Page 21 of A Mayfair Maid

“I was told that Lucy was removed, but that there was another maid in need of care. They sent me here, but you both look fine.” The mark on Peggy’s face had faded and Marilee was doing her best to present a strong bearing. Fully clothed, there was no way for the man to guess at the pain radiating beneath her covering.

Still, Marilee almost laughed and the very breath caused her to gasp. Had he really said that they looked fine? She was certain that they must look a mess. Both females were drenched in sweat and teetering on exhaustion. One from the heat of the room and the other from fevers, but he could not tell the difference because even on a good day the pair would look miserable at their task. Marilee sank against Peggy’s side when her friend gently placed her arm around her shoulder. Marilee was already exhausted from the mere exertion of standing.

“It’s Kate,” Peggy explained. “She was punished for…” she halted as if suddenly realizing what she had been about to say.

Mr. Crowley’s face sank with shame. “For what I did,” he finished. Marilee shook her head to the negative, but Peggy gave a curt nod. “I’m truly sorry for that,” he offered the apology with one hand pressed over his heart. “I had no idea that my involvement would be so ill-received.”

“Lucy thanks you; wherever she is,” Marilee murmured as Peggy eased her back down onto the floor. “And I am glad you helped her rather than leaving it to the others. They would not have been so gentle.” And he had been gentle, she recalled. Even if it meant her own beating, Marilee was glad that the young maid had not been made to suffer more at the hands of those monsters. She wondered what sort of horrors the young girl would be subject to in the future. If, she survived at all. She could not let her mind take that route.

“They whipped you as well?” he asked as he grabbed the medical bag from the table and came to crouch at her side. Peggy moved to the other side of the room to guard the door and give him space to work.

Marilee nodded.

“I must admit that I am not nearly as proficient as my brother and I do not have access to half of what he might use, but I did make some salve. If you’ll permit me, I will help you.” Mr. Crowley’s bedside manner was as tender as a man who really had been raised by parents given to the healing arts. Marilee turned her face down into the coverlet and pulled the long length of her curly brown hair over her shoulder so that he might have access to the buttons that spanned her back.

She had never exposed herself to a man, and was hesitant, but she found no shame in the manner in which Mr. Nikolas Crowley went about the task.

With gentle hands and careful movements, he undid the buttons one at a time until she was exposed to the curve of her waist. No brushes lingered, he touched nothing that was not necessary, and he treated her with the cool reserve of a doctor evaluating a patient. He was not a doctor and so some small part of her had been nervous, but his professionalism caused him to rise in her esteem. She felt him cut away the bloodied bandages that Peggy had used to stop the bleeding. Marilee released a breathy gasp when they stuck and pulled at her skin, breaking the wounds open anew.

He gave a light hiss of a curse. “This could easily become infected, I’m afraid.” He said as he prodded the reddened skin. Marilee hissed with pain. He explained that if it had been left untreated, infection could have gone into her blood and then she might never recover. “I have seen such blood poisoning take hold,” he said, “but you are not so far gone, and none of the lashes are deep as Lucy’s were.” Then, he placed a gentle hand on her forehead to check her fever and assured her that all would be well in time.

Marilee listened to him talk as he worked. His words, the even tone of his voice, made for a soothing distraction. She focused on his cadence rather than the pain as he maintained a constant stream of conversation without any need for her reply.

He explained the contents of the salve as he mixed it. He spoke of his mother’s remedies, although Marilee retained none of the information. He then told her of his intention to spread it over the inflamed flesh so that she might be prepared for the return of his touch and the sting of the solution. Marilee released a small cry at the burn, but then sighed when it gave way to a cooling numbness. He instructed Peggy in the application, to be repeated every few hours, and then showed the laundress how to dress the wounds. He handed Peggy a small satchel of tea leaves and instructed her to steep them. Peggy left for the kitchens to do as she had been told, and he murmured to Marilee that the tea may ease her pain and help her sleep.

“You might have some marks, but they will fade in time,” he continued as he pressed a cup of water to her lips. Drink plenty of fluids. It will flush the infection from your system. “The damage isn’t deep and oughtn’t leave you with any lasting pain or limitation of movement.”

Marilee counted her blessings. Too often a whipping could damage a form to the point of permanent disfigurement and even death if the wounds should fester. She was pleased to hear that her own hurt was not that bad.

When he shifted as if to stand, Marilee snaked a hand out from beneath her and grasped his with her own.

“Thank you,” she ground out on parched lips.

“Rest now,” he said, squeezing her hand once in reply before tucking a wayward curl behind her ear. “I will return tomorrow to check that the fever is gone.” He must have made his exit then, because Marilee recalled nothing else until the a few hours later when Peggy woke her to change the dressings and reapply the salve. She had not even needed the tea although Peggy reminded her that she should drink it even though it had gone cold.

PARTII

CHAPTER8

In the morning, Marilee felt better by leaps and bounds. The wounds were not so angry, and the fever seemed to have abated. Lady Lydia had returned to the house since her problem had appeared to have been solved by her negotiations with the solicitor. Marilee was never called to dress her, however, for the lady remained abed.

She did not even come down when she received an unexpected visit from her betrothed. Marilee was shocked to find out that Lady Lydia was engaged since Marilee had never seen the man.

“Is it this Lord Edward she always speaks of?” she asked Peggy while they warmed their porridge by the fires.

“Ha!” Peggy snorted. “Not at all. His brother, Lord Robert, well I suppose he is Lord Bennington now, or Your Grace. He is the duke now since his father is dead.” Peggy explained how the pair had been matched since childhood and it was well-known that while Lady Lydia played her part, she despised the man.

“Why would she consent to marry him then?” Marilee wondered. Certainly, Lady Lydia was not the type to be forced into a union. Although, Marilee had never thought Miss Caroline would be forced, and that is exactly what had happened.

“Because he is the Duke of Manchester, that’s why!” Peggy giggled.

Marilee spat out her tea. The Duke of Manchester was dead. He had died not ten feet from her carriage door. She still had nightmares about the scene and woke in a cold sweat as she worried that, having been witness to the deed, she and Miss Caroline would meet a similar end. She stared now at Peggy.

Peggy continued, having thought Marilee’s reaction natural for one having just learned of Lady Lydia’s title chasing. Marilee still could not tell her of her connection to the family, or more particularly the death of the gentleman, for fear of repercussions to Miss Caroline who was still being held in parts unknown. “Lady Lydia is determined to be a duchess, one way or the other, though she would have preferred Lord Edward by far to the elder brother, Robert. The younger son is devilishly handsome and the duke… well, he is a bit rougher around the edges if you get my meaning.”

Not as handsome, Marilee surmised.

“And he was scarred by the war,” Peggy supplied. “Everyone thought he was dead.”

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