“I have tea and biscuits on a tray in the hall,” Hattie added. “Shall I bring them in?”
“No, take them to my mother,” she replied. She could not imagine having refreshments right now. To her brother and Matthew, she asked, “Should I try the laudanum on him first?”
“Whiskey might be better,” her brother suggested.
“I am not about to get this poor dog intoxicated.” She reached for the laudanum, deciding that it would be best to start with a few drops and observe him. Lily poured a tiny spoonful and gave it to him to lick, but the dog ignored it and lay back panting.
“Hattie, I’ve changed my mind,” she called out to the maid. “Bring me a biscuit for the dog.” She needed a means of getting him to take the laudanum, as bitter as it was.
“He might not eat anything,” James warned. “He looks as if he’s barely conscious.”
She suspected as much, but they would try. When Hattie returned with a biscuit upon a plate, she poured a few drops of laudanum upon it. “Hold his mouth and teeth for me, Matthew.” The dog appeared to be stunned by all that had happened, and her brother was right. The animal showed little interest in the food, despite his frail and starving state.
Instinct warned that the moment she began probing his wounds, he could lash out at Matthew. A muzzle was most definitely needed, but not until she got him to drink some of the sedative.
“Since he won’t eat, we’re going to have to pour it into him,” she warned Matthew. “I want you to hold him steady, and I’ll take care of it.” Given the dog’s size, she suspected he would need more than she’d imagined.
Matthew drew his forearm across the animal and used both hands to pry open the dog’s mouth. Lily eased a spoon inside and poured the droplets upon his tongue. Once she was finished, Matthew released the dog. The animal licked at his chops as if heloathed the bitter taste. “I know that’s awful, but it will make you feel better.”
“Now you can muzzle him,” she said to Matthew. He removed his cravat and gently wound it around the dog’s mouth, tying it off behind his ears. They waited for a time until the dog’s heavy panting seemed to ease, and he closed his eyes. She prayed she had not given him too much.
From the bent angle of his back leg, Lily could see that it was broken and would need to be set. The top layer of his skin was shredded from being dragged across the road while dried blood and dirt matted his fur.
She would need to clean the wounds to prevent him from getting a fever. “I’ll need you to hold the basin,” she said to Matthew. To her brother James, she added, “Go and bring me three more pitchers of water and some towels. I will also need two short pieces of wood, about this length.” She demonstrated with her hands, knowing the broken leg would need to be splinted.
Her brother obeyed and retreated into the hallway.
“You’re doing well with the dog, Lily,” Matthew said quietly. “I believe you will heal him.”
She was grateful for his quiet faith. “I will do the best I can.” But his confidence in her offered a support she hadn’t known she needed. She had read about treating wounds, but never had she attempted it herself.
James arrived with the remainder of her supplies, along with a large basin. Lily gave it to Matthew and asked him to hold it beneath the dog’s wounds. With the pitcher, she began pouring water over the scraped flesh, washing away the dirt and debris from the road. The dog jolted when she touched his raw skin, but she spoke softly to him. One wound was a large gash, but it didn’t appear deep. She was careful to avoid his broken leg, but it did seem that the other three limbs were intact.
Some of the water spilled upon Matthew, but he shrugged away her apologies. “It’s no matter to me.” She saw that several splinters of wood were embedded in the dog’s flesh, and she pulled them free as best she could.
The dog nearly came off the table when she touched a tender spot, and she was glad that Matthew had muzzled him—else he might have lunged to bite her hand. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured to the dog. “I’m trying to be gentle.”
Lily could feel the dog’s ribs through his skin, and what he needed was good food and a warm place to sleep. She continued caring for the dog, all the while speaking to him in a soft voice.
“You are such a good boy,” she praised him. “So very brave.” She put some of the thick salve upon his cuts and bandaged the larger gash, wrapping the linen bandages around his torso. The dog continued to whine, and when she touched his broken leg, he whimpered.
“I’m going to splint his leg,” she told the men. “Matthew, I want you to hold him down while I try to set the bone.” He kept a firm grip on the dog, and she palpated the leg gently, trying to feel where the bone had broken. The break didn’t seem too bad, and she studied his other legs to determine how to set it. The animal yelped when she moved his leg, but the bone did appear to slide back into position.
Lily took the thin pieces of wood James had brought and placed them on either side of his leg, binding it with bandages. Then she inspected the splints to be sure they would not move out of place.
“There now. That’s done.” She inspected the dog for further injuries, but it seemed that she had tended everything. His fur was wet, and she tried to dry him off as best she could.
Her earlier nerves had dissipated, replaced by a strange sense of triumph. This animal would heal because of her. Even now,she could see him resting easier, and the thought filled her with satisfaction.
“I’m going to make a place for him to sleep by the hearth,” she told the men. “James, will you stoke the fire?”
Her brother did, while she went to fetch the blanket Hattie had brought earlier. After she spread it out on the floor, she reached toward the dog.
“Let me carry him, Lily,” Matthew intervened. “He’s far too heavy for you. Especially now, when he’s had so much laudanum.” He lifted the dog from James’s desk, and she saw the tremendous effort he used to carry the dog. She could not help but notice his taut muscles when he placed the dog upon a blanket near the hearth. A sudden flash of memory overcame her, of when she had felt Matthew’s skin against hers on their wedding night. She had traced the lean planes of his body, learning each and every muscle. A warmth suffused her skin at the thought, and she tried to push it away, focusing her attention upon the dog.
Lily knelt down beside the animal. “There now,” she murmured, stroking his ears. She tucked the blanket around him “Sleep until morning.” To Matthew, she asked, “Should we unwrap the muzzle?”
“Not just yet,” he said. “We do not know the dog, and pain is often worse the second day. If he awakens and is hurting, he may try to bite those trying to help him. When you feed him, we can take it off.”
