The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [313]
Then his head fell to one side, and all the silvery spark of recognition slipped out of his eyes.
The Doctor put his fingers to Mr. Picton’s throat, then pulled out his watch and, opening it, held the shiny cover under the man’s bloody nostrils. “He’s still breathing,” the Doctor announced, going back to work. “But just.”
The sound of footsteps came echoing down the stone stairs, and then Cyrus reappeared, carrying the Doctor’s black medical bag. Mrs. Hastings followed along behind him in a few seconds, and when she saw the bloody scene on the floor her hands flew up to cover her mouth.
“Oh, Your Honor!” she cried quietly, rushing over to stand by the Doctor. “Oh, Your Honor, no!”
“Mrs. Hastings,” the Doctor said, trying hard to keep everybody on track. “Mrs. Hastings!” he repeated, grabbing the woman’s arm and getting her attention. “Do you know if Dr. Lawrence has any sort of surgical equipment in his office? Mr. Picton cannot be moved as far as Saratoga, but we can’t give him the help he needs here.”
Trying to stifle her own weeping, Mrs. Hastings nodded. “Yes—I think so—that is, we took my husband there when he—oh, Your Honor, I can’t bear it!”
“Listen to me!” the Doctor said. “Take the detective sergeant with you.” With a nod of his head he indicated Marcus, who had put his jacket back on over his undershirt. “Telephone Dr. Lawrence, and tell him to prepare. Then get over to Mr. Wooley, at the stables. Have him ready his gentlest wagon, and fit it out with whatever padding he can. Mrs. Hastings!” The Doctor grasped the grief-stricken woman’s arm harder. “Can you do this?”
“I—” She began to nod, and tried to pull herself together. “Yes, Doctor. If the detective sergeant will help me.”
“Come on, Mrs. Hastings,” Marcus said, guiding her to the door. “If we move quickly enough, everything will be fine.”
As the pair left the room, the Doctor went back to work bandaging Mr. Picton’s wounds. “Yes—if they move quickly enough …” he said quietly, in a voice what didn’t contain much hope.
Hearing those words, I considered for the first time the possibility that Mr. Picton might die; and along with the terrible sadness of that thought came the full realization of who had attacked him, and what that attack meant: Libby Hatch was loose, and on her way, almost certainly, back to New York.
“What about the woman, Doctor?” Lucius asked, as he continued to help with the bandaging. “Mr. Picton’s right—she’s got a good jump on us.”
“That can’t be helped,” the Doctor answered quickly. “We owe this man too much—whatever can be done must be done. We need to talk to Sheriff Dunning, as well. I want it to be absolutely clear what happened here, so that when we go after her this time we can do it openly.”
Hearing all this talk, and struck cold by the sight of all the blood in the room, I could think of only one thing: What would happen to Kat when Libby got back to New York? It was past midnight—a tough, maybe impossible, hour to get a message through to Betty in time for her to get over to the Dusters’ and warn Kat who was coming. What would happen? I wondered with mounting fear, my hands going cold and my feet shifting nervously. If the woman could do this to poor Mr. Picton, not to mention the big, dead man lying against the wall across the room, what would happen when she—
I felt a tug at the back of my shirt. Turning, I saw El Niño, who seemed to have put his bout of grief aside, at least as much as he could: instead of tears, there was now a glaring fire in his dark eyes, and his face, for the first time since I’d known him, seemed to show what kind of violence he was capable of once his blood was up. At that moment I wasn’t looking at an amiable little aborigine; I was looking at a man who’d been violently torn away from his people at an early age, sold into bondage, and then escaped to become a wandering mercenary.
“Señorito Stevie,” he whispered, urging me into the stairway while the others continued to fix their attention on Mr. Picton. I followed him in, keeping my own eyes on the Doctor’s fast-moving hands.
“Se