Page 22 of To Love And To Cherish
Mr. Bennet snorted. “That is because she is competent. My little Lizzy is neither squeamish nor missish, both fatal flaws in a surgical theatre. And he is a good twenty years her senior.”
Mrs. Bennet waved a hand. “What of it? Age has little to do with compatibility when the man is well-set up and respectable. And if not Lizzy, then perhaps Mary. Mary is grave, certainly, but that gives her dignity. She would suit a widower.”
“You speak as though we have no better options. What of the Longbourn heir?”
His wife snorted. “The heir! We’ve never even met the man. For all we know, he’s half-blind and resides in a barn.”
Bennet studied his wife’s face. “Still, he is your preferred match for Lizzy, is he not? You have said as much these past months.”
“Well, he would be, if he would come and make himself known,” she said tartly. “If he is too busy to visit his relations, then perhaps it is time we looked elsewhere.”
Mr. Bennet gave a dry chuckle. “And what would you have me do? Send out an engraved invitation?”
"Write to him," Mrs. Bennet insisted. "Invite the heir to Longbourn. He may not wish to marry one of his cousins, but we must at least give him the opportunity to meet them. And if he cannot be worked on to take one of them, we must look to other prospects. Dr. Edgerton, for example. It is time to act, Mr. Bennet.”
He sighed. “Very well, I shall consider it. But mark me, if this ends in tears and recriminations, I shall hold you entirely responsible.”
“Of course you will,” she replied with a triumphant smile. “I would expect nothing less from you.”
The wind snapped at Elizabeth’s bonnet as the gig raced down the rutted lane. She clutched the medical bag and glanced sideways at the doctor, noting the set of his jaw.
“How bad is it?” she asked.
“According to Martin’s report, the bullet is lodged deep. They’ve placed him on the kitchen table. I’ll need to cauterize. Martin says he’s bleeding heavily. And there’s a gash on his scalp, which is also bleeding. He hit something when he fell and may be concussed.”
Elizabeth nodded, already preparing herself. “I’ll suture the scalp once you’ve removed the bullet and stopped the bleeding.”
He gave her a brisk nod.
They reached the Gouldings’ house in minutes. Mrs. Goulding flung open the door, her apron soaked with blood. “Doctor! Thank God you’re here, he’s bleeding something terrible.”
Inside, Mr. Goulding lay on the heavy oak kitchen table, groaning. His breeches were slashed open above the thigh. Blood soaked the linen. Martin pressed a shirt to the wound with both hands.
“It was an accident!” Martin said. “He was cleaning the pistol when it went off!”
Elizabeth’s heart pounded, but she drew breath and pushed aside fear. “Mrs. Goulding, is there boiling water? Jacob, bring lanterns. Dr. Edgerton will need plenty of light.”
The physician leaned over the wound. “No exit,” he muttered. “The bullets lodged.”
Elizabeth laid out the instruments on a clean cloth. “I’ve wiped them with alcohol.”
The physician met her eye. “Good.”
Jacob returned with the lantern, his eyes wide. “Will he die?”
“No, lad,” the doctor said calmly. “The wound is only oozing. He missed the artery.”
Mrs. Goulding prayed gratefully. “A blessing!”
Elizabeth took her place at the doctor’s side, apron tied, sleeves rolled, hands scrubbed clean. “Forceps,” he said, and took the tool that was already in her hand.
She held the lantern higher, casting the light as he probed the wound.
“Martin,” the doctor said. “Hold his shoulders down.”
Mr. Goulding groaned as the instrument delved deeper. Blood welled. “Tweezers.”
Elizabeth handed him the instrument. Her eyes scanned the injury; the edges were clean, not ragged. “It should heal well,” she murmured.
