Page 60 of The Major's Mistake
“You are free to go, but those of you who truly wish an honest job may stay and count that the marquess will provide you and your family with work, as well as food and shelter,” Miranda said, addressing the huddle of men. “We are going to need some help in getting His Lordship down from here.”
Hope slowly replaced fear in many of the faces. One man stepped forward, twisting a corner of his tattered jacket in his hands.” What would you have us do, milady?”
“We shall need a litter. Perhaps some of you can find two trees and a blanket and rope?—”
“Aye, ma’am. I knows what you mean, I’ll see to it.” The fellow who spoke jerked his head at two of his companions and they hurried off.
“Somebody put on a pot of water to boil. And torches. We shall need a number of torches so we may light the way.”
Several others nodded and set to work.
“And someone should go ahead of us and make sure a carriage is ready below,” she continued. Her brow furrowed. “Though I confess, I’m not quite sure how we will manage to get Julian down parts of that trail.”
“There is another way down,” piped up a voice. “It’s shorter too, and not nearly as steep, though it leads down the other side of the moor, close to Leadton.”
Miranda gave a sigh of relief. “It doesn’t matter where, so long as there is a road.”
“I’ll go ma’am. The others can show you how to go.” He hesitated before adding in a unsteady voice. “The authorities … they won’t put me in the gaol, will they?”
Sykes dug deep in his pocket. “Take this.” He pressed a gold button engraved with the Marquess’s crest into the man’s hand. “It fell off one of the guv’s jackets and I hadn’t gotten around toreplacing it. Just tell them you are one of the marquess’s men and you won’t have any trouble.” He shot a menacing look at the cowering Scofield and Gibbs. “Make sure a magistrate is there as well.”
The man set off at a trot.
Miranda was already at Julian’s side, smoothing the tangled dark locked from his streaked brow.
“How is he?” Sykes knelt down next to her.
She could barely control the tremor in her voice. “I fear he’s badly hurt. I need to treat that leg before we can think of moving him.”
The valet’s expression became very grim and he muttered an oath. “It would nigh on kill him if he should lose his leg.”
Miranda took a deep breath. “Julian isnotgoing to lose his leg, Mr. Sykes. Now help me get him nearer the fire. Then find as clean a cloth as you can and start making some bandages.”
He looked his own soiled shirt and looked dubious.
She thought for a moment. “Please avert your eyes.” Lifting her skirt she tore off a large section of her shift. “This should do.” She thrust it into his hands, then felt around on the ground until she found her scalpel and the rest of her instruments. “Come, let’s hurry.”
Sykes waved two of the others over to help him and together they carried Julian towards the crackling flames.
“Build the fire higher,” she ordered as she folded the few blankets she could find into some sort of cushioning from the hard ground. “And is there anything left in that jug?”
Angus brought it over and poured the rest of the contents into a tin cup. She sniffed at it. “Is it strong?”
That brought a ghost of a grin to his face. “Aye, milady. That it is.”
“Good. Then help me get it down his throat.” She arranged a spare jacket over Julian’s chest. He stirred slightly and his eyesfluttered open. “Lord, he feels cold.” Her hand gently lifted his head. “Julian, please, you must drink this.”
She put the cup to his lips and forced him to take a swallow. Most of it went down though he coughed and tried to push it away.
To her relief, the alcohol had some effect. His disjointed muttering ceased and he fell back into a haze of unconsciousness. She turned to Sykes and Angus. “I need you hold his leg as still as possible. If he stays like this it will be easier, but if he wakes …”
They nodded their understanding.
“Mr. Sykes, please remove his boot.”
She signaled for the pot bubbling over the fire. After plunging her scalpel into the scalding water, she started to cut away the bloodied buckskins.
Angus sucked in his breath while Sykes had to look away for a moment. Miranda felt her own hands begin to tremble at the sight of the torn flesh and the jagged pieces of metal ripping through the skin. She clenched her teeth to steady her nerves and set to work. Slowly, with great skill, she made several small incisions. Reaching for the pinchers she used to extract the occasional splinter from one of her patients, she methodically began to remove the bits of shrapnel from the open wound. Every so often, she stopped to clean away the blood and check that the bleeding had not become too severe.
