Читать книгу Innocence in Regency Society - Diane Gaston - Страница 11

T he damp chill seeped through Devlin’s clothing. His twisted limbs would not move. Pain had settled into a constant ache, made worse with each breath, worse still by the rancid stench of blood. Of death. Moans of the dying filled the night. The sounds grew louder and louder, until they merged into one piercing wail. An agonised sound. The sound of fear and horror and pain.

Coming from his mouth.

He woke, his heart pounding, breath panting. His vision cleared, revealing faded red-brocade curtains made moderately brighter by sunlight. What were brocade curtains doing at Waterloo?

He sat up, his mind absorbing the round mahogany table in the corner with its decanter of port, the mantel holding one chipped porcelain vase. His back ached from contorting himself on the settee. It had been the dream. He hung his head between his knees until the disturbing images receded. Had he cried out in his sleep?

The wail again sounded in his ears, coming from the bedchamber this time, not from his own soul.

He leapt from the settee and flung open the door. Madeleine paced the room, clutching her little girl. The child cried and struggled in her arms. Madeleine’s red dress was creased with wrinkles. That she’d not bothered to undress before sleeping moved him to compassion. How exhausted she must have been.

The child gave a loud, anguished cry, and Madeleine quickened her pace.

‘What the devil is going on?’

She spun toward him, her youthful face pinched in worry. ‘She is feverish.’

‘She is ill?’ Devlin’s head throbbed from the previous night’s excess of brandy.

‘Yes. She coughs, too.’ Her voice caught. ‘I have never seen her so ill.’

‘Good God,’ Devlin said. ‘We must do something.’

‘I don’t know what to do!’

Tears glistened in her eyes. The child’s wailing continued unchecked. He had not bargained for a sick child.

‘Bart!’ he yelled, rushing back into the parlour. ‘Bart! Where are you?’

Bart emerged from his room, Madeleine’s small companion like a shadow behind him. The sergeant, his craggy eyebrows knitting together, protectively held her back. The gesture irritated Devlin. Did Bart think him dangerous to young females?

‘What in thunder?’ A scold was written on Bart’s face.

‘The child is sick. We must do something.’ He stood in the middle of the room, doing nothing.

‘The wee one is sick?’ parroted Bart, standing just as paralysed.

‘Linette!’ Sophie rushed past Bart and ran to Madeleine, who had followed Devlin into the room. She frantically felt the child’s forehead.

‘She is burning up!’ she exclaimed. ‘Maddy, sit down. Let’s loosen her clothes. Mr Bart, if you please, some cool water and some clean rags.

‘Clean rags?’ Bart said, still immobile.

‘Make haste!’

At Sophie’s words, Bart sprang into action, drawing water from the pump and bringing it to the women, both fussing over the child. Finding clean rags was more of a challenge. He finally brought a stack of towels and bade them to cut them up, if necessary. Sophie dipped one towel in the water, wrung it out and placed it on the child’s chest. Madeleine mopped the little girl’s brow with another.

The child seemed to settle for a moment, but, before Devlin could relax, broke out in a spasm of coughing.

‘Deuce,’ said Devlin, barely audible and still rooted to the floor.

Madeleine flashed him an anxious look. ‘I am attempting to quiet her, my lord.’

‘I did not complain,’ he protested.

Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I am at a loss to do more.’

‘I would be honoured to assist, if someone would instruct me.’ No one heeded him.

Madeleine sniffed and patted Linette’s head with the damp cloth.

Her friend regarded him with a wary expression. ‘We could try to give her a drink of water.’

Before Devlin could move to the small alcove that served as the kitchen, Bart delivered Sophie a cup of water.

‘Let me try to give her a sip,’ Madeleine said.

Linette flailed her arms, jostling Madeleine, who spilled the water on her daughter and herself. Devlin walked to the cupboard, removed another cup, and placed in it a tiny bit of water. He handed this to Madeleine.

‘Try a bit at a time,’ he suggested.

She did not look up to acknowledge his act, but she was able to pour a small amount into the child’s mouth. He took the empty cup and poured a bit more from the fuller one. Again the child accepted the drink.

Devlin was feeling rather proud of himself at having been so useful, when the child began another spell of coughing. Madeleine sat the little girl on her knees and leaned her over to pat her gently on the back.

The child promptly vomited the water all over Devlin’s stockinged feet.

‘Damn.’

Madeleine gasped. Sophie grabbed the wet towel and wiped his feet, kneeling like a slave girl. Bart glared at him as if he were somehow solely responsible for the child’s ill health.

‘Enough. Enough.’ He stepped away from Sophie’s ministrations. She burst into tears and ran from the room.

