She stumbled to the bedside, putting a trembling hand on her husband’s jaw. She felt the scrape of his night beard against her palm, the terrifying chill of his skin. An angry, swelling cut spanned his right temple. His hair stuck in damp whorls on his forehead, and his clothes were sodden.
Her gaze caught on the torn fabric on his right side. On the lethal-looking dark stain.
“What happened?” She forced the words from her numb lips.
“He was shot—not fatally,” Mr. Murray said hurriedly when she gasped. “Mrs. Garrity, this is Dr. Abernathy. He’s been attending to your husband.”
“Good evening, ma’am.” The sandy-haired fellow bowed.
“You’re not Dr. Abernathy,” she said with a frown.
Dr. Abernathy, who’d attended to the family’s ailments for years, was a crusty Scotsman, with beetled brows and greying sideburns. This man looked to be in his early twenties…atmost. His handsome boyishness might turn female heads, but it didn’t inspire Gabby’s confidence in his degree of experience.
“Dr. Douglas Abernathy, at your service. My father, the Dr. Abernathy with whom you are acquainted, is attending a birthing in Hampshire.” The young physician’s manner was competent and brisk, his Scottish brogue less pronounced than his father’s. “I examined the patient in the carriage. The good news is the bullet itself didn’t cause too much damage. A flesh wound to the right side, with no organs or bones hit. I was able to staunch the bleeding.”
She took in the information with fervent gratitude.
“The next step is to properly clean and dress the wound,” the doctor went on.
At that moment, footmen arrived with pitchers of steaming water, towels, and an empty cart, setting up the equipment per the physician’s orders. Dr. Abernathy unpacked his leather satchel onto the cart, laying out the instruments of his profession with the precision of a boy lining up toy soldiers.
He used a pair of pinchers to pick up what appeared to be a large darning needle, passing it back and forth through the flame of a candle. “The task ahead is rather grisly, I’m afraid. Perhaps you’d care to wait outside, ma’am?”
“I’m staying.” Swallowing, she asked, “You’ve, um, done this before?”
Dr. Abernathy went to scrub his hands thoroughly in the washbasin, using water from a steaming ewer. “I’ve recently returned from six years of medical training at the University of Edinburgh, practicing at the city’s largest hospital.”
That was reassuring, at least.
“Tell me how I can help,” she said.
“Your job will be to keep your husband calm whilst I clean his wound with a saline solution. I’ve given him some laudanum, but it won’t ease the pain entirely. After that I’ll stitch him up—”
Adam’s moan caused Gabby to whirl around. She gently brushed the hair off his forehead.
“Everything’s going to be all right, my love,” she said softly. “You’re home now.”
His lashes lifted, revealing his dark and glassy gaze. She could tell that he wasn’t seeing her.
“Won’t drown…not a bleedin’ kitten…” he mumbled.
Dr. Abernathy wheeled the cart to the other side of the bed. “Keep talking to him, ma’am.”
“You’re safe, darling.” She forced the words over the lump in her throat. “We’ll have you right as rain in no time.”
Wielding a pair of scissors, the physician expertly snipped at Adam’s garments. The fabrics fell away readily until he reached Adam’s shirt. Gabby’s breath lodged at the sight of the massive crimson bloom on the linen. When Dr. Abernathy tried to pull the shirt away from the wound, Adam jolted with vicious force, nearly throwing Gabby from the bed.
“Mr. Murray, if you’d secure the patient’s left arm. And you two,”—Dr. Abernathy nodded at the footmen—“one at his legs, the other over here at the right arm. All of you hold him as still as you can. Mrs. Garrity, keep him distracted.”
Nodding, Gabby remained by Adam’s side, giving Mr. Murray enough room to do his part. Brushing her trembling fingers through her husband’s thick hair, she channeled her strength and began telling the story from the children’s play. The physician moistened Adam’s shirt, easing the linen away while Adam jerked, groaning. At the sight of the gaping, oozing crater of flesh, a buffle-headed sensation swept over her.
“You’re doing fine, Mrs. Garrity.” Mr. Murray’s voice grounded her. His brow was sheened from the effort of holding her husband still. “Now what happened when Princess Gianna found her dancing slippers?”
Somehow, Gabby managed to continue her tale. As the physician rinsed and cleaned the lesion, she babbled on about mysterious forests, magical castles, and triumphant princesses. The needle flashed, pulling the tattered edges of skin together, darning flesh as if it were a torn stocking. Tamping down nausea, she kept talking until finally,finallythe doctor completed his handiwork.
“It’s done, my love,” she said shakily.
Adam didn’t reply; he’d lost consciousness.
