Page 21 of The Scandalous Deal of the Scarred Lady
Aunt Phoebe started at that, shooting the girl a look that clearly said there would be further discussion later. “I said to BE STILL!”
Helena watched this as if from far away. She supposed that one watched plays in such a manner, distant and removed from the story, but still feeling a vague part of it by being invited into the theatre at all. She wadded the cloth from her skirt against the wound, feeling cold now despite the fire roaring in the hearth. When her Aunt knelt next to her, she had no words to explain.
Thankfully Phoebe seemed to need none. “Be useful, girl, and run fetch Bridget from the kitchen. She’ll know what to do. And for heaven’s sakesay nothingto anyone else in the house. If any ask why you screamed say you thought you saw a mouse or some such. Can you do that much?”
Tess nodded and fled, the door banging shut behind her hard enough for Phoebe to wince from the noise. Alone together, Phoebe drew the cloth away from the wound, with a violent intake of breath. “You have truly done it this time. Are you so desperate to ruin your father’s good name? Oh, do not answer. The dress is already a ruin, there, hold that against it.”
“Aunt Phoebe…?” Helena felt strange, frightened now, itching forgotten. “Is it true that a cut there would cause a man to die? What Tess said…?”
Phoebe gave her a hard shake. “You will not say such things again, do you hear me? It was an accident, as you said. And you will not die from such a trifle. The girl is mad to say such things!”
Helena stared at Phoebe, seeing the pallor to her cheeks, a bright spot on each, her ire was so high. She’d terrified her aunt, she could see that she had. “But I was…it was an accident…I only meant to scratch…”
“Which is exactly what we will tell your father. Oh, stop crying. You shall be fine, it is hardly more than a scrape. Look, it’s nearly done bleeding.” Phoebe lifted the cloth and examined the cut critically. “To have this happen when we have such company as all that. Though why your father called you to dinner tonight is beyond me. I suppose ’tis because of the Prescotts’ insistence; they always rather liked you.”
Phoebe was speaking so quickly it was almost hard to understand her. But then her aunt always spoke fast when she was frightened or worried. Helena bit her lip — she had done an unspeakable thing. Helena’s tantrum had clearly been at the cause of this, and her inability to do such a simple thing as to not scratch.
Helena sighed. “I’m sorry, Aunt Phoebe. I’m sorry I spoiled your evening. For…everything. All of this…the dinner…this mess…” She gestured at the debris that still littered the floor. “All of this is my fault.”
“I should say so. Can you stand?” At her nod, Phoebe stood and shook out her skirts and reached down to help Helena to her feet. Helena stood there, wobbling a little back and forth a moment, allowing herself to be helped to a chair near the fire. Phoebe checked the wound again and nodded. “It has nearly stopped bleeding. Where is that servant…?”
Helena reached for her aunt as she moved as though to go to the door. “Please…you misunderstood. All of this. It was my fault. The Duke of Durham is here at my insistence. This entire night…all of it…was my doing.”
Phoebe turned to stare at her. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but another cry from the doorway stilled whatever it was that she would have said.
“Helena Barrington, what in the name of all that’s holy have you done to yourself!” Bridget had come, Tess behind her carrying what was referred to as her kit, that she used for doctoring minor injuries among the servants. Tess’s eyes were wide, her face pale, though her face was set in a sort of grim determination.
Phoebe quelled them all with a look. Helena’s heart sank, for she knew that expression well. This conversation was far from over and not likely to be a pleasant one once it resumed.
Chapter 14
“You should call for a doctor.” Bridget knelt at Helena’s side, lifting the cloth carefully to peer beneath at the wounded wrist.
“And risk becoming the talk of all society from here to London? You know as well as I that old Mathers is a gossip, worse than any old woman. I daresay he would have the entire parish informed by midday tomorrow.” Phoebe stood over them both, arms crossed, absolutely immovable, though Helena had suggested several times now that she return to the dinner party.
Truth be told, it would be better if Phoebe did leave if she were so intent on maintaining the fiction that nothing untoward had happened here. Which it hadn’t — a fact that Helena had tried to explain several times now, though it seemed no one was really listening anymore.
Bridget wasted no time in dressing the wound, though she did so with her lips tightly compressed. Her entire body was rigid as she bent over the wrist, as though steeling herself for a blow. Bridget had never gotten along well with Phoebe and had she been even half so skilled in her herbal lore, it was not likely she would have been called at all.
“You will not be blamed for this,” Helena said softly. “All of this was truly my own fault.”
“My Lady…” Bridget had reverted to the use of the title in the presence of Phoebe as she always did, even though Bridget had acted more a mother to Helena that Phoebe had. Not that Helena blamed her aunt for her lack of genuine affection. She had been little more than a girl herself when tasked with raising an infant.
But in a sense, as angry as Phoebe was now, it was plain to see it was because she had been afraid for her niece. Helena was well-loved, of that she’d never doubted, and it was true fear that had led to such harsh words for all involved.
The task of cleaning the wound and bandaging it was done quickly. Helena hoped that whatever herbs Bridget had used to stem the bleeding, it would be more effective at healing her than all those other such poultices and lotions she had been trying over the years.
The wrist was not even bleeding anymore by the time they finished. She’d been faint at the sight of the blood, Helena realized. She’d never been in danger at all. It had only been her imagination. She stared at her wrist, bandaged neatly and wondered at how easily it would be to hide such a thing under her long gloves. No one need ever know.
Her aunt had been wise to make no fuss over this. Helena raised her head to thank her but was met instead with the cold fury of her aunt who wasted no time in ordering the servants to leave the room. Bridget hesitated over her kit, taking overlong to pack salves and unused bandages, but Helena took pity on her and motioned for her to go.
She would have stayed for my sake,Helena realized as the two servants departed.Even though Aunt Phoebe would have been angry. She risked a glance at her aunt.Angrier, she corrected herself. That set to her lips did not bode well.
“Let me help you off with that dress. I may as well put you to bed where I know you will not get into mischief,” her aunt said, clucking in dismay at the ruin of the skirt, stained with streaks of blood. “I daresay the blood will not likely come out. The dress will only be fit for rags. Though it hardly matters. It did not suit you at all.”
“I had thought it looked rather well…” Helena murmured as she allowed her aunt to pull the dress over her head. For a moment she was lost in the folds of fabric, panicking a little until she was free and could breathe again. Truly every small thing set her off tonight.
“Is that your excuse for your disobedience when I had clearly set out your clothing for you before you even went down?” Phoebe tutted over the dress before wadding it up and casting it aside with a shake of her head. “Fit only for rags now….”