Bart glared at him. ‘Now look what you’ve done. You’ve frightened the lass.’ He rushed after her.

Devlin reached for his head. Bart, he supposed, would not be inclined to brew the remedy for his excess of brandy. The child wailed again.

The sound triggered memories. Voices of dying men. His knees trembled, and he feared them buckling underneath him. The dream of Waterloo assailed his waking moments. With it came the terror that had only been too real.

Clamping down on his panic, he rushed into his bedchamber and pulled fresh stockings from the chest. He shrugged into his coat, and retrieved his boots from the parlour where he’d left them. Without a word, for he could not guarantee his words would be coherent, he rushed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

Madeleine flinched at the sound and held her coughing daughter against her shoulder, still patting gently. Well, good riddance to Lieutenant Devlin Steele, she told herself, battling the disillusionment of his abandoning her at such a time.

‘Was that the door?’ Bart asked, coming back into the room.

‘He left,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders.

‘Hmmph.’ The man pursed his lips.

Linette settled into a fitful sleep. Though her skin burned like a furnace, Madeleine could not let go of her.

The stocky man surveyed her. Not as tall as the lieutenant and a good ten years older, he seemed solid as a rock.

His gaze softened when lighting on Linette. ‘Ma’am, would you and the lass be all right if I went out for a bit? I’ve a mind there are some things we may be needing.’

A rock that easily rolled away. She sighed inwardly. It was foolishness to hope for assistance from any man.

But Devlin had assisted her in the most consequential way. He had rescued her from Farley, when he need not have done. He was under no obligation to assist her further, however. After Linette’s distress he would surely wish them speedily gone. Madeleine’s lips set together in firm resolve. He would have to put up with all of them until Linette became well.

If Linette became well.

Her throat tightened. Her child meant everything to her. She’d risked Farley’s wrath to give birth to Linette and to keep her. Her daughter was the only worthwhile part of her life.

Sophie appeared at her side. ‘Mr Bart went out. Do you think the master will return soon?’

‘Lieutenant Steele?’ Madeleine would not call him master. ‘I very much doubt it. I fear Linette’s illness displeases him.’

‘Is Linette better? She’s quiet.’ Sophie leaned over and brushed the child’s dark curls with her fingers.

‘She sleeps fitfully and is so very hot.’ She dabbed at the child’s face with the cool cloth.

Sophie wandered about the room aimlessly, and Madeleine watched her, needing some distraction. The room was comfortably fitted to double as parlour and dining area, but its once-fashionable furnishings showed signs of wear. The carpet had lost its nap in places, and the cushioned seats looked faded and worn. Had not Devlin said his brother was a marquess? Perhaps the family had more title than blunt. Not that it at all signified. It was far superior to Farley’s richly done-up rooms.

Unbidden thoughts of home came, mahogany tables polished to mirror finish, sofas and armchairs covered in rich velvet. No threadbare furnishings there. She could see herself bounding through the rooms, her scolding governess in hot pursuit.

Linette stirred and Madeleine’s attention immediately shifted to her. It never did any good to recall those days, in any event.

‘Should I unpack our clothes, do you think?’ Sophie asked.

Perhaps if they appeared settled in, they might delay an eventual departure. ‘That would be good. I fear I cannot help you, though.’

‘Oh, Maddy, do not trouble yourself. You have your hands full.’ Her waiflike friend smiled at Linette. ‘You ought to lie down with the babe.’

Her arms ached from holding Linette, and she had slept only a couple of hours before the child’s cries woke her. ‘I suppose you are right. I will bring her into the lieutenant’s bed.’

She carried Linette to the bedchamber, placed her in the centre of the bed, and climbed in next to her. The sheets and pillow held Devlin’s scent as they had the night before. She had dreamed of him walking toward her to a bed like this. He would gently brush the hair from her face and lean to kiss her. She had dreamed of this Devlin many times.

It took no more than a moment to fall exhausted into sleep.

The banging of the door woke her. She immediately felt for Linette’s forehead, still too hot.

‘Where the devil is she? I’ve brought a doctor.’ Devlin’s voice came from the other room. ‘Where’s the child? Has the fever broke? Deuce, I’ve been to Mayfair and back. Found the doctor three houses down.’

As the door of the bedchamber opened, Madeleine had a glimpse of Sophie skittering away. Devlin charged in, a short, spry figure behind him. He had mentioned a doctor. For Linette.

The doctor wore a kindly smile in a round countenance. His coat was shabby and the leather satchel he carried was battered and worn. He came directly to Linette. ‘Is this our little patient? Here, let me have a look at her.’

