Page 21 of A Dream of Redemption
The horror of Mrs. Riley’s words sunk in and suddenly the long day and night was too much. Helen had had no sleep in over thirty hours and she dropped her head to her chest and began to cry.
Mrs. Riley shoved a cup at her. “You need to get some sleep. I can help Mrs. Thorn and the surgeon. There is nothing you can do for Mr. Homeward in this condition. Here drink this.”
Helen took the cup of hot tea without any protest. She was exhausted and Mrs. Riley was right, she needed to be functioning at full steam to help with Clary’s recovery and whatever they found at Glover’s warehouse. She took the mug of tea with her upstairs and had a quick wash before falling into her bed. It took only moments for her to fall asleep.
When she awoke it was daylight. Helen had forgotten to close the shutters. She had no idea how long she’d slept but she did feel more clearheaded.
Quickly washing and dressing she opened the door to her room ready to look in on Clary, when she almost tripped over Anne. She was sitting on the floor outside her door. Anne jumped to her feet and threw herself into Helen’s arms.
“They rescued Claire. Thank you. Oh, thank you. You didn’t break your promise. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up to tell you, and Claire wants to meet you.”
Pure joy surged through Helen’s veins and for one moment her fear over Clary’s injury was forgotten. One good thing had come from the misery of the past twenty-four hours. “That’s wonderful news, Anne, but I have to check on Mr. Homeward first. Then I shall come and find you and Claire.”
Anne nodded, and together they walked to the stairs. Anne went up to the dorm and Helen carried along to Clary’s room. She pressed her ear to the closed door and could not hear anything. She leaned her head against the door, fear stopping her from entering. Would he still be alive? As if she was standing at the bottom of a cliff with boulders falling on her she realized she desperately wanted Clary to survive. The idea of him dying, of him not being in the world, made her go quite light-headed.
She gave herself a stern talking to and quietly entered the room. Blake was asleep in a chair near the window, a blanket over him. There was no sign of Mrs. Thorn. She was in the kitchen. Helen could feel the fear rise to choke her as she approached the bed.
Clary lay as still as a corpse, his face white. He had bandages wrapped around his torso, but she could see his chest still rising and falling and her churning stomach calmed a little.
“He’s still alive.”
She turned to face Blake. “Thank you.”
“It was a long cut but thankfully only sliced the muscle to the rib bones. He’ll be up in a few days with infection his biggest and worst enemy. I cleaned the wound as much as I could. But you’ll have to insist he keeps it clean and the bandages are changed twice daily.”
She nodded. “I can sit and watch him for a while if you want to go and freshen up and get more sleep.”
He rose and folded the blanket. “Thank you, I could do with some food. If he wakes up please make him drink more of this. It will help the pain and keep him half asleep so he doesn’t move and pull out the hundred stitches I put in.”
She nodded. Once Blake had left she pulled up a chair near the bed and watched Clary. She wanted to reach out and trail her finger over his face. The chiseled cheekbones and aquiline nose made his face noble looking but the long, soot colored eyelashes and brows, coupled with his sensual full lips made him look godlike. He was incredibly handsome but never seemed to notice how women looked at him in awe.
Perhaps he was used to the admiration and flirtation that came his way. But unlike many of the rakes she knew—her brother in his younger bachelor days was an example—Clary never used his looks to get what he wanted. In fact, it was as if he hated being so handsome.
She knew he was waking up because she saw the lines of pain form around his mouth. His eyes flickered open, and all she could see mirrored there was pain. She quickly lifted the glass of liquid containing what she knew to be opium to his lips but he moved his head away.
“Not yet. Something to drink first,” he croaked.
She hesitated but put down the vial and poured him a glass of apple cider. She let him drink a small amount before he dropped his head on the pillow, exhausted.
“Was Richard successful?”
She smiled. “I don’t have all the details yet, but I believe so. Anne told me Claire is back. Do you want me to go and find out more?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll hear more later. Perhaps I could have some opium now, my side feels like it’s on fire,” he said through gritted teeth.
She rushed to comply, ensuring he only took the amount Blake had prescribed. Soon his eyes drifted closed and she could see he was sleeping.
Just then Mrs. Barton, another of the new matrons Mr. Brown had sent them, entered. “Mrs. Thorn said to relieve you. You haven’t had anything to eat today. I’ll sit with him.”
She didn’t want to leave him. For some strange reason she thought if she stayed with him he’d heal. “I’ll nip down and grab some food.” She’d also find Richard and ask what happened to Glover. Then she couldn’t wait to meet Claire.
Chapter 7
Waves of pain wracked his body. The bloody stitching hurt like hell. He had been lying here for hours now and the pain had lessened, as long as he didn’t move and pull on the stitches. Clary tried to stay asleep, to stay immersed in a dream world where nothing hurt, but his pain was belligerent. As he drifted awake he could hear her soft voice reading to him.
The opium made him dream, and he dreamed of the kiss they’d shared and the softness of her curves under his hands. Clary had wished he’d let them explore her body but the kiss had taken him by surprise. Her lips tasted so sweet, and when she enthusiastically returned his kiss his mind froze. He’d imagined she’d be dismayed but she’d moved closer, pushing against his hardness. Now that he’d tasted heaven he wanted more.
Helen must have noted that he was waking up because he heard the chair scrape and her scent filled his nostrils as she leaned over him. She pressed her hand to his forehead, no doubt looking for signs of a temperature, which would indicate infection.
