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“Poor devil,” he said laconically. “Best for ’im if ’e’d killed ’isself, but if ’en in’t, we’ll best do for ’im what we can. ’Ere, miss, let me get ’im up onter the bench wot Tom’s bringin’.”
“We’ll take him to the nearest hospital,” she said, rising shakily and only just avoiding falling over her own skirts.
“Sorry, miss, but we gotta take ’im back to ’is cell. ’E’s a prisoner …”
“He’s hardly going to escape!” she said furiously, all her helplessness and pain welling up in useless anger for a moment. “He’s totally insensible, you fool! Look at him!”
“Yes, miss,” the warder said stolidly. “But the law is the law. We’ll put ’im back in ’is cell, an’ yer can stay wif ’im, if yer don’ mind bein’ locked in wif ’im? No doubt they’ll send a doctor w’en they get one.”
“Of course I’ll stay with him!” she choked out. “And fetch Dr. Wade, immediately!”
“We’ll try, miss. Is there anyfink as yer want for ’im? Water, like, or a little brandy? I’m sure as I could get a little brandy for yer.”
She controlled herself with an effort. The man was doing his best. “Thank you. Yes, get me both water and brandy, please.”
The other warder appeared along with two more men carrying a wooden bench. With surprising gentleness they picked Rhys up and laid him on the bench, then carried it out of the courtroom, pushing past onlookers an
d out through the doors and down the hallway toward the cells.
Hester followed, hardly aware of the people around her, of the curious stares and the mutters and calls. All she could think of was how badly Rhys was hurt and why he had fallen over. Had it been an accident as he tried to escape the warders and they attempted to restrain him, or had he intended to kill himself? Had he lost every last vestige of hope?
Or had he been lying all the time, and he had both killed his father and raped and beaten those women?
She refused to believe that … not unless and until she had to. As long as there was a flicker of any other possibility, she would cling to it. But what possibility? What other conceivable explanation was there? She raked her imagination and her memory.
Then one occurred to her, one so extreme and so horrible she stumbled as she followed the warders and all but fell. She was shaking. She felt cold and sick, and her mind raced for any way at all in which she could learn if it were true, and prove it. And she knew why Rhys could not speak, why even if he could … he would not.
She ran a step or two to catch up with them, and as soon as they were at the cells she swung around to face the warders.
“Thank you. Bring me the brandy and water, then leave us alone. I will do what I can for him.” It was a race against time. Dr. Wade, or some other physician, would be bound to come soon. If she was right, it must not be Corriden Wade. But she must know. Anyone interrupting what she now meant to do would be horrified. She might even be prosecuted. Certainly she would jeopardize her career. If it was Corriden Wade, she might even lose her life.
The warder disappeared, leaving the door open, and his companion waited just outside. What could she begin doing to save time?
“Yer all right, miss?”
“Yes, of course I am, thank you. I am a nurse. I have treated many injured men before. I shall just examine him to see where he is most seriously hurt. It will help the doctor when he comes. Where is the brandy? And the water? A little will do, just hurry!” Her hands were shaking. Her mouth was dry. She could feel her heart lurching and knocking in her chest.
Rhys was still completely unconscious. Once he stirred there would be nothing she could do. She must not ask the warder to hurry again, or he would become suspicious.
She unfastened Rhys’s collar and took off his tie. She undid the buttons of his shirt and eased it open. Very gently she began to examine the upper part of his body. There were no bandages. There was little one could do for bruising, except ointment, such as arnica. The worst of it was beginning to heal now. The broken ribs were knitted well, even though she knew they still caused him pain, especially if he coughed, sneezed or turned badly in the bed.
Where was the warder with the brandy and the water? It seemed like ages since he had gone.
Carefully she unfastened the waist of his trousers. This was where his worst injuries were, the ones which Dr. Wade had treated and not permitted her to see, for the sake of Rhys’s modesty. She slipped the waist down a few inches and saw the blue and purple bruising, now fading. The abrasions were still marked where he had been kicked, but the edges were yellowish and far paler. She could feel no bandaging.
“Miss!”
She froze. “Yes?”
“Water, miss,” the warder said quietly. “And a drop o’ brandy. Is ’e ’urt bad?”
“I’m not sure yet. Thank you for these.” She straightened up and took the dish of water from him, then the brandy. She set them on the small table. “Thank you very much. You can lock me in. I shall be perfectly all right. Come back and let me know when the doctor comes. Knock on the door, if you will. I shall get him ready.”
“Yes, miss. Yer sure yer all right? Yer look terrible pale. Mebbe yer should take a sip o’ that brandy yerself?”
She tried to smile, and felt the expression sickly on her face. “Maybe. Thank you.”
“Right, miss. You knock if yer need ter come out.”