Madeleine rose quickly and handed Linette over to him. He sat in a wooden chair and spoke softly to the child as he peeked into her mouth and examined her all over. Madeleine watched the doctor’s expression for a clue as to his thoughts. She chewed on her lip. Devlin came to her side and put his arm around her. Needing his strength, she leaned against him.

Finally the doctor handed Linette back to her. ‘She has a putrid throat. Nothing to signify under ordinary circumstances, but I cannot like her fever. How long has she suffered thus?’

‘This…this morning,’ Madeleine stammered. Devlin squeezed her closer.

The doctor smiled, kind crinkles at the corners of his eyes. ‘Well, she seems a sturdy child. A little bleeding may suffice to throw off the fever.’ He rummaged in his bag.

‘Bleeding?’ Madeleine said warily.

‘Yes, just a little. Come hold her.’

Madeleine sat on the bed and placed Linette in her lap. The doctor opened a small container and, with long pointed tweezers, removed the ringed worm.

‘Hold her arm, if you please.’

Devlin stood his ground, though every impulse shouted at him to flee. He recalled the doctors placing such creatures on his arm. The memory belonged to the time of delirium and pain, when he fancied the leeches would consume him alive. Madeleine sat so composed, so resolute in assisting the doctor.

His arms prickled with the sensation now being experienced by the little girl. She was too weak to struggle, as limp as his sister’s dolls when they carried them about, as he had been those months ago in Brussels.

The child will feel better after the bleeding, he reminded himself. It had been so for him.

Finally the leech fell away, satiated, and the doctor placed the creature back in its container. He packed up his bag while Madeleine tucked Linette into the bed.

The doctor took Madeleine’s hand. ‘You have taken good care of her thus far. Try not to lose heart. I have some powders that may assist, as well.’

Madeleine nodded, looking unconsoled. The doctor frowned worriedly at Devlin and gestured for him to follow out of the room. Devlin escorted the doctor out.

When outside, the doctor paused, glancing worriedly back into the apartment. ‘The child’s fever is very high. Only time will tell if she will recover.’ He handed Devlin a packet of powders and gave instruction how to use them. ‘I shall return tomorrow to see how she fares.’ He patted Devlin’s shoulder.

Devlin pushed some coins into the man’s palm. The doctor placed them in his pocket, not glancing at the amount. Smiling reassuringly, he took his leave.

Devlin returned to the bedchamber. Madeleine stood beside the bed where the child slept.

‘He told you it is hopeless, did he not?’ she said, rubbing her arms.

Devlin attempted a smile. ‘Indeed, he said no such thing. He gave me the powders and told me how to mix them. He will return tomorrow to see how she fares.’

‘She will not die?’ Her voice trembled.

He walked over to her and gently brushed the hair off her face. ‘She will recover. You are overwrought. Come, sit. I will wager you have not eaten.’ He found a chair and brought it next to the bed. ‘Where did your friend and Bart go?’

‘Her name is Sophie, Lieutenant.’ Her voice still shook.

‘And mine is Devlin.’ He tapped her nose with his finger. He gazed at the little girl. ‘The child will sleep, I think.’

‘Her name is Linette.’

Devlin touched a lock of the child’s hair. ‘I know.’

He heard the door open and went into the other room. Bart entered, carrying pieces of wood.

‘What’s all this?’ Devlin asked.

Bart cleared his throat. ‘I took the liberty of procuring a bed for the wee one. A rocking chair, as well. The poor babe needs a place to sleep.’

Devlin smiled at him. Bart was a practical man. ‘Well done, my friend.’ He had not thought of such a necessity.

Madeleine stood in the doorway. ‘A bed for Linette?’

‘Aye, miss. And a chair to rock her in.’

The look she gave Bart was almost worshipful. Devlin’s skin grew hot. By God, he was jealous. Of Bart. He wanted Madeleine’s gratitude all to himself.

‘Set the bed up in our room for now, Bart,’ he said and received not a glance from her.

Sophie peered out from the closet where Bart slept. ‘Can I help you, Maddy? What would you have me do?’

‘Prepare some food for Madeleine,’ Devlin said. Sophie shrank from his voice, but scurried to do what she was told.

Devlin sat Madeleine at the small table and took a seat across from her. He poured a small glass of port. ‘This will fortify you a bit.’

He sat so near to her, Madeleine again became aware of the scent that had surrounded her in his bed. The lines in his face were clearly visible and told of years spent on battlefields. Her heart gave a lurch. He was too much like her dreams.

‘Drink,’ he commanded, handing her the glass.

Madeleine obeyed. The sweet liquid warmed her throat, but Devlin’s solicitude frightened her. The doctor must have given ominous news indeed.

