Chapter Nineteen
Benjamin attempted tokeep a steady pressure on Alexander’s wound, but Duncan had set the horses at a steady clip, and many country roads were not ideal for keeping people or doors from being jostled around, for even a well-sprung carriage, which their wagon was not, could have difficulty.
“Easy,” Benjamin warned Duncan, and his lordship loosened his grip on the reins, but the road was still not ideal.
“Did we… capture… all?” Alexander groaned as he appeared to bite down on his tongue and lip in apparent discomfort.
“Quite a few,” Benjamin explained. “Yates. And Honfleur. And close to two dozen more. Now, you must rest. We will be at Duncan Place soon.”
However, Alexander was not finished. “Someone will… fetch… my sister?” he asked with a groan.
Benjamin readjusted his hold on the cravat serving as a compression cloth to keep his youngest brother steady. Benjamin wished to ask more questions of how Alexander knew Miss Moreau was his long-lost sister, but now was not the time. Instead, he said, “Beaufort and Lionel have gone after her. Neither will permit anyone to harm her.” Helooked closer at Alexander, but Benjamin was not confident that Marksman had heard any part of Benjamin’s response. A bit of fear arrived, and, instinctively, he placed the back of his hand close to Alexander’s nose and was rewarded by the heat of his brother’s breath against his knuckles. Ragged, but there, nevertheless.
“Is everything well?” Duncan called over his shoulder.
“Unconscious,” Benjamin assured. “Best if he remains so until we reach your home.”
It had takenlonger than Benjamin would like; however, with Duncan sending more than one member of the aristocracy scrambling to be from their way, they finally reached Mayfair, and Duncan’s staff was waiting for them. Benjamin gingerly straightened his legs and flexed his fingers to return feeling to them once he had crawled down from the wagon to make room for Duncan’s staff to carry Marksman into the house.
“Leave him on the door until Mr. Rheem can arrive,” Benjamin ordered as he caught his second wind. To the housekeeper, he called, “We will require clean bandages and plenty of hot water, Mrs. Chester.”
From somewhere in the house, he heard Theodora’s screech of dismay, but Benjamin left her to her maid’s care. She would want to assist, and he was in no mood for her bossy way of speaking to all of them, of late.
“I will require assistance in extracting the bullet if Rheem cannot be located,” Benjamin said aloud to no one in particular—more for his sake in organizing his thoughts than to present orders to others. He had only ever removed a bullet from two people who were still alive,but those were only minor injuries with a gun misfiring and the like. Naturally, he had executed the procedure on many cadavers at medical school, but this was different. As much as he sometimes found Alexander to be immature, they were still the last two of Duncan’s sons to be brought into the household. They were linked in that manner and many others.
Surprisingly, from beside him, Aaran Graham said, “My hands are steady, if you have a need for me, and I will gladly follow your orders.”
Aaran and Benjamin followed the men up the stairs, as they kept the door level.
“Is he dying?” Theodora pleaded as they passed her in the second story landing.
Duncan explained as he took his daughter into his embrace, “Alexander has lost more blood than we would like. Yet, with our family prayers and determination, Marksman will not die. They are to bring Alexander’s sister here. Please agree to assist her, Dora.”
Theodora stubbornly declared, “I wish to tend to Alexander.”
Benjamin thought Theodora was being insensible, but he kept his opinions to himself. Thankfully from somewhere near the still open front door, he heard Mr. Rheem’s voice. The surgeon was barking orders to Duncan’s servants.
Rheem looked up to where Benjamin had paused on the steps. “Good. Thompson, you will assist me. We will require towels and clean, hot water.”
“Already done, sir,” Mrs. Chester assured.
Rheem followed their procession up the stairs, stripping off his jacket as they climbed, and Benjamin did likewise. Rheem was a brilliant surgeon and an excellent model for Benjamin to emulate.
“Water and towels,” Mrs. Chester announced as she followed them into the room, along with a half dozen footmen and maids, who placed their items down and scurried from the room.
Despite what she had been told, Theodora had also followed theminto the room to catch up Alexander’s hand, but Rheem was having none of it. “Out! Everyone except Thompson and Mrs. Chester should leave. Wait downstairs until we have a need for you.”
“May I not stay?” Theodora pleaded as she stubbornly planted her feet in denial.
“It would be best if you wait with your father, my lady,” Rheem instructed with more patience than Benjamin thought possible. Meanwhile, Benjamin rolled up his shirt sleeves and began to scrub his hands with soap and water. He did not hear what else Rheem said, but Dora left in tears.
“Mrs. Chester,” Benjamin said, as he dried his hands on a towel and made room for Rheem to clean his own hands, “when we have this under control, I will require someone to carry a message to Macalhey House to let my staff and Miss Whitchurch know I will not be home this evening or even likely tomorrow.”
The housekeeper’s eyebrow rose in curiosity, but she did not ask of Miss Whitchurch. “Do you wish to write the message, my lord?”
“When I have time, I will address it… now, pardon me.” He returned to Rheem’s side, but his mind was on whether Miss Whitchurch would miss him this evening, as much as he would assuredly miss her.
Benjamin had marveledat Rheem’s precision. “Do your hands never falter?” he asked as he placed a new tool in Rheem’s waiting palm.
