Cora sat in a heap on the seat, slumped against the wall. Her head hung over her chest, and her arms fell limply on her sides. Blood soaked her shirt.
He sagged in relief when he found a pulse, slow but steady. “She’s alive.”
“Who’s going to pay me?” the driver said from the box. “This is most irregular.”
Ethan fished out a bunch of coins from his pocket and handed them to the man. “There.” He gently gathered Cora in his arms, careful not to move her too much.
“Can you save her?” David walked next to him.
“I’ll do my best.”
Once inside the kitchen, he laid Cora on the scarred table and lit a few more oil lamps. The bullet had torn the fabric of her shirt, gone through her flesh, and exited from her back, which explained the heavy bleeding.
Mrs. Parker appeared on the threshold, a hand on her belly. “Shall I call the physician, my lord?”
“No time. Bring me my bag, towels, boiling water, and sheets.”
She hesitated before obeying.
Ethan ripped Cora’s shirt off and took a better look at the wound. The bullet had opened a hole in her breast, missing the heart by inches. He’d need to clamp the bleeding artery and stitch it before repairing the tissue and muscles.
“My lord.” Mrs. Parker handed him the bag with a trembling hand.
“Clean the tools and help me with the light.” Ethan rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and scrubbed his hands with carbolic acid.
She paled. “But the blood… I really can’t. I’ll be useless, and the maids have left, my lord.” She gripped the back of a chair, clamping a hand over her mouth. Her face turned green.
“Leave then. Don’t faint. I have to take care of Cora first.” Ethan sounded harsher than he meant.
Mrs. Parker staggered out of the kitchen before he could finish speaking. And now what?
“I’ll help you,” David said. “I’ll do anything you ask me to do. The blood won’t bother me.”
Damn. Ethan wasn’t sure having the boy involved was a good idea. David was a child who had just seen his father shoot his mother. Wasn’t that enough? Still, Ethan needed help, and David’s determined expression was his best chance.
Ethan nodded. “I need you to hold that lamp over here to light the wound.”
David did as told without a word. If the blood upset him, he didn’t show it. Ethan worked quickly. Removing her corset required a full minute he hated to waste. He ripped her chemise and bared her chest and the ugly bullet hole fully. He cleaned the wound with carbolic acid until the blood stopped oozing.
“Come over here,” he said, waving David closer. Again, the boy didn’t flinch, his expression solemn.
With a pair of clean tweezers, Ethan removed bits of fabric from the gash before washing it again. He kept an eye on Cora’s face in case she came around, but while her pulse was steady, she remained unconscious.
Then it was a matter of stitching the wound from the inside out. Visions of the surgeries he’d performed on the battlefield flashed across his mind, but he gritted his teeth and shoved them away. No time for distractions. Cora’s skin showed adeadly pallor that worried him. She’d lost a lot of blood, and there wasn’t anything he could do for that. He had to hope she was strong enough to survive.
“Come here.” He instructed David to change position and hold the lamp at different angles. “No fragments. That’s good news.”
David didn’t say a word.
Ethan followed Dr. Lister’s instructions religiously, disinfecting and scrubbing every tool before using it. Hopefully, no infection would set in. David never complained as Ethan ordered him around. He remained stoically quiet, moving only when Ethan told him to do so.
“Put the lamp down and help me turn her around.” Ethan took Cora by the waist and, with David’s help, turned her over to her belly to stitch the exit wound.
So many stitches. She would be in a lot of pain when she woke up. There was more caked blood on her back than on her chest. The bastard could have ripped her heart out of her body with that gunshot. He bandaged the wound tightly, wrapping her chest and back with a clean roll of gauze.
When Ethan finished, bloody rags, strips of fabric, and sheets surrounded Cora. Blood stained his clothes, the floor, the table, and the chairs.
“You may put the lamp down now. Well done.”
