Johanna Lindsey (14 page)

She didn’t finish. His head fell back against the man carrying him. He’d fainted.

“He did that twice on the way here,” she heard from one of the men carrying him, detecting a slight French accent. “The monsieur, he’s not staying awake long. Likely the fever,” the fellow added when Margaret stared at the blood dripping under Douglas.

“Someone send for the doctor, please.”

“Already sent for, m’lady,” the other man carrying Douglas quickly assured her. “’E should be ’

ere shortly.”

With no more orders to give, her hands began to tremble. Douglas’s fever worried her, but his bleeding frightened her. It wasn’t a steady stream, but it was definitely leaving a trail behind him. And until she knew the extent of that wound, she wouldn’t rest easy. She followed the men upstairs to help get Douglas settled.

The blood concerned Sebastian as well. As soon as Margaret was out of hearing range, he turned to the remaining man, the one who’d announced the accident. He caught sight of Denton, though, which gave him pause.

His brother was also staring at the trail of blood on the floor and looking quite horrified. He didn’t recall Denton’s being squeamish at the sight of blood. While that could account for his pallor, Sebastian didn’t think so. Denton had gone as pale as a ghost the moment he’d learned of the accident. He almost looked as if he were in shock.

“Snap out of it,” he told his brother a bit harshly. “Go see that water gets heated and sent upstairs.

Bandages as well. And send up a few more men to help get Father out of those wet clothes.” Denton finally glanced at him, nodded, and hurried off toward the kitchen.

Alone with the remaining fellow, Sebastian gave him his full attention. Not surprisingly, the man took a few steps back from him. Sebastian was used to that. When The Raven appeared, all other birds flew away, so to speak. Not that he wanted to frighten the man. He’d simply lost his knack for putting people at ease.

“What’s your name? And who found my father?”

“Yer the disowned son? The one that—?”

The man didn’t finish and took yet another step back. He wasn’t just looking wary now, but downright frightened. Sebastian sighed.

“Yes, him. Now you are?”

“Robert Cantel, m’lord. I’ve been gardening ’ere for five years now. We moved to the west section o’ the grounds about midafternoon, to do the trimming there. We work in groups. Couldn’t see yer father so far away there in the ditch, but could make out ’is ’orse standing there alone through the trees.”

“Where exactly was this?”

“Where the property butts up against White Oaks land, by the edge o’ the road leading into Edgeford Town. Figured ’e was either coming or going from Edgeford when he took the fall and landed in the ditch.”

“Where’s he bleeding from?” Sebastian asked.

“Nasty gash on the back o’ ’is ’ead. Turned the water in the ditch all pink, it did.”

“So he lost a lot of it?”

“Looks to be.”

“I’d like you to show me exactly where he was found.”

Robert glanced up the stairs first, as if hoping one of his companions would appear so he could pawn off the task. Sebastian usually had the patience to deal with the fear he inspired, but not today.

“Now.”

The threat wasn’t in his tone. He’d said the word quite softly. It was definitely in his expression, which promised mayhem if the fellow didn’t start moving immediately. Fear shot the man out the door.

He barely glanced back to make sure Sebastian was following.

Sebastian knew the general location the gardener had mentioned. It was about a ten-minute walk, which didn’t warrant getting a horse from the stables. He could have let Robert go about his business, but he wanted to be sure of the exact spot. And he might have more questions and didn’t want to have to chase the man down later to answer them.

Exactly where Douglas had taken his fall was obvious, though. The rainwater was puddled in the ditch that ran alongside the road, about four inches deep. Sebastian could see evidence of the blood, which hadn’t been completely diluted yet.

There were trees along that stretch of the road, on both sides, all the way up to Edgewood at the end. Many branches crossed the road, shading it. There was also a narrow woods along this western edge of the property that stretched around to the thicker woods to the north—where The Dueling Rock was located.

Sebastian abruptly pulled himself away from that thought. It was reputed that Edgewood as well as the old village of Edgeford that had long ago been attached to it got their names from this stretch of woods. The Townshends had owned the village back then. They still owned most of the land the town of Edgeford sat on.