He continued to speak to her in a kind voice. ‘We will put the child into her bed as soon as Bart has put it together. Sophie can see to the linens. You must try to eat something, Madeleine.’

Sophie scurried from the scullery. Madeleine sipped her port, keenly aware of Devlin’s eyes upon her.

Bart announced the bed to be ready, and Devlin accompanied her to the room. She placed Linette gently into the small wooden bed and carefully tucked the linens about her. The child settled, and Devlin took Madeleine’s arm and urged her away.

When she returned to the table, Sophie put a plate in front of her with a fat slice of bread and cheese. Madeleine ate, because she did not know what else to do.

When darkness fell, Devlin lit the candles in the bedchamber to dispel the gloomy shadows that had crept into the room. The soft glow of the candlelight illuminated Madeleine, who looked vulnerable as she sat by Linette’s bedside. She had barely moved from the little girl’s side all day, though he could not fault her. Little Linette was an appealing child and it pained him to see her suffering.

Madeleine glanced at him. ‘Do you go out this evening, my lord?’

He put his hands on the arms of her chair and leaned over her. ‘My name is Devlin.’

‘Very well. Devlin.’ Her eyes drifted back to the child.

He pulled up a chair next to her. ‘Now, how could I go out when our babe is ill?’

She gave him a sharp glance. ‘You are not obligated to stay. I would not hold you.’

‘Fustian,’ he said.

She rocked gently. He wished he could convince her all would be well. He’d been trying to do so all day, but she did not believe in reassurances.

Devlin heard Bart’s deep voice coming from the next room. He smiled to himself. The old sergeant was taken with that mouse of a female. It was amusing. Devlin always imagined Bart would shackle himself to some sturdy country girl to match the farm he used to dream of owning. To make a fool of himself over a wisp of a city chit amused Devlin no end.

‘Devlin?’ Madeleine’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

‘Yes?’

‘I have never thanked you for…for the doctor and for…allowing us to stay.’

‘Deuce, Madeleine. What do you take me for?’ Tossing her out, indeed. ‘Did you think I’d send you back to Farley?’

She twisted around to face him, alarm lighting her face. ‘You would not!’

He stroked her cheek. ‘Of course I would not.’

She turned back to Linette, but her hand went to the place he had touched. Devlin leaned back in his chair, balancing it on its back two legs. ‘How the devil did you come to be at Farley’s? You are too young, surely.’

She rocked at a faster pace. ‘I am old enough.’

‘Nonsense, you are hardly out of the classroom.’

She tossed him an insulted look. ‘I am eighteen.’

‘Eighteen!’ he cried, unbalancing the chair and nearly pitching over. Linette stirred, whimpering.

‘Shh.’ Madeleine reached for the child, rubbing her back.

‘Good God.’ He lowered his voice. ‘How old were you when you came to him?’ He’d made the computation in his head, but could barely believe it. She’d been so young, and he’d made love to her. How could he have done so?

‘I was fifteen.’

‘Damnation!’ So painfully young. He had left her there when she was younger than the silly chits making their come-out, the ones he thus far had successfully avoided. ‘The man’s a damned reprobate.’ Devlin had bedded her, as well. What did that make him?

She gave him a sideways glance. ‘You assume me the hapless victim, Devlin. Don’t make me so good.’

‘You did not join him willingly.’ He would not believe it.

She continued her rhythmic rocking. ‘Is this any of your concern, my lord?’

‘Not a whit.’ But that would not stop him. ‘Why did you join that cheating lout, then?’

She sighed. ‘This is a sordid story. Hardly of interest.’

‘Of interest to me,’ he persisted.

‘Very well.’ She paused to stroke Linette’s hair. ‘He seduced me. I was ruined. What else could I do?’

She made being ruined sound like getting a soiled spot on her gown. This was a rum story if ever he heard one. Farley was forty, if he was a day. Seducing a girl of her tender years—abominable. Devlin ought to have rescued her from him back then. Saved her from that abominable life.

She adjusted the blankets around the child, the candle behind her placing her profile in silhouette. His breath caught. She was a beauty. As fair as a cameo. As exotic, with her thick black curls, as a goddess from foreign shores. As skilled in the sheets as would fuel any man’s dreams.

Her fingers gently touched the child’s forehead. When she drew them away, they covered her face. Shame on him. Her child’s life hung by a fragile thread, and he thought of bedding her.

‘She will recover, Madeleine. Do not fear.’

She leaned back in the rocking chair and closed her eyes. Her silence stretched into the night, and Devlin felt guilty and useless. He watched her rock slowly back and forth in the chair. Back and forth. Back and forth.

‘Devlin?’ Her voice came as if from a great distance.

‘Yes?’

‘Do you believe God punishes sinners?’