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‘Yes? And pay attention to what you’re doing!’
‘I am, Monsieur. I am. If I may ask, ‘ow exactly did the patient sustain ‘is injury?’
‘A duel.’
‘Monsieur Linton…’ Tying the last knot, the doctor turned towards me. He picked the bloody bullet out of its container and raised it to eye-level. I had to swallow. ‘Sis is not a pistol bullet. It comes from a rifle.’
My face remained stony. I had learned from the best. ‘It was a long-distance duel.’
‘Monsieur Linton, you cannot expect me to believe—’
‘Do you want your fee, doctor?’
‘Yes, of course, but—’
‘Then get back to work and don’t dare stop until Mr Ambrose is out of danger! Trust me, you do not want to know what he will do if Mr Ambrose does not survive.’ I jabbed my thumb at Karim, standing in the corner of the room like a grim, turban-wearing sentinel. ‘And you definitely do not want to know what I will do.’
The doctor’s eyes flitted nervously between me and Karim. The big Mohammedan gave him his best you-are-about-to-decapitated-like-a-dog look. Quickly, the doctor turned back to his patient. He talked a lot less after that, and worked a lot faster.
Everything in me wanted to look away—but I forced myself to watch. I forced myself to observe every move, every little shift of his fingers. After the things Dalgliesh had done in the past, bribing a doctor definitely wasn’t beyond him, and I wasn’t going to let anything or anyone harm Mr Ambrose. However, the doctor did nothing but his job. He applied a second layer of bandages, covered Mr Ambrose with a thick quilt, and then pulled out a pencil to draw up a quick list.
‘See to it sat you keep him covered, Monsieur. He ‘as lost quite a lot of blood and might go into shock. If ‘e does, send a messenger. I’ve left my card on the dresser. ‘ere—’ He tore the list off his notepad and handed it to me, ‘is a list of suitable foods. Keep ‘im on sis diet, and sat should support his convalescence.’
I glanced at the list, and made a quick mental calculations of how much this would cost.
Oh yes. This would support a very quick convalescence, definitely.
‘I sink that’s all for now.’ The doctor was edging towards the door. For some mysterious reason, he seemed rather eager to get out of here. ‘If you would be so kind, Monsieur…’
‘Oh, of course.’
Reaching underneath the quilt, I slipped a hand into my dear employer’s pocket, and pulled out that mysterious well of plenty, that hallowed object of mystery which was Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s wallet. At the other end of the room, Karim made a garbled noise of protest—but when I sent him a look, he shut up and concentrated very hard on looking bodyguardly.
I raised the wallet, trying to act as if this was nothing special. And in a way, it wasn’t, right? After all, he wanted me to be his wife. As his wife, everything that was his would be mine, wouldn’t it?
Yes, and of course he’s going to see it like that, too, eh?
Taking a deep breath, I opened the wallet.
Holy….!
Suddenly, I didn’t feel quite as confident about the whole ‘what’s his is mine’-thing anymore. My pockets weren’t nearly big enough!
I swallowed.
‘How much, doctor?’
The doctor named a sum that, five minutes ago, would have seemed exorbitant to me. Now I just reached into the wallet, pulled out the smallest bill and handed it to him. ‘Keep the change.’
‘S-sank you, Monsieur! ‘ow very generous.’ Wide-eyed, he retreated to the door. His gaze was fastened disbelievingly to the bill in his hands. ‘As I said, if you should have need of me, call me. Day or night, it does not matter. I shall always be at your disposal.’
And he vanished.
Which left me alone in the room with one unconscious Ambrose and one self-conscious bodyguard.
Lifting the quilt, I carefully slid Mr Ambrose’s wallet back in its place. Then I turned towards Karim, looking at him like I never had before. Not with amusement or annoyance, not with anger or a little devil dancing in my eyes, but with an earnest, heartfelt plea.
‘Karim? Please?’
