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“It’s slowing down,” Nan declared. “How’s that water?”
“Almost ready,” Nicholas said.
“Good. Catherine, grab two basins and put them in front of Mr. Langdon here. Get me some more linen. Master Nick, pour some of the water in one of these bowls. Get another kettle boiling when that one is empty.” Nan turned her attention back to the wound. “Mr. Langdon, can you hold this against your arm for a minute?” He did not lift his head, but he pressed the bloodied cloth against his stump. She patted his arm. “It is not half-bad, not half-bad,” she murmured before dipping the fresh cotton into the water.
“I need you to wipe away the blood as I sew. Can you do that?” Nan asked, wringing the excess water from the cloth.
“Yes.” Catherine nodded, grateful she was not squeamish. She’d watched Nan stitch the boys many times, although this was the first time she’d ever had to assist.
Nan glanced up, her wrinkles deepening with a quick smile, and handed her the cloth. “Good girl. Sit on his other side. You’ll have to lean across. Mr. Langdon, some brandy before I begin?” She held up the bottle.
“No, ma’am,” he mumbled into his chest.
Nan picked up the needle and dipped it in the cup of brandy, pulling the thread through the amber liquid. “Such a waste of a good cuppa,” she muttered.
“I’ll get you more, Nan.” Nicholas stood behind Langdon, his hands on the man’s shoulders.
“Wiping gently, young Catherine. Gently.” Lips pursed, Nan bent over and pierced the flesh, pulling the thread slowly through.
Langdon tensed but did not flinch. Catherine tried not to think of his pain. She focused on wiping after each stitch, trying to keep the area visible for Nan. Nicholas kneaded Langdon’s shoulders. Neither man said a word.
An eternity later, Nan inspected her work, clucking approval. “Some fresh water, if you please. We’ll just get Mr. Langdon cleaned up, and he’ll be good as new.”
Catherine moved to the fire and grabbed a cloth to swing out the kettle with. She carefully lifted it off the spit, trying not to burn herself. This was a task she seldom performed, and the last thing they needed was another injury to care for. She set the kettle on the table.
“Let me.” Nicholas released Langdon’s shoulders and took the cloth from her. He tipped the kettle’s contents into the clean bowl.
Nan scooted by them, then returned with a dripping cloth of her own. “Lift your head, Mr. Langdon, and lie back.”
He obeyed, and Nan gently covered his pained expression with the cool cloth.
She wiped his face gently like she would that of a small child. “Better?”
He nodded. Nan dipped the cloth into the warm water and washed up as much of the blood as possible. Then she poured the remaining brandy from the cup over her handiwork. Langdon’s guttural groan was hard to hear. Catherine knew it meant his pain was nearly unbearable.
“You sure you wouldn’t care for some brandy, sir?” Nan asked as she dabbed at the mix of brandy and blood.
Langdon shook his head. “No, my gut can’t bear the stuff right now.”
“Well, mine can.” Nicholas grabbed the brandy and threw back a mouthful. Catherine had never seen a man drink directly from a bottle. He eyed her, thrusting it in her direction, his eyebrows raised in question.
She took it from him and gulped some of the fiery liquid.
“Have you no couth? No respect for an old lady’s supplies?” Nan stood, hands on her hips, glaring at them. Catherine held out the bottle.
“That’s better,” Nan said, grabbing the brandy and throwing back a fair amount before moving to sit by the fire, bottle still in hand.
Catherine looked at Nicholas and began to laugh. He joined her until they were both giddy with release.
“Want to let me in on the joke?” Langdon’s eyes were lined with exhaustion. They both sobered instantly, and Nicholas stepped up to Langdon’s side.
“Sorry, old man. Let’s get you to the other chair. When Fredericks arrives, we’ll get you off to bed.”
Once Langdon was resting by the fire, Nicholas and Catherine cleaned up the table, throwing the water out back and leaving the basins to be thoroughly washed. That, at least, could be relegated to a servant in the morning. Normally it all could have been, but these weren’t normal times, and they didn’t know who they could trust.
Finally they sat down on the bench, the table to their backs, staring toward the duo by the fire. The comforting sound of Nan’s needles accompanied Langdon’s long, wheezing breaths. Hopefully he was finding escape in sleep.
Nicholas reached for Catherine’s hand, locking his fingers in hers, his skin warm.
