Page 132 of Regency Whispers: Scandalous Matches

‘I do not think I have a choice,’ Alice replied with a weak smile. ‘It was that man, Simon, that horrible man we saw with the gang of pickpockets.’

‘He targeted you on purpose?’

‘I think he was waiting for me outside the orphanage. He held the knife to me, in between my body and his so Drummond and Smith could not see it, and he was demanding my valuables, but I did not take anything with me. He asked for my wedding ring, and I was going to give it to him, but Drummond grew suspicious as to why it was taking me so long to cross to the carriage, and he and Smith rushed over. He grabbed my ring.’ Alice looked down at her fingers where the ring had been, tears pooling in her eyes. ‘Then he pushed past me and ran away. He must have lashed out with the knife when he pushed past me.’

‘Do not worry about any of that now,’ Simon said, stroking her hair from her face. ‘Let us focus on getting you better, and then we can worry about the scoundrel who did this to you.’

The doctor returned to the bedside, a small tray of items in his hand. Alice glanced down at it and then wished she hadn’t. There was a long needle on it, thick thread trailing from behind, as well as a couple of small knives and a pair of scissors. Thankfully Miss Stick returned at the same time, and Alice forced herself to watch the housekeeper’s preparations rather than the doctor’s.

‘Are you ready, Lady Westcroft?’

‘I am,’ Alice said, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. She tried to think of all the things that made her happy. The dappled sun through the trees in the park, the sound of the sea crashing against the dunes in Bamburgh on stormy nights, the giggles of her nieces and, of course, Simon.

He held her hand firmly as the doctor anchored the skin around the knife and then in a smooth, slow motion pulled it out.

Alice let out a low, wounded cry and then against her better judgement looked down at the wound.

Fresh blood welled out of the gash in her side, and she felt the room spin around her. Darkness pulled at the periphery of her vision, and she gripped Simon’s hand harder, but she was unable to cling to consciousness.

Alice woke to pain much worse than what she had already endured. The doctor was leaned over her, piercing her skin with the needle. That hurt in itself, but even worse was the pain as he pulled the thread through after. She felt every inch slide through the fresh hole in her skin.

‘You must stay still, Lady Westcroft,’ Dr Black said, his voice authoritative. He turned to Simon and instructed, ‘Keep her still.’

Alice felt Simon stand and lean over her, kissing her on her forehead. ‘Stay still, Alice. You are doing very well. This will not take long, and then you can rest.’

She clenched her teeth and endured the pain, tears rolling down her cheeks, and it was a great relief when the doctor stepped away.

‘She must rest. The knife was small, but unfortunately it was not clean. I worry the wound might fester.’ The doctor glanced over at her, pity in his eyes. ‘If she does develop a fever, then send for me. Otherwise I will call tomorrow to check on the wound.’

‘Thank you, Dr Black,’ Simon said, shaking the man’s hand.

Simon approached the bed with trepidation. Miss Stick had tried to shoo him out of the room whilst she and one of the maids changed the bloodstained sheets around Alice, as deftly as they could without jostling her. He had acknowledged he was in the way but had felt unable to retreat farther than the chair in the corner of the room whilst they worked. Now they were finished, he pulled his chair closer to the bed and took Alice’s hand in his.

Her eyes flickered open, and she gave him a weak smile, but her face was ashen, and underneath her eyes were dark circles. She looked terribly unwell.

Gently he kissed her fingers where they entwined with his and then sat back in the chair and waited.

Alice slept fitfully, every so often trying to turn in her sleep to get into a more comfortable position. When this happened he would spring forward and press her shoulders gently, holding her on her back so she did not pull at the stitches or disturb the wound.

‘Please do not die,’ he whispered time and time again. It was strange to be sitting here next to his young and normally healthy wife. A year ago he had been convinced Alice would outlive him, but here he was the picture of health and she was suspended in that awful void between life and death.

Periodically Miss Stick would knock quietly at the door and enter the room, taking her time to straighten the sheets and ensure Alice was comfortable. He saw real affection and concern in the housekeeper’s eyes. In her short time in London, Alice had made an impression on so many people.

The housekeeper would also bring Simon trays of tea and press him to drink and eat a little, pouring out the tea and handing it to him, not leaving the room until he had taken at least a few sips.

The hours seemed to drag as Simon found he could not rest, not whilst Alice’s future was so uncertain. Every so often he would place a hand on her brow, dreading he would feel the heat that would indicate the wound was infected, pus accumulating under the stitches.

It was dark outside when he finally nodded off to sleep, dozing fitfully in the armchair, waking every few minutes to glance across at Alice and then his head dropping down onto his chest.

Miss Stick offered to sit with Alice so he could sleep, but Simon had an irrational fear that if he moved, if he left her bedside, something terrible would happen. He knew it was not true, but he could not help feeling that way.

As the first rays of sunshine filtered through the gap in the curtains, Alice stirred, her eyes flickering open as they had through the night, but this time she seemed to focus on him.

‘How are you, my love?’

She smiled at him weakly and tried to push herself up in bed. Simon laid a restraining hand on her arm.

‘Everything hurts,’ she said, her face contorting into a frown.