The old tree closest to where Douglas had fallen did have some lower branches behind it and one on the side. None of them were close enough to the road to obstruct passage, but a couple bent low enough to the ground that if Douglas’s horse had veered off the road for some reason, Douglas could have been knocked out of the saddle by the branch near the ditch and then rolled down into it.

He examined the area closely, the slope from the road to the ditch and the puddle. There were many footprints, but those probably belonged to the men who’d found Douglas. If there had been any hoofprints going in that direction, the evidence had been trampled away by the rescue party. The cause of Douglas’s head injury was evident, a jagged rock just barely sticking out of the water, big enough to do damage if Douglas’s head had hit it directly.

Having examined the scene, Sebastian was satisfied that his father’s injury had been an accident.

Which didn’t mean someone hadn’t been there to cause the accident. Only Douglas would be able to rule out that possibility, so no firm conclusion could be drawn until his father regained consciousness long enough to talk.

D
OUGLAS DID INDEED HAVE A NASTY GASH on the back of his head. Four stitches had been required, an extra one due to the swelling. Thankfully, he hadn’t woken up for the plying of that needle.

Dr. Culden was less concerned about the wound than the fever that caused Douglas to keep passing out. Culden, who was gentry by birth, had become a doctor by choice. He knew them all personally and had been Margaret’s doctor since she was a child.

By all accounts, it appeared that Douglas had lain unconscious in that cold puddle of water for close to an hour. Dr. Culden couldn’t determine whether the fever was from an infection or a chill he’d caught from the water. The current fear was that he would slip into a state from which he wouldn’t awaken.

“I’ve seen it before,” Dr. Culden told Margaret before he left. “Not often, surely, but I had one patient who didn’t wake up for three weeks, and another who never woke up.”

“Never?”

“Died, that poor woman.”

“From lack of nourishment?” Margaret asked.

“No, we forced hearty liquids down her throat with a funnel, but it wasn’t enough. Just wasted away eventually, about a year later. Head wound caused it.” Margaret shouldn’t have asked. Good God, how ghastly, and just what she didn’t need to hear at that point. That wasn’t going to happen to Douglas. She wouldn’t allow it.

“Now, I don’t mean to alarm you, Margaret. Douglas is a strong, healthy man. I’m sure he’ll come to,” he continued. “He’s been weakened by the blood loss. That alone could account for his passing out.

We’ll likely know more about his condition by this evening. I’ll return tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“He’ll need constant attention for the time being, though. Station one of the maids at his bedside. If he wakes up and tries to get out of bed, he could fall and injure himself further. And when he does wake, if I know Douglas and I do, he won’t want to stay in bed. But he must. You’re probably the only one he’

ll listen to, Margaret. I hope you’re staying here for the duration?”

“Well, I—certainly, if you think it’s necessary.”

“I do.”

He gave her further instructions on how to deal with the fever, commonsense things she already knew. With Douglas settled for the moment, she went in search of Abigail. She had to be apprised of the situation, if Denton hadn’t already told her. He probably hadn’t. He didn’t like delivering bad news.

Neither did she, but someone had to.

Abbie was no longer in the parlor, though the evidence was there that she’d had tea. She was probably quite put out that Margaret and Sebastian hadn’t returned to visit with her. Then again, she might have forgotten all about it by now.

Margaret was told Abigail had gone up to her room to prepare for dinner. To take a nap was more likely. So Margaret knocked softly on the door in case she was sleeping.

“Come in!” she heard from the other side.

She did. Abigail was at her desk, using a looking glass to try and make out the words in a letter she’d received.

“I thought you might be sleeping,” Margaret began.

“I don’t take afternoon naps anymore. Sleeping my life away is not a good idea at my age.” Margaret would have grinned if she weren’t so worried. Abigail might think she had given up napping, but in fact she nodded off quite often while sitting in a chair, then refused to admit she’d fallen asleep when she was woken. Just resting her eyes was her usual excuse. Everyone was kind enough not to mention the snoring.

