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Chapter Twenty-Nine
Artemis found that the next few days passed by in a horrid, nightmarish blur as she watched Dominic battle the infection rampaging through his body. It was heart-wrenching to see such a powerful man reduced to such a state of helplessness by incessant pain and a raging fever. The idea that he might not survive was anathema to her. She would do whatever she could to get him through.
However, according to Dr. Hamilton, little could be done for Dominic other than providing him with assiduous nursing care that included regularly applying chlorinated lime in the hope that it would lessen the severity of the localized infection at the wound site. He suspected the purulence had spread to Dominic’s bloodstream, but as Dominic had already lost a good deal of blood, the doctor was loath to drain away any more to purge the ill humors from his body.
Artemis was grateful Dr. Hamilton didn’t want to try such a treatment.
The doctor also suggested, much to Artemis’s dismay, that it wouldn’t hurt to pray.
Not caring what anyone thought—either at Dartmoor House or at Cadogan Square—she stayed by Dominic’s side for endless hours, taking turns with Dominic’s devoted valet and Horatia to help the no-nonsense nurse, Miss Quincey, look after him. Artemis lay endless cold compresses on Dominic’s fevered brow and sponged his neck, arms, and torso with cool water. Covered him with extra blankets when his body quaked with chills. Even though it pained her to see Dominic hiss and flinch when she applied chlorinated lime to his inflamed bullet wound and the gash on his forehead, she gritted her teeth and did so because she had to. She offered him sips of water and weak broth if he could manage it. Whenever the pain and blazing fever became too much and he groaned and writhed in agony and could barely speak, she gave him carefully measured doses of laudanum. And when he eventually slid into a drug-induced slumber, she held his hand. Whispered to him in quiet moments when they were all alone that he mustn’t die. That she simply wouldn’t let him.
Because she loved him.
Guilt twisted her heart whenever she made such a declaration. The plain, far-too-ugly truth was that she was too scared to say “I love you” when he was lucid. Because then he might think that she would marry him, but how could she when he didn’t know everything about her? And now certainly wasn’t the time to confess anything of import. As much as she feared telling him about her writing career, she would when the time was right.
An officer from Scotland Yard, a Detective Lawrence, would interview Dominic when he was alert enough. The detective had already spoken with Horatia, Edward, and Artemis, and on the basis of their statements, he’d also questioned Lord Gascoyne as to his whereabouts at the time of the shooting. Apparently Gascoyne had been seen at the Firebrand Club, a notorious gaming hell in Duke Street on the night in question, but several gentlemen attested that the viscount had been gaming with them the whole night, so he couldn’t have been the shooter. The Firebrand’s doorman couldn’t specifically recall the comings and goings of Gascoyne, and he hadn’t heard the pistol shot.
Lawrence reported that he would have interviewed Phoebe as well, but she and Aunt Roberta had repaired to the dowager baroness’s country house, Highfield Hall, in Berkshire, and in the end, he’d told Artemis and the Northams that her testimony wouldn’t add much to the case. Lord Gascoyne’s ongoing slur campaign directed at Dominic wasn’t in and of itself sufficient evidence to bring a charge of attempted murder against the viscount. Dominic’s inability to recall what had befallen him, along with a lack of witnesses at the time of the incident, meant Scotland Yard’s hands were effectively tied for now.
If Dominic could only remember…
Unfortunately, Dr. Hamilton believed that the blow to Dominic’s head might have driven all memories of the event from his mind. And they might never return. It rankled Artemis no end that Gascoyne might get off scot-free. She was certain he’d tried to take Dominic’s life. Nothing else made sense.
But just like Scotland Yard, her hands were tied. Even if she stormed round to Gascoyne’s town house and demanded he confess, he’d either lie to her or laugh in her face. Probably both. And no doubt some dreadful headline would appear in the gossip columns the very next day, smearing the character of the Dastardly Duke’s fiancée. All Artemis could do was pray that Dominic made a full recovery and that his memories of that night were restored.
