Now disregarding her altogether, he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and eyes closed in repose, as if waiting for something… or someone.

  His strange and atypical behavior magnified her apprehension tenfold. Her uncle was prone to blustering whirlwinds of temper passing like brief but violent storms. The man sitting before her, however, was calm and stonily resolved.

  Charlotte tried to emulate his nonchalance, but her fingernails raking her skirts and her toes curling and uncurling in her slippers betrayed her, if only to herself. An eternity passed before she heard the ring of rapid and heavy footsteps advancing toward the library; two sets of footsteps, she thought.

  Literally shoving the footman out of his path, an enraged Major Drake barged into the room, shaking a fistful of papers in Sir Garfield's impassive face.

  "Just what the bloody hell is this?" Philip bellowed.

  "Ah, Major, I see you have been attended by my solicitor. All should be in order, as we agreed—"

  "As we agreed? The devil, you say!"

  "Major! Curb your tongue or be removed from the premises."

  "This is bloody well not what we agreed, you execrable, conniving sod!"

  "Major, aside from a few minor revisions, you are in receipt of the marriage contracts, and by your acceptance, you shall obtain a bride and considerable dowry. This is more than generous on my part, though you, of course, retain the right to refuse."

  "My bride was Beatrix! Your daughter Beatrix, whom you well know is carrying my child! Moreover, the agreed dowry was fifteen thousand pounds, Sir Garfield. We had settled upon fifteen thousand!"

  "Major Drake, consider your position carefully. Firstly, you duped me into receiving you into my home with open arms then set out in the most debase manner to seduce my daughter! You then forced a betrothal by means of extortion. Although immensely vexed, I, in good faith, provided you opportunity to earn your way back into my good graces and charged you with the timely retrieval of my runaway niece.

  "My instructions were clear, Major: return Charlotte within five days. You failed. Thus other arrangements were made. In all magnanimity, however, I have offered my niece's hand and five thousand pounds as compensation for your efforts. You may take it or leave it."

  Charlotte, yet unnoticed by the distracted major, gasped. "You couldn't possibly mean this, Uncle! You couldn't possibly give me to this selfish, heartless brute who left his best friend lying in blood!"

  "My dear, you are headstrong, disobedient, and rebellious. Overall, I consider you and the major well matched. One might even say you deserve one another; however, I am not heartless. You desire a choice, so I shall give you one.

  "You may marry Major Drake, or when I toss you out of my house, you may make your way in this world as you came into it. If 'tis freedom from my tyranny you desire, Niece, your wish is granted. It is absolutely your choice."

  Charlotte disbelieved her ears. How could he threaten such a thing? "I would have nothing. No home. No money. Nothing! Is this some cruel joke, Uncle?"

  "Am I laughing?" His voice was soft and expression stony.

  Philip blanched, incredulous at the position in which he found himself. His actions had already done irreparable damage to Robert and Charlotte. This he regretted deeply. It was bad enough he had prevented their marriage, but now matters were gone from bad to worse. He needed time to think this through and figure a way out of the trap.

  Desperate to stall the proceedings, he addressed the baronet. "Sir Garfield, please permit Charlotte and me a moment to speak privately."