“Sir, we require your assistance,” she repeated, which broke Arthur from his surprise.
Not bothering to dispute the lady’s plan, he set his valise aside and crouched beside her. The farmer groaned as the cart shifted again, and the lady fell to her knees beside the fellow, taking his hand in hers.
“We will have you free in no time, Mr. Evans. Hold tight,” she said. Then, casting her eyes to Arthur, she added, “Pull slowly at first. I need to ensure his foot isn’t caught before you drag him fully out, lest we cause more damage.”
And without waiting for Arthur to confirm that he understood, the lady relinquished her place at Mr. Evans’ head and lay down in the dirt, her face lowered to spy beneath the cart as she called to the men.
“Lift!” she cried. The cart shuddered and lifted, toppling over a remnant milk can as the men’s arms shook.
Giving Mr. Evans a careful tug, Arthur watched the lady for any sign, but she merely waved for him to continue, and Arthur dragged the farmer free. Before the cart was set back down, the lady leapt to her feet and ripped off her cloak.
“Over here, sir. We must get him off the ground,” said the lady as she placed the article on an open patch of road, beckoning for Arthur to follow. Another man came to his side, and together, they lifted poor Mr. Evans enough to get him atop the fabric.
From a first glance, Arthur couldn’t tell if the leg was broken, which was a good sign in and of itself. No unnatural bends or protruding bones was a miracle, but a long gash ran down Mr. Evans’ thigh, oozing far too much blood.
Snatching up his bag, Arthur knelt beside the lady and pressed his fingers to Mr. Evans’ pulse. “We need to get him into town.”
“Oakham is still some miles away by road. Our situation isn’t ideal, but we need to stop the bleeding here and now, and though I appreciate your assistance, sir, I do not need more people mucking about,” she said as she tugged a handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it to the wound, though it did little good.
“He is a physician,” said Mr. Bacon, who held his handkerchief to his nose whilst staring at the broken and bleeding man.
“That is well and good,” replied the lady in a dry tone, “but as Mr. Evans isn’t suffering from a cough or fever, there’s little a physician can do at present. We require a surgeon.”
Then, without hesitation, she lifted the edge of her skirt and pulled it back to reveal her petticoats. Some of the menfolk blanched at that as readily as they did the blood and turned away. The lady tugged at the linen, and when it held firm, she scowled.
“Fetch me a knife!” she called, which set the men moving once more.
“I am trained as a surgeon-apothecary as well,” said Arthur.
The lady paused, and her gaze darted to Arthur. “You know what you’re about, then?”
“I studied in London, alongside some of the greatest doctors in England,” he replied, flicking open the clasp to his bag and digging inside for the vial of laudanum and the leather case that held his suturing kit.
One of the gawkers stepped forward, handing the lady a knife. She nodded and began slicing at her petticoats. “You will forgive me, sir, if I do not instantly defer to your expertise. Plenty of inept people study at the feet of the greats, and I will not risk Mr. Evans’ future. If we do not get his wound cleaned and bound up quickly, he’ll die.”
Arthur’s brows rose at her dismissal, though the lady paid him no mind as she took a handful of the fabric and held ittightly to the wound. Their crowd was growing as another cart stopped because of the impediment, bringing with it more spectators, who watched with varying looks of horror and astonishment.
“We need to wash the wound. Does anyone have water?” she called to the crowd, which sent the others scurrying about. Arthur sat on his heels, staring at her.
Perhaps he ought to feel offended at her distrust, but he couldn’t help but acknowledge the wisdom in her statement. Simply because someone earned a degree, gained a title, or even spent a lifetime using his skills to earn his bread, it didn’t make him good at his work. There were many among his colleagues whom he wouldn’t trust to treat a living soul.
“I give you my word, madam, that I am a skilled doctor. I take my profession seriously and have done my utmost to excel at it,” he said, giving those words the weight they deserved. “I know what I’m about, and though I cannot guarantee Mr. Evans’ safety, I promise I will do everything in my power to heal him.”
The lady straightened, drawing in a sharp breath before nodding. “Then I defer to you, Doctor.”
Chapter 2
For all that the lady acquiesced, she did not move from her place beside Mr. Evans, and Arthur didn’t question the obvious offer of assistance. Whatever her credentials, she clearly knew a thing or two about medicine, and he wouldn’t turn aside any aid at this point.
Though he didn’t know where they had magicked it from, a man came forward with a bucket of water, and with a nod of her head, the lady directed him to place it beside Arthur. Needing no further invitation, he set aside his hat and pulled off his jacket before rolling up his shirtsleeves.
The situation they found themselves in was far from ideal, but since finishing his studies, Arthur rarely had access to such perfection. Kneeling on the ground was hardly a comfortable position, but at least it allowed him a better vantage from which to view the wound—though his pulse spiked when the lady pulled back for him to examine it.
Dirt caked the laceration, with splinters and detritus peppering it, and though it wasn’t deep, it was far too long for Arthur’s peace of mind. Snatching up the knife the lady had abandoned, Arthur quickly sliced through Mr. Evans’ trouser leg, pulling the mangled and bloody fabric free. He couldn’t say withany certainty that the bone wasn’t fractured, but with some prodding, he was confident it was whole. A miracle, indeed.
“Madam,” said Arthur, drawing her gaze to him.
“Miss Templeton,” she supplied.