At least Artemis could thank the Lord above for the gift of her friends. On the afternoon of the third day since her world and Dominic’s had been turned upside down, Lucy and Jane arrived at Dartmoor House bearing a basket of fruit, an enormous bunch of hothouse flowers, and a small bundle of novels wrapped in scarlet ribbon.
“I know presents won’t do much to help, but we wanted you to know that we are both thinking of you and your duke,” said Lucy after she’d released Artemis from an enormous hug. Her brow creased when she took in Artemis’s disheveled appearance. “Just look at you, my dear friend. Anyone can see that you’re exhausted. I hope you’re eating well even if you’re not getting enough sleep.”
“Yes, it wouldn’t do for you to get sick too,” added Jane.
Artemis summoned a smile to reassure them she was all right, even if she was weighed down with worry. “Why don’t I ring for a spot of afternoon tea?” she said. In actual fact, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d eaten anything substantial, so a cup of tea and a sandwich or two would be most welcome.
While they waited in the drawing room for the tea things to arrive, Artemis filled her friends in on what had happened to Dominic and the severity of his condition. Lucy and Jane had only picked up the scantest of details from the newspapers.
“I’ve got my fingers crossed that Scotland Yard will soon have enough evidence to arrest Lord Gascoyne,” said Jane gravely.
“And I hope His Grace’s memory returns soon,” added Lucy. “It must be so disconcerting and horrible for you all.”
“I won’t lie. The last few days have indeed been testing. For all of us,” agreed Artemis. “But you haven’t had an easy time of late either, have you, Lucy? I’ve been thinking of our last meeting and how upset and worried you were. Have you heard from your brother?”
A shadow flitted across Lucy’s face. “I’m afraid not. Since his argument with Father, I’ve not seen hide nor hair of Monty. He seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. I keep hoping that he’ll write to me, but so far he hasn’t. And every time I try to broach the subject with my father, he cuts me off. It’s all so terribly frustrating.”
“I’m so sorry.” Artemis reached for Lucy’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I trust Monty will reach out to you soon.”
“I hope so,” said Lucy with a sigh. “Father’s still grumbling about the need for me to marry and that he might have someone particular in mind. But you all know how I feel about marriage. I’d much rather be left to my own devices than bartered off like I’m a barnyard animal.”
Lucy shuddered, and even though Jane and Artemis tried to reassure her that surely that wouldn’t happen, Artemis wasn’t so certain. Sir Oswald needed money, and the fastest and easiest way to gain it would be to marry his lovely daughter off to a wealthy man.
Afternoon tea arrived, and the next hour passed far too quickly. By the time Artemis bid her friends farewell, a cold, dismal evening had begun to descend. As she gained the gloomy hall outside the ducal suite, Celeste emerged from her father’s rooms.
The duke’s daughter had returned to Dartmoor House in the company of Miss Sharp three days ago. When she first came upon her beloved papa in a delirious, almost insensible state, she’d been beside herself. Between heartfelt sobs, she begged him to live and promised that she would never, ever cause him grief again. That she would never run away. That she would always do her duty.
As the days wore on, Celeste fell into a pattern of reading aloud to him when he was resting a little more comfortably—usually after the laudanum had taken effect and he’d slipped into sleep. More often than not, she’d choose passages from her new favorite book,Jane Eyre.
Sure enough, Celeste was holding Charlotte Brontë’s book in her arms. “I think Papa could hear me today,” she said when Artemis approached. “I’m sure he even smiled a little at one point.”
Artemis imbued her voice with a quiet confidence she sadly didn’t feel. “That’s wonderful. I’m sure your father can hear you too,” she lied. But she had to, to spare Celeste’s feelings. Indeed, Artemis was almost entirely certain that Dominic was completely oblivious to his surroundings most of the time. After he’d taken a dose of the strong opiate, his sedative-laced sleep always appeared unnaturally deep to her.
