Page 55 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
“Is My Lord going to be alright?”
“History itself would be dubious of a positive answer,” said the doctor. “For I once knew of a patient who suffered a similar injury. Caught his arm on a nail that had a blot of paint on it. A Swedish doctor diagnosed his condition to be a taint of the blood. I’m put in mind of that case when I look at Lord Oliver. I am going to recommend a bleeding followed by steady doses of brandy vinegar. How is your supply?”
“We are well-stocked in both, sir.”
“Good. Very good. See to it that your people are prepared. I would like to clear the room now of some of the more sensitive among you, if I may. Bloodletting is not for the faint of heart.”
“Yes, sir,” said Reese, turning swiftly and giving orders for the two maids to leave the room.
“Mr Reese,” said the doctor, “I will have to advise you to leave as well.”
The butler cleared his throat. “My good sir, for three years, I fought Napoleon’s army and did so willingly for His Majesty. I am no stranger to the horrors of injured bodies. I shall remain by My Lord’s side until he is well enough to order me to leave it.”
“Very well, then, Mr Reese. I shall begin at once.”
Chapter 40
In the night, the band of men rode at full gallop into the woods. Torches lit the way, and the men were, for the most part, silent during the ride.
They’d convened at Lord Briarmere’s residence a mere twenty minutes before. To Lord Ambrose’s surprise, Lord Peter took immediate charge of the situation, commanding the group like a general in the Royal Army. And though he did so, he never once lost the respect for his elders that a fine young man of breeding has.
Lord Ambrose made a note to himself to commend the boy for his strength of character and his bold stance leading the charge. This young Lord was precisely the type of man he desired for his daughters.
He chided himself for these thoughts, hearing Abigail’s voice and Emily’s as well.To think such selfish thoughts at a time like this!
Perhaps he didn’t like to be commanded after all, and this feeling of lowering himself to that of a soldier in the young Lord’s tiny army was what caused the voices of his better angels to rebuke his selfishness.
What a tired, old man he was becoming.
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He spied Lord Peter’s horse veering to the right, accompanied by a gesture of the young Lord’s arm. This was the agreed-upon signal that they were approaching the house in the woods – at a distance of about a half-mile – and would hereby dismount and advance on foot.
They dismounted as one, and in complete, supernatural silence. This being an evening of dark clouds above, there was no moon to light their way. What made matters worse was Lord Peter’s ridiculous plan to advance with but a single torch dampened to a mere glowing ember at the tip of a stick. Yes, they could not reveal their presence, but to expect this band of men to execute their task without bumbling through the brush like a party of jesters was sheer folly.
Nonetheless, he resolved himself to perform the task with the best of his ability. After all, there was the light of his daughter’s freedom to guide him. It was as good as the lightest light of heaven.
Along they crept, as stealthy as panthers, following the tiny glowing ember at the tip of Peter’s torch. It had all but extinguished by the time they reached the house. But reached it they had, for the dim light suddenly froze in mid-air.
They gathered in, forming a kind of huddle. Lord Peter raised the signal once more, and the men advanced slowly and steadily.
There was a fire burning in the window. Lord Ambrose felt his nerves prick up at the sight. He knew not what lay on the other side of that door. This Mr Garret, from Lord Peter’s description of him, was most assuredly the large man who ran off carrying his beloved Madeline slung over his shoulder like she was a small sack of grain. While he was no match for the party of six men, there was no assurance that he was alone. Or that he possessed no weapons. The six men, armed as they were with sabers and pistols, did not possess the advantage of clear sight on this darkest of nights. Surely, Mr Garret’s eyes were accustomed to the light and were no doubt ready to aim if he had somehow anticipated their ambush.
Lord Peter gave the final signal, and the men charged like a stampede of bulls, with Lord Peter himself in the lead. With a swift kick of his jackboot, the door gave way, and the men entered with war cries that might have awakened ancient spirits in the woods.
Mr Garret, sitting in a chair by the fire, had been as unaware of their approach as he was unarmed. Taking him was as easy as calling his name and telling him to remain motionless, which Lord Peter did, and as Mr Garret obeyed.
Just the sight of the man made Lord Ambrose want to throttle him with his bare hands. The rage he felt on the day of his daughter’s abduction came back to him all at once.
Suddenly there were arms restraining him.
The ugliest of swears were rolling off his tongue like thunder. He heard them, and he felt himself lunging at Garret, who had recoiled against the wall. Gradually, the weight of the situation dawned on him, as exemplified by the tears of rage in his eyes. He had temporarily gone insane with anger and vengeance, and it took his own men to restrain him lest he tear the man limb from limb.
The woman had emerged from the back of the house at this point, and swords and pistols were drawn on her at an instant.
“My dear Lady,” said Lord Peter, “I regret to inform you that all land deals heretofore put into motion betwixt us are hereby nullified.”
He strode over to Lord Ambrose, who now stared at the floor, feeling the rush of rage receding from him.
