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Robbins carefully closed the door behind him.
‘Aye, it was, miss. Came to tell his lordship about his sister.’
‘Lady Sarah?’
‘Aye, miss. It seems she’s, er, taken up with Major Bartlett and his lordship ain’t happy about it at all. In a rage, he is, shouting about court martials. It was as much as we could do to keep the master from getting out of bed and going after her, there and then.’
A sudden roar was heard from the bedroom.
‘He wants pen and ink, miss,’ Robbins explained. ‘To write to Lady Sarah.’
He hurried away and Mary stood for a moment, one hand pressed to her cheek. How could Sarah be so thoughtless? She should have known her actions would enrage her brother. Randall would doubtless put this, too, at her door, and blame her for encouraging Sarah to kick over the traces. She heard the earl’s angry voice calling for his man and she went into the bedroom. Randall glared at her, his eyes blazing.
‘Where is Robbins?’ His voice was full of suppressed fury.
‘Gone to fetch pen and paper, as you requested.’ She went a little closer. ‘Please, Randall, this anger is not good for you. You should be resting.’
‘Hah, how can I rest when my sister is, is consorting with one of the most notorious libertines in Europe? Robbins, bring that pen and paper. Now, man!’
She noted with alarm that his colour was mounting.
‘He is on his way.’ She paused. ‘If you will permit me to say so, Lady Sarah is no longer a child to be ordered about. In fact, I had the distinct impression there is a will of iron beneath that soft exterior.’
‘Oh, you did, did you?’ He glowered at her. ‘And what would you know about it?’
Her temper snapped. ‘A great deal more than you give me credit for! It is a Latymor trait that I have come to recognise, my lord.’
‘Well, by God, I do not intend to let her ruin herself,’ he exclaimed furiously. ‘In fact, I will go and find her myself—’
He threw back the bedcovers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, but even as Mary protested he stopped, a spasm of pain crossing his face and his colour draining away.
‘Randall!’
He did not hear her, but fell back against the pillows, his face a deathly white.
‘Randall!’
Her second cry brought Robbins hurrying in and together they eased the earl back into bed, flinging away the pillows and laying him flat. An erratic pulse was beating in his neck, but that and his ragged breathing were the only signs of life. Mary took one of his hands and began to chafe it between her own. It was a very inadequate gesture, but she did not know what else to do.
‘Thank heaven the surgeon’s due here any minute,’ muttered Robbins. ‘I’ll go down to the door to look out for him.’
‘Yes, do,’ said Mary. ‘And bring him here as quickly as possible.’
She had barely finished her first prayer when she heard footsteps on the stairs and moments later Lieutenant Foster came in. Mary stood back to allow him room to examine Lord Randall, but she hovered at the end of the bed, clasping and unclasping her hands as she explained what had happened.
‘He seemed so well this morning,’ she said. ‘Then he flew into a rage when Major Flint called upon him and he tried to get out of bed.’
‘Ah. Then the musket ball has moved,’ said the lieutenant. ‘It will be pressing upon some vital organ.’
‘Then it must be removed.’
‘Not by me. We must hope it will shift again.’ Mary stared at him and he shook his head at her. ‘To remove it would be far too dangerous. The ball entered the chest with remarkably little harm. To take it out again we would have to cause considerably more damage. Why, I should have the whole of the Latymor family clamouring for my head if he was to die under my knife.’
‘But he cannot live like this.’
He sighed.
‘I agree it is unlikely he will survive, but operating would undoubtedly be fatal. This way—well, we can pray for a miracle, Miss Endacott. That is my professional opinion.’