“We need to talk, Abbie,” Margaret said and pulled up a chair near the desk.

“Splendid. You know I love chatting with you, m’dear, and we’ve time for a nice long one before dinner.”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news. Douglas had an accident.”

“Thank goodness Sebastian is home now! He’ll take care of it.”

“Well, this one has had a serious consequence—no, no, he’s all right,” she quickly added when some of the color drained from Abigail’s face. “But he’s got a very high fever.” Abigail frowned. “He’s had fevers before. Everyone gets the fevers, gel.”

“But Dr. Culden isn’t sure what’s causing this one yet. Douglas took a bad fall and gashed his head. But worse, he landed in a puddle of water, and who knows how long he lay there. The water probably wasn’t frigid, but there’s definitely a chill wind out there today with the rain we’ve been having.”

“You’re implying something. Don’t beat around the bush, gel. Spit it out.”

“This may not be a simple fever. He’s been unable to stay awake for more than a few minutes. He keeps passing out. And his vision was blurred, seriously blurred. He didn’t recognize me at first. And he didn’t recognize Sebastian at all.”

“Deliberately, d’you think?”

“Well, that’s certainly possible, but I really don’t think so.” Abigail humphed. “Which doesn’t mean that foolish boy of mine will talk to Sebby when he does recognize him.”

Margaret was familiar with the nickname that only Abigail used for Sebastian, yet it was still jarring to hear it again, now that she knew the man. Sebastian Townshend was definitely not a Sebby anymore.

“Which reminds me,” Abigail continued. “Is Sebby back yet? I couldn’t find him anywhere earlier and I still have so much to talk to him about.”

“I’m sure he is—” Margaret paused when Abigail stood up and headed toward the door. “Wait a minute, Abbie. What about Douglas? He’s going to need constant attention for a few days, and distraction once he wakes, to keep him in bed. The doctor was adamant about that. He must remain in bed.”

“And?”

Margaret hesitated a moment, but it wasn’t the first time she had tried to mend the breach between mother and son. And this time she had a better reason for it.

“I think it would do him a world of good if you would visit him during his convalescence and actually speak to him, after he wakes, of course. Nothing to upset him, mind you.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose I can call a temporary truce and talk to that fool again—for now.” Margaret hadn’t expected such easy compliance. But Abigail’s impatience was obvious. She probably would have agreed to anything just to end the conversation so she could go find Sebastian.

“That’s splendid, Abbie! We won’t want to upset him, though. Just trivial subjects. Nothing unpleasant.”

“You must be joking, gel. What other subjects are there around here but unpleasant ones?”
Chapter 19

S
EBASTIAN WAS ABOUT TO INTRODUCE one of those unpleasant subjects to his brother right about then. Denton hadn’t been around after he returned from examining the site of the accident. He’d come back for the doctor’s evaluation, though, and before he could make himself scarce again, Sebastian put an arm around his shoulder and steered him outside where they could talk without interruption.

“Why do I feel as if I’m being forced to have a conversation with you, Sebastian?” Denton asked, staring pointedly at the hand still on his shoulder.

“Because you are.”

“You can bloody well let go of me now,” Denton replied stiffly.

“I was joking,” Sebastian said, releasing him when they reached the old tree on the side of the house where they’d made that tree house so long ago.

“Sure you were,” Denton said curtly. “Gone all this time, but you haven’t changed, have you? And where did you go? How many times I thought I’d see you in London, but I never did. Did you actually leave the country?”

“Yes, and I had no intention of ever coming back. I’ve been living on the Continent, no place in particular, really. I travel a lot, since my jobs tend to take me to all corners of Europe.”

“Jobs? You actually work for a living?”

Sebastian had to laugh at Denton’s appalled look, a typical reaction of the privileged gentry.

“What did you think I was going to do to survive when I left here with nothing?” Denton flushed with color. “I assumed, well, actually, I didn’t assume anything, but I certainly didn

’t think you’d be taking on common jobs.”