To say he was just as furious with himself as he was with the men who had caused this would be an understatement. He wanted to head back to the Black Swan so he could seek out the punishment he deserved. Instead, he dipped his head close to Amelia’s and whispered in her ear.
“It will be all right, sweetheart. You will get through this.”
Whether or not she heard him, he did not know. He followed the endearment with a kiss to her temple though, hoping that she would at least feel cared for.
They reached the house and exited the carriage in short order, with Heather bringing up the rear. Thomas marched up the steps with Amelia in his arms and straight through the door, which was swung open wide by Pierson, who must have heard them arrive. Without stopping, Thomas continued toward the stairs with Florian right on his heels.
“What is going on?” Pierson asked.
The question was echoed by Lady Everly who arrived in the foyer together with Lady Juliette. One glance in Thomas’s direction made both pairs of eyes open wide. “Is that blood?” Lady Everly asked with sudden despair.
With nothing more than a curt nod, Thomas hurried onward. “I’ll explain everything later,” he said over his shoulder. “Right now, time is of the essence.” He reached the landing. “Which room is hers?”
“Second door on the right,” Lady Juliette called.
Florian, good man that he was, pushed his way past him and opened the door. He then rushed to pull back the bedspread so Thomas could lay Amelia down.
“Help me undress her,” Florian said, pulling Amelia onto her good side.
Thomas didn’t hesitate, his fingers working nimbly on the buttons at the back of her gown. He tugged at the sleeves and unlaced her stays—not because they had to be removed, but because he wanted her to be able to breathe more easily.
Her gown was tugged down and her shift was pulled up in order to reveal the angry gash of crimson that had caused her to lose consciousness. Thomas stood, studying her pale features for a moment. He was aware of Lady Everly’s presence somewhere behind him and was grateful for her lack of interference in a situation that would no doubt have caused others to chase him from the room in an effort to preserve Amelia’s modesty.
“I will be requiring a pot of hot water,” Florian said. He drew a few items out of his bag. They included squares of white linen, pincers, needle and thread, and a glass bottle containing a clear liquid. He set all the items next to each other on the bedside table.
“What is that?” Thomas asked when Florian opened the bottle and poured a bit of the liquid onto one of the linen cloths.
“Rum. I find it’s stronger than brandy, and since I’m not fond of the drink myself, I’ve no regrets about using it like this.” He held the cloth to the wound, and Amelia’s eyes flew open while air hissed between her teeth.
“You’re fine,” Thomas told her in the most reassuring tone he could muster while gently pushing her back against the mattress so Florian could do what he had to without too much resistance. He eyed the doctor. “Perhaps some laudanum for the pain?”
“We can do better than that.” Florian reached inside his bag and produced another glass bottle. This also contained a clear liquid. He handed it to Thomas. “I recommend half the dosage of laudanum. This is much stronger.”
Thomas read the label. “Morphine?” He gave Florian a dubious look. “I’m not familiar with it.”
“The discovery of it is recent, so it has not been commercially produced yet. However, I have used it on a few other patients and seen the results of the studies, so I have every confidence that it would be most effective in this instance. However, the decision of whether or not to administer it is entirely up to you.”
With this taken into consideration, Thomas opened the bottle and poured a small measure into a nearby glass. He’d specifically asked for Florian, not because there were no other capable physicians nearby, but because he appreciated Florian’s innovativeness. The man was renowned for using methods that had proven to be reliable, no matter where those methods came from or who might have discovered them. He’d traveled far and wide in search of medicinal knowledge, believing other cultures might hold the key to certain discoveries of which the English still remained ignorant. Many thought the man eccentric and anti-science. In Thomas’s opinion, he was more enlightened than most. So he held the glass to Amelia’s lips and gently urged her to drink.
She did so with a groan. The hot water arrived. Florian disinfected his tools and by the time he was ready, a silly grin had appeared on Amelia’s lips. “Is that normal?” Thomas asked when she actually giggled.
“The results of the morphine vary, but yes, a strong sensation of euphoria is known to occur.” He set his pincers to the wound and pulled out a small piece of fabric that must have gotten pushed inside by the blade.
“You’re very handsome,” Amelia said, looking up at Thomas. Her comment was followed by a smile. She turned her head in Florian’s direction. “So are you.” A sigh escaped her. “Gorgeous hair.”
Without comment, Florian added more rum to the wound, then threaded the needle and started to sew. By the time he was done, Amelia had managed to doze off with a beatific expression of pure bliss upon her face.
“How long will she sleep?” Thomas asked.
“I can’t be sure, but at least a few hours, perhaps even until morning.” Florian cleaned his tools and returned them to his bag. “Do you know who might be behind the attack?”
“I cannot be completely certain,” Thomas told him, “but I suspect Bartholomew. He has more motive than anyone else I can think of.”
Florian stared at him for a long moment, then asked, “Do you intend to have him apprehended?”
Blowing out a breath, Thomas could feel the fangs of failure drawing near once more. “I have no proof to merit an arrest besides spotting one of his men at the scene.”
“Then I suggest you have someone look into his taxes. From what I understand, he owes a great deal to the Crown.”
