The Decadent Duke (34 page)

“I'll give you something to ease your pain.” He took a bottle of laudanum from his leather bag and handed it to Mr. Burke, who immediately administered a dose. The doctor waited a minute or two for the opiate to start working, then gently placed his hand on the swollen bulge.

Francis screamed.

The expression on the doctor's face turned grave. “This is an extremely serious matter, Your Grace. I'm afraid I shall have to call in a colleague who has experience in internal medicine.”

“No! I can't wait. Untwist the damn thing—you cannot put me in any more agony than I am in now,” Francis cried.

“It cannot be corrected from the outside. You need an operation that must be performed by a surgeon, Your Grace.”

“Operation?” Bedford's eyes filled with fear.

“I have a colleague in Northampton who is a renowned surgeon. I'll summon Dr. Kerr immediately. You may put your trust in him.”

“No! I'll not see the damned sawbones.” He drew up his knees, trying to relieve his misery. “Nobody is going to cut me open!”

John Russell fell in step with Lord Holland as they left the floor of the House. “Prime Minister Addington has given us an appointment in his private chambers for four o'clock tomorrow afternoon, after the session.V

“He's in for a shock, I'm afraid.”

“The situation is untenable. By now, even he must realize he doesn't have the qualities necessary to lead the government.”

Henry grinned. “I warrant he'll realize it once you catalogue his shortcomings.”

“Join me for dinner. I'll practice my speech on you.”

When the two men arrived at Russell Square, John found a messenger from Woburn awaiting him. A feeling of dread assuaged him as his brother's servant handed him the letter.

John opened it with reluctance, but he saw immediately that it was not from Francis. “It's from Mr. Burke.”

 
“I'll come at once,”John told the messenger. A vision of Francis the day he had beaten him at tennis flashed into his mind, and he felt remorseful. He handed the letter to Henry.

“I'll come with you.” Holland scribbled a note to his wife, and John dispatched a Russell footman to deliver it.

John drove his phaeton to Woburn at top speed, covering the forty miles from London in record time. When he arrived, he could see Mr. Burke's relief was palpable.

“Lord Tavistock, I am most grateful you have come.” He glanced at Henry. “I'm sorry, Lord Holland, but His Grace refuses to see anyone.”

“No, no, I'm here for John. Don't worry about me.”

As Mr. Burke ascended the magnificent staircase with John, he confided, “Dr. Kerr, the surgeon, arrived from Northampton two hours ago, but His Grace adamantly refuses to see him.”

“Where is he?”

“I put him in a chamber in the main wing and sent up dinner.”

“I'll speak with him once I've seen Francis.”

John opened his brother's door and strode to the bed.

“John, thank Christ!” Francis pulled down the bedclothes and lifted his nightshirt. “Just look at this bloody bulge.”

John was shocked at the size of the protrusion, but he schooled his face to hide his alarm from his brother.

Dr. Halifax stepped forward. “My lord, I have given His Grace an opiate to lessen his pain, but that is the extent of my expertise. I have called in a surgeon, but ...V

“They want to
operate
! I'll have none of it!”

“Doctor, I'd like a word alone with my brother.” John waited until the doctor withdrew and closed the door. He knew Francis had a willful, stubborn streak, but for his own good, John knew he must persuade him to listen to reason. “Halifax is not qualified to treat this condition, Francis. The man is out of his depth. The doctor who has been called in from Northampton is familiar with this type of injury. We need his diagnosis. It only makes sense to have a second opinion.”

Francis groaned with frustration and with pain. “I'll let him look, but you stay here with me. I won't be cut open.”

John went to the door and asked Halifax to bring in Kerr. The surgeon introduced himself, then examined the patient. John had to steel himself. Francis writhed in agony as Dr. Kerr placed his hands on the tender bulge and felt all around it with his fingers.

“Your Grace, Dr. Halifax is correct in his diagnosis of twisted bowel. The medical term for this condition is strangulated hernia. A loop of bowel has broken through a weak area in the wall of the abdomen, and it is being pinched and squeezed to an unbearable degree. Nothing could be more painful. Unfortunately, it cannot be corrected without surgery.”

“No! If they cut me open, I'll die! Help me, John.”

John felt his brother's suffering, and his fear, and wished with all his heart he could take them away. He felt extremely protective toward him. Francis had never known adversity and was ill equipped to handle it. “I'll talk with the doctors. Try not to shout, Francis. It will only worsen your pain.” He led the doctors from the room so he could have a frank discussion about his brother's terrible plight.

“I must operate without delay,VDr. Kerr said emphatically. “It is the only solution.”

John, though greatly alarmed, was inclined to agree with the surgeon. “Tell me what is involved, Doctor.” He listened intently to everything they said. After asking some questions, he returned to his brother's side. He sat down in a chair, hoping to create a calm atmosphere while he had a quiet talk with Francis.

“The operation you need is not overly dangerous. It has been successfully performed many times. It is a simple matter of gently pushing the protruding bowel back in place and stitching up the hole. Francis, you are a man in your prime who enjoys excellent health, and you will undoubtedly heal quickly.”

“I'd rather leave it alone and see if it goes back on its own,” Francis gasped, stubbornly refusing to take anyone's advice.

At least he's no longer shouting no at the top of his lungs.
“Delaying the procedure is far more dangerous than the operation itself,” John explained quietly, still trying to convince him.

“How so?” Francis demanded, his face gray with pain.

