Page 4 of Mistress of Misfortune

“Lightning. A very large storm has blown in,” the colonel said as he picked up the shears, and paused as a muffled drumming sound filled the room. “And there is the rain.”

Meredith watched as he took the shears to her sleeve and carefully cut it apart to a few inches above her elbow before snipping it away entirely. As she turned her wrist she grimaced; her fall had left a large, unsightly graze on the underside of her forearm. “Doctor Mallory always uses coal tar soap for such things.”

“Soap is rarely found on the battlefield,” the colonel said as he cradled her arm with the folded linen and picked up the decanter. “But liquor can always be had wherever men fight.” He met her gaze. “This will burn, my dear, but only for a few moments. Brace yourself.”

Meredith felt herself blushing at his casual endearment and quickly nodded, biting her lip as he poured the spirits over the wound. The pain she managed as always by concentrating on her breathing to keep it slow and deep.

Thorne set down the decanter and blotted the excess from the wound before examining it closely. “I do not see any dirt or debris lingering. I will bandage it now.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, feeling despite her efforts a little light-headed, and then cringed as a huge bang exploded outside the house. “This storm must be very bad.”

“It will likely turn the roads to rivers.” He removed from the leather case a roll of white, loosely-woven cloth, which he used to dress the wound. He then took out what appeared to be half a leather glove encircled by a number of narrow, buckled straps.

“This will allow the sprain to better heal,” he said as he fitted the odd glove over her hand. Once he tightened the buckled straps around her wrist Meredith found that she could wriggle her fingers but not move her hand at all.

“I think Doctor Mallory would be very interested in this,” she told him. “He resorts to wood slats and cloth ties to immobilize injured parts, and they are quite awkward. They also itch terribly.”

Thorne sat back on his haunches and regarded her with a frown. “Exactly how often have you injured yourself, Miss Starling?”

“More than I should,” she admitted, and forced a smile. “Now I have imposed on you too much for even the most generous of good Samaritans. If you would be so kind as to have my rig brought up, I will trespass on your kindness no longer.”

“The roads are flooding, and your rig is in pieces, Miss Starling,” he said bluntly. “You have had a very bad shock and should not be moved. Once the storm passes I will send word to your parents of your accident, but you are not leaving.”