A cold treachery - Charles Todd [138]
“Miller, in the name of God, fetch Jarvis!” Rutledge shouted.
Janet Ashton had run to Elizabeth, and was cradling her head as Cummins began stuffing serviettes into the bleeding wound, frantically calling her name. Vera Cummins stood like a ghost against the wall, frozen there, her eyes on the blood.
And then Robinson wasn't moving. Dazed, Rutledge got to his feet, and lunged to Elizabeth Fraser's side, clasping her hands, telling her that she'd been damned foolish, begging her to hold on.
She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. “Couldn't—lose him,” she said. “Boy's dead? Truly?”
“No. Quite safe. My dear girl, shut up and stay still.”
She coughed, and a delicate pink froth spread over her lip.
Janet was smoothing her hair as she shut her eyes and sighed a little.
Mickelson and Greeley hauled a bloody and defiant Hugh Robinson to the police station, with Sergeant Miller behind them with Theo Elcott's revolver in one large, steady hand.
Jarvis, bending over Elizabeth Fraser and working steadily as he gave orders to Janet Ashton, said over his shoulder to Rutledge, “Get the rest of them out of here.”
But a shaken Cummins was already leading his wife to the door.
Rutledge could hear Janet asking, “Is it true or a lie to comfort her? Is Josh alive?”
“He's safe for the moment—” His attention was concentrated on the woman on the floor.
Hamish was saying, “You canna' stay! Leave the doctor to his work.”
But Rutledge was unable to move. “Don't let her die,” he prayed. “Don't let her die!”
Janet demanded, “I have to know—tell me! What happened that night!”
Jarvis said, “Here—pay attention.”
Hamish said, “It was for you she got in his way. To give you time.”
“Damn Mickelson and Greeley both to Hell,” Rutledge said between his teeth. But he knew the blame was his. He should never have trusted either of them to act outside the bounds of express duty. And he cursed himself for not acting alone, as he so often did.
“You couldna' ha' been sure you would tak' him on your own.”
It was true, but it no longer mattered.
“If she dies, I'll resign,” he silently promised God. “I've seen enough death and killed enough people.”
Jarvis turned. “Rutledge? Lift her and carry her to her bed. I can't work here. I need more linens, a list of things from my surgery. Miss Ashton can see to that—” He began to give her instructions.
Rutledge came to kneel on the floor, gently putting his hands under Elizabeth Fraser's body. She seemed so fragile, and he cradled her close to his chest as he carried her out of the kitchen and down the passage to her room. He could feel her blood, warm on his hands.
Jarvis opened the door and pointed to the bed. “Put her down and find me pillows, as many as you can. And then hot water. The teakettle—a basin.”
Rutledge went to do his bidding, moving in a nightmare. He came back with pillows scavenged from the other rooms and helped the doctor lift Elizabeth so that she could breathe more comfortably. Then he brought the kettle and a basin.
The doctor grunted as he took them, and said testily, “Where the devil is Miss Ashton? I need those powders!”
But she was coming down the passage, Mrs. Jarvis at her heels with a basket of tins and jars and bandages.
“Now get out,” Jarvis said to Rutledge.
“Is she going to live?” he asked, not moving from the bedside.
“No thanks to you. It's going to be nip and tuck. Greeley told me in the street—if you'd moved sooner, this would never have happened.”
Greeley, Hamish snorted, was busily covering his rear.
Rutledge backed out of the room and stared for a time at his bloody hands.
If she dies, he told himself, I'll have both of them on my soul!
He looked in on Mickelson, whom Sergeant Miller had brought back to his room after safely delivering Robinson to gaol. His cheek was still bleeding, and his face was bruising quickly. Rutledge thought, “It must hurt like the devil!” And was glad.
“If you hadn't moved, I'd have tripped him up!” he