Page 79 of Flanders' Folly
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Flanders dozed fitfullyin the chair, waking at every noise. When he was roused by Brigid's moans of pain, he’d been forced to stand by, listening helplessly, while the nurse came to her aid and fettled her back to sleep again. It was then he realized he wanted her sleeping too, not awake enough to call for him. If that wee box was silent, it meant she was at peace.
In the morning, when dawn arrived through high windows so clear as to be invisible, the doctor returned with a woman to replace the night nurse.
Moments later, Brigid cried out and Flanders was on his feet and through the door before he could think. At the distant end of a massive bedchamber, Brigid lay on a wide bed, held down by the nurses. Her face contorted in agony as the doctor removed bandages from her legs. She lifted a knee, and the sight of her raw, blistered skin broke his heart.
"Sortez!"the doctor barked,get out,while a nurse moved to block his path.
"She's in pain," Flanders growled.
"Of course she is," the doctor replied. "Burns are painful. Now go, or I'll have you removed from the house."
Strong hands caught him from behind. "Easy, lad," Wickham murmured in his ear. "The doctor knows what he's about."
Flanders struggled against the hold. "She needs me."
"She needs time and she needs a clean space. Soon, she'll have all the Flanders she could ever want. But not the now."
One nurse pressed something small against Brigid's arm, and before Flanders retreated out the door, she settled and her eyes closed.
"What magic was that?"
Wickham closed the door and smiled. "Modern medicine. Magic ye'll learn much about in the days ahead." He tugged Flanders away. "Come. Eat. I'm going to introduce you to breakfast. A weak man will be no help to her."
Flanders followed reluctantly.I won't go far, he thought, in case she could hear him. But he heard nothing in return.
Bella emerged from an adjoining hallway, tying a thin long gown at the waist. "How is she?"
"Sleeping again," Wickham answered. "The doctor is with her. Will ye eat?"
She shook her head and headed back the way she'd come.
* * *
The kitchen wasa marvel of gleaming silver surfaces and wee wooden doors. And right there in the center of the castle with no consideration for smoke and smells. Flanders stared in wonder until Wickham nudged him on, then ducked into a room opposite that held the table Bella had mentioned. Polished wood worthy of any king. And scrolled chairs to match. Beneath them all, a rug finer than many he'd slept upon.
Wickham pushed him into one of those chairs and Flanders bent forward, to look at his reflection in the surface.
"It's all right, man. Ye can touch it."
He did so with his hands, then with his elbows. Then he put his head down on his arms and closed his eyes. "It's too much to take all at a go, aye?"
"Aye," Wickham said with a grin. "But I reckon breakfast will inspire ye to push through."
A plate was set beside him and he straightened to identify the strong smells that accompanied it. He nearly wept.
Eggs fried to perfection, their edges crisp and lacy. Thick slices of charred ham, plump sausages, haggis, mushrooms, some red round vegetable, and toasted bread—a feast fit for a king's table.
"I thought ye might appreciate a proper Scottish breakfast."
Flanders took his first bite of egg and closed his eyes in bliss. "I'm going to like the future just fine," he murmured.
As they ate, Wickham explained his plans. "I'm going back for James today. His wife will be here soon—she's been visiting her family. Ye'll remember Phoebe, no?"
Flanders nodded, his mouth too full for speaking.
"Good. I'll not be gone long." Wickham rose from the table. "My sisters will look after ye while I'm away."
