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She forgot the stench and the corpses around her as she began to examine Randall’s inert form. She was no expert, but in her years as a teacher she had dealt with any number of accidents and she had learned a great deal more in the last couple of days. She could find no broken bones. One sleeve was ripped, but there was no more than a graze on his arm and the gash on his leg was no longer bleeding. Of more concern were the wounds on his chest and temple. Mary used the clean water from the flask she had brought with her to damp a cloth and wipe away the blood from his head. The cut was not large, but it had bled profusely and the skin around it was badly bruised.
‘Not a sword cut, that,’ opined the sergeant, watching her work. ‘P’raps he bashed his head when he fell.’
‘Very likely,’ she said.
It would need to be bandaged, but first she had to turn her attention to the most worrying sign of injury. With trembling fingers she unfastened his shirt. The blood was still oozing from small neat hole in his chest.
‘He has been shot,’ she said, trying to keep the panic from her tone. She folded one of the cloths she had brought with her into a pad and held it over the hole. ‘Help me to lift him, Sergeant Hollins. Carefully, now.’
After a few moments she said, ‘I c-cannot see that the ball has come out at the back. It must be still in him.’
Gunner Stubbs stepped closer. ‘Can you take it out, miss?’
In other circumstances the soldier’s faith in her ability would have made her smile. Sadly, she shook her head.
‘No. I will bandage his wounds, then we must get him back to Brussels.’
‘Are we going to carry him all the way back?’
She shook her head. ‘Not exactly, Sergeant. I thought we might lash the front of the poles into the stirrups of the quietest horse. Then we will only need two of you to hold the other ends. It is important that we move Colonel Randall as carefully as possible.’
‘It’ll have to be your horse then, miss,’ replied Gunner Brent. ‘None of they cavalry horses would bear having anything behind ’em.’
‘So be it.’ Mary rose and shook out her skirts. ‘Fixing the poles might be more difficult to a lady’s saddle, but we shall manage. Let us get to it.’
She prayed it would work. It took a little time to fix the poles to Marron and lift Randall on to the makeshift litter. It was only when they were preparing to leave that Mary realised Lady Sarah was missing.
Sergeant Hollins scratched his head. ‘Must’ve taken off while we was busy in the barn.’
‘Dawkins and Cooper’s gone, too, miss,’ remarked Gunner Brent.
The sergeant shook his head when he saw Mary’s horrified look.
‘I wouldn’t vouch for all the Rogues, but those two wouldn’t do her no harm, miss, especially knowing she’s the colonel’s sister.’
‘She was looking pretty queer last time I saw her,’ offered Gunner Stubbs. ‘P’raps she was feeling so ill she wanted to go home.’
‘That could be it,’ said Mary doubtfully. She looked around. There was no sign of the three riders, nor any indication which way they had gone.
Sergeant Hollins batted away a fly.
‘Dog’s gone with ’em,’ he remarked.
Mary gave a little sigh of exasperation.
‘Well, we cannot waste time looking for her. Lord Randall must be conveyed back to Brussels as quickly as possib
le and I shall need you all to help me.’
The little party set off. It was slow work, for they could only go at walking pace and Mary was anxious that they avoid jarring Randall’s battered body. She was desperately worried about the wound to his chest. She said nothing to the others, but she was fearful that if the ball had entered some vital organ all their efforts might yet be in vain.
She walked beside the litter, occasionally wiping Randall’s face and forcing a little water between his parched lips. Occasionally her eyes went to the sword still strapped to his side. He had found it. He must know now she had not taken it. It was a small consolation and seemed trivial compared to the task of getting Randall back to Brussels alive. He showed no signs of consciousness and she kept putting her hand to his neck to reassure herself that the faint pulse was still there.
* * *
It was dark by the time they reached Brussels. The sergeant ordered Gunner Stubbs to run ahead so that when they arrived at the Rue Ducale, Robbins was ready for them and helped to carry the seemingly lifeless body upstairs to the bedchamber.
‘Lieutenant Foster is on his way,’ said the manservant, regarding his master with worried eyes.
