Page 75 of Against the Wind

“The wound is festering and I must cut it open to drain the purulent liquid.”

John and the woman came closer to examine the wound. “Aye, ’tis bad,” John acknowledged. “Tell me how I can help.”

“You can summon the physician and let the duke know.”

John left immediately, and Kit turned to the female servant. “Did you bring the knife?”

“Yes, my lady.” The woman handed it over. “’Tis new and sharp. I’ve also brought supplies for wound-stitching as well as the ingredients for poultices to reduce the redness and swelling.”

While not trained in the healing arts, Kit knew enough to know the wound had to be cleaned and drained. She poured a small amount of brandy onto the cut then carefully sliced through the stitches. Making a small cut, she pressed gently on the sides of the reddened area, draining the wretched fluid. She grimaced at the foul odor and forced herself to go on. This could save his life.

She didn’t re-stitch the wound but drew the sides together, cleaned the area and applied the poultice the woman gave her. Then Kit bound the wound tightly with a clean bandage. She feared it was not enough.

“We must get his fever down or he will die,” she exclaimed. They could immerse him in cold water, she knew, but he was too weak to take to the river. And then she remembered that Chatsworth was a grand estate. Grand estates, Kit recalled from her visit as a young girl to Petworth House, had ice houses.

“Chatsworth has an ice house, does it not?”

“Yeah, we have one,” said the woman helping her. “For many years, since the time of my grandmother. ’Tis just south of the canal pond. In the winter the men carve ice from the canal to store there.”

“We must have enough ice to surround his body.”

The woman hurried off. Not long after, the duke entered, followed again by the female servant. “John tells me Sir Martin has taken a turn for the worse, and Alice here says you need ice. What has happened, Lady Powell?”

“Martin’s wound turned angry and his fever soared. I have drained the wound and applied a poultice Alice gave me, but I need your help to deal with his fever. If he is to live, we must cool his body. Can we get some ice from your ice house to surround his body?”

“Of course. My footmen will go at once.”

The duke disappeared and a short while later returned with two footmen unloading blocks of ice from a cart and several servants anxious to help. The men carefully lifted Martin’s body from the sheet to lay an oilcloth underneath him, then placed thick cloths next to his sides and set the ice they had broken into smaller chunks around him, packing it close to his body. Kit placed small pieces of ice in cloths and set them on his forehead and chest, careful not to wet the bandage. It was all she knew to do. Then, holding the bagged ice to his forehead, she prayed.

“Oh, Lord, please do not take him.”

Perhaps in comfort, the duke said, “John and one of my footmen have ridden for the physician. If he can be found, he’ll be here soon.”

Kit prayed he would.

The physician didn’t arrive until early the next morning, the same Dr. Wendell she had encountered before. John told her the man was delayed by complications with a birth. Immediately upon entering the bedchamber, he checked Martin’s wound. He peeled back the bandage, and Kit was relieved to see the swelling reduced, though her husband was still warm to the touch.

“You have done well, my lady,” said the physician. “Continue to keep him cool. If the fever persists, perhaps he might be immersed in a tub of chilled water. Then all we can do is watch and wait—and pray.”

Kit kept vigil over her husband for another night. She told herself he could not die, not now. She wouldn’t say any more goodbyes. To him she would not, could not, say those words. He must live.

He awoke on and off, and when he was awake she got him to take a few sips of broth or a mixture of brandy and water. And she scolded him. “You must not leave me. It would be most inconvenient. I…I could not bear it. You shall get well.”

Two days after they first applied the ice, his fever dropped enough that they removed it. They changed the bed linens, too, carefully lifting him. It took several footmen and John working with Kit to accomplish that, while thankfully Martin was unaware. Kit breathed a sigh of relief. Her prayers had been answered.

On the following morning, a sudden movement woke Kit from where she slept exhausted on the edge of Martin’s bed. She looked up to see his head lifted off the pillow.

“Hello, Kitten,” he said weakly, smiling.

“Martin!” she said, excitement rising in her chest. “You’re awake.”

His eyes were clear as they had not been before. She touched his forehead. Cool. Studying his face for a clue to his health, she noted his color was better. She leaned in to kiss him gently and sat back.

“Yes, it would appear I am,” he said. His voice was weak, but his customary grin was back in place as he reached for her hand. Warmth infused her from the joy of knowing he was out of danger.

“I’ve been so worried about you. I nearly lost you. How do you feel?”

“Sore.” He reached for his bandaged shoulder. “And a bit bedraggled. Thirsty. Some water?” he croaked.