John, loath to add to his brother's terror by describing in graphic detail how a strangulated bowel could easily burst, took a more persuasive tack. “The pain will get steadily worse. Your body will weaken. The operation is sure to relieve your agony.”

“Let's wait and see. I can put up with it awhile longer.”

John could see that his paralyzing fear took precedence over his suffering.
Poor Francis—a long night of agony will surely change your mind.
“I'll have the doctor give you another dose of painkiller, and I'll stay here with you tonight. Perhaps you'll be better able to make a decision in the morning.”

Once the opiate took effect, Francis stopped moaning and rolling about the bed, and for a short time he dozed. John sat vigil, knowing the inevitable decision had only been postponed. The short respite merely delayed the hard choice that must be faced come morning. John silently agonized for his brother.

The effects of the drug wore off long before dawn, and John brought Francis a drink of water, helped him relieve himself in the chamber pot, and rubbed his back in an effort to ease his suffering. To distract his brother, John talked about their childhood and the dogs they'd had.

Francis begged him for brandy, and John did not demur. But the fumes took his breath away and brought on a coughing spell.

“This cannot go on, Francis. You must give the surgeon permission to perform the operation.”

“Who is this Kerr? I don't even know him. I never heard of him until two days ago.” The fear was back in his eyes.

“You are right, Francis. I suggest we send for the royal surgeon, Sir James Earle. He's the top man in the country. If he decides an operation is necessary, I warrant both of us will have more confidence if Sir James agrees to perform it.”

“Yes. I'm entitled to the best. Send for him, John.”

John joined Lord Holland in the breakfast room and explained his brother's plight. “Francis has a strangulated hernia and he needs immediate surgery to correct it and relieve the pain. He refuses to let Dr. Kerr touch him, but he has agreed to see the royal surgeon, Sir James Earle. Henry, would you be good enough to drive my phaeton back to London and fetch Sir James with all possible speed? I'll write a letter describing in detail the Duke of Bedford's dangerous condition.”

“Write your letter. I'll ready the phaeton and leave immediately. He can't put himself in better hands than the surgeon to the royal family.”

John, Mr. Burke, and Dr. Halifax did all they could to help Francis endure hour after hour of pain. When Dr. Kerr finally lost all patience and insisted the operation should be performed immediately, the Duke of Bedford became furious and banished him from the chamber. His shouting brought on a coughing fit, and suddenly Francis felt something shift internally.

By morning, there was no longer a hard lump protruding from his abdomen, and his pain had lessened considerably. Much relieved, Francis closed his eyes and slept for a few hours. John kept a faithful vigil, hoping against hope that the operation his brother dreaded would not be necessary.

It was late in the day before Lord Holland and Sir James Earle arrived at Woburn. When the royal surgeon came into the duke's chamber, Francis declared, “I'm much improved, Sir James. I don't believe I need the services of a surgeon after all.”

“I shall be the judge of that, Your Grace.”

Sir James examined him and his expression became grave. He confirmed the diagnosis of strangulated hernia and told the Duke of Bedford an operation was absolutely imperative. When Francis began to argue with him, the surgeon took John Russell aside. “Your brother must be operated on immediately.”

“The protrusion was much worse and his pain has lessened.”

“That is temporary. I'm afraid his bowel has burst.”

John and Sir James spent hours trying to convince Francis that he was in the utmost danger unless his perforated bowel was repaired. By morning, the duke's temperature had begun to rise and John instructed Sir James to prepare the chamber for an emergency operation.

Francis was in a full-blown fever before he relented and gave the royal doctor permission to perform the surgery.

John took a seat outside his brother's chamber, silently praying for a successful outcome to the dreaded operation. But when the doctors finally emerged hours later, he could tell by their demeanor that the news was not good. His heart plummeted, and he was filled with anguish.

“His Grace waited too long,” Sir James said grimly. “The section of his intestines that ruptured has become gangrenous, which is always fatal, I'm afraid.”

The blood drained from John's face. “There's no hope?”

“None whatsoever. He cannot survive more than a few hours. I'd appreciate your presence when I break the news to him.”

 
Word of the Duke of Bedford's condition had leaked out, and many of his friends gathered at Woburn, along with his solicitors, accountants, and stewards. But Francis refused to see anyone except John in his final hours. As his life slowly ebbed away, his fevered brain was obsessed with the female who'd rejected him.

“Lady Georgina is deeply in love with me. This will break her heart. She is so young, so lovely—she will never recover from such a cruel blow. Her greatest desire was to marry me, and I was on the brink of proposing. Sadly, I never asked her. John, promise me that you will take Georgina a lock of my hair.”

“I promise, Francis.” The lump in his throat almost choked him.

“Carry me to the couch.”

Gently, John picked him up and carried him across the room. When he looked down, he saw that his brother had died in his arms.

Stunned and grief stricken, he finally descended the stairs to break the tragic news to those gathered below.

Lord Holland gripped his friend's shoulder. “Your Grace, you did everything you possibly could for him.”

John recoiled. “Don't call me that! I don't want to be the Duke of Bedford.” But it slowly dawned on him that whether he wanted it or not, he had inherited the dukedom along with all the heavy responsibilities it entailed.

 
The Duchess of Gordon arrived at Brome Hall distraught at the ill tidings she had to impart. “Georgy, my poor darling. Brace yourself; I have the most dreadful news.”

Georgina's hand flew to her breast. “Not Father?”

“No, no, it is far more disastrous than that!” Jane's bosom heaved as she tried to catch her breath. “My poor, dear child. The Duke of Bedford is dead!”