“Now,” she continued, “you shall have a Sunday off every two weeks, though we will stagger those weeks to ensure there are always enough hands here to?—”
“Miss Merrinan!” Fergus’s voice bellowed from below the staircase. “Quick now, there’s been an accident at the wall!”
Charles’s pulse raced as she turned to the girls. “Stay here, explore at will. If you hear calls for help, do whatever is asked of you.”
And then she ran.
The scene that greeted her was sheer chaos. A section of scaffolding had collapsed at the south wall, and men were pinned beneath it. Charles could see limbs only, the able-bodiedgrabbing beams and planks, anything with which to brace and lift the weight of rock off those still trapped. She hadn’t time to despair, she simply rushed to find Cuthbert, telling him, “I’ll have the girls prepare the main hall to receive injuries.” And she was off, again.
Charles issued commands to whomever she found, telling Fergus to ride as fast as he could for the village doctor. Her new staff made off for linens and water. She bid them find liquor, too. Her mind spun with the magnitude of the disaster as she prayed to God no one had been killed. Broken limbs were a surety. They would need splints, so she ordered Tom to break an old chair. She was so focused on what must be done that with a gasp she realized she’d not seen Lord Wells. Her heart leapt in her throat as she again made for the south wall, assuming he’d been at work there, too.
“John!” She found Cuthbert again. “John,” she repeated, “where is Wells?”
He stared at her a moment. “He’s fine. Where’s the bloody doctor, woman?”
“Fergus rode for him, and my girls are readying supplies to set bones. Bring the injured into the main hall. Tom’s hauling in beds and cutting splints.”
He nodded, as if relieved she knew what she was about. And then he nodded in the direction of his lordship, whom she could see was bloodied but standing, working alongside others to frantically pull rubble off planks.
Her relief was palpable. “What can I do, John?” She turned back to Cuthbert, resolute.
“Ready yer girls for blood, Charles.” He looked grim. “Tell ’em not to faint. And fetch liquor t’ ease the pain.”
Not a one of her girls had fainted, and not a one had failed her either. They’d had trial by fire their first day here, her new staff, and proved themselves more than capable—they were Cumberland hale and hearty. Charles took a moment to catch her breath and survey the room, soft moans punctuating the quiet that had fallen after the last man had been treated. There’d been but one casualty and only two limbs lost. The rest were breaks, cuts, and bruises. No worse injuries, when it could have been far, far worse, she knew.
She walked the room once more, checking that each man was calm, resting. Those that would eat had been fed, and she’d ordered the girls to sleep in shifts to make sure someone was with them at all times. Dressings would have to be changed, especially for the hand and leg that had been lost. The smell of burnt flesh from cauterizing stumps still filled her nostrils as she shuddered, trying to bury the lurid visions and the haunting sounds of screams.
Instead, she made her way to the parlor—the sole room in the house acceptable for guests—where she found Cuthbert, the doctor, and Lord Wellesley, deep in conversation. When she entered, all three looked up at her, his lordship motioning her in.
“How are they, Miss Merrinan?” Dr. Ambrose asked.
“Resting, sir, all. I’ve put Ginny on first watch. She’ll see that bandages are changed as you directed. They’ve been given food and drink.”
“Your girls did well today, Charles,” the doctor told her, “as did you. Your father would be proud.”
“’Tis no less than what any would do, sir.”
“Aye,” he smiled kindly, having known her his whole life, “but it were a wise man as hiredyout’ be housekeeper here.” Ambrose turned to Wells. “I’ll be leaving now, Lord Wellesley, but will return come mornin’ t’ check on our patients. There’s naught else can be done for them tonight.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Wells stood from his chair. “Cuthbert will see you out.”
As the steward led the doctor away, Charles finally looked at his lordship. It hurt her to see him still bloodied and bruised. Without a word, she took his hand and pulled him behind her.
“Where are you taking me, woman?” He sounded exhausted.
“To your room, my lord. You need tending.”
Lord Wells let her guide him by hand to his room where she made him sit upon his bed before going immediately to the washstand.
Slowly and gently she cleaned his cuts and scrapes. He had a deep gash above his right eye and winced as she dabbed at it, wincing even more as she worked to rid it of stone dust.
But when she unbuttoned his shirt and saw the bruising along his chest, noting how tender his left ribs were, she inhaled sharply. “Did you let the doctor examine you, Roland?”
His eyes met hers at the sound of his name.
“No need,” he mumbled, obviously in pain.
Charles bit back her anger. “He will see you first thing tomorrow, my lord.”
