The Heir - Catherine Coulter [140]
Crupper was weaving where he stood. “Yes, my lord,” he finally managed. “But, my lord, let me kill the damned blighter first!”
“You can consider that later, Crupper. But first get me the cloths and the hot water.”
“Yes, my lord. First things first. Of course her ladyship is more important than that piece of slime from a foreign swamp.”
The earl could only shake his head. He kept the pressure on the wound. He prayed. He looked up to see Elsbeth weaving where she stood, her face white. As he looked at her, he now saw the tremendous resemblance between her and Gervaise. Never would she know, for he would never tell her, nor would Arabella. “It is all right now, Elsbeth. I am sorry that you were betrayed by Gervaise. But it is over now. You are all right. He will pay for what he has done. No, don’t cry, Elsbeth, don’t cry. I don’t want him dead. But listen to me, sweetheart, he deserves whatever he gets.”
Elsbeth fell to her knees on the floor. She began to cry, then shook her head, and dashed the tears away. “No,” she said. “No, I won’t cry. You’re right, Justin, he’s not worth it. But I wasn’t crying for him. Please tell me that Arabella will be all right. Please, Justin, don’t let her die. Please. It is all my fault if she dies.”
“No, Elsbeth, she won’t die. And none of this is your fault. I will strangle you if you ever say anything so stupid again. Now, I swear to you again that Arabella won’t die. She is my life, you see. I cannot let her die or else I am nothing at all.”
He turned from Elsbeth then and pressed harder on the wound. He searched his wife’s pale face. She was deeply unconscious, thank God. He prayed that she would continue unconscious. There was pain to be borne. He knew the bullet hadn’t gone through her shoulder. It would have to be dug out.
He wished that Gervaise was dead.
When Crupper came into the room, carrying both a basin of hot water and towels piled over his right arm, he said, “I don’t believe anyone else should be allowed in here, my lord. I understand that Dr. Branyon will arrive soon. As for Miss Elsbeth, I have told Grace that she is to assist the young lady to her bedchamber. Oh, Mrs. Tucker, you’re standing right at my elbow. Well, my lord, I could hardly tell Mrs. Tucker not to come in now.”
“I know,” the earl said.
Mrs. Tucker looked ready to faint and join Elsbeth on the floor. He said very gently, “Please, Mrs. Tucker, see Miss Elsbeth to her bedchamber. Then Grace will attend her. Thank you. I know I can trust you to keep everyone else away.”
“But, my lord, what of the Frenchman?”
“Does he still live, Crupper?”
“I don’t know, my lord. I will go ascertain his condition. Hopefully it is not a good condition.”
“Thank you, Crupper.” Justin pressed down harder. The cloth beneath his fingers was soaked with Arabella’s blood. He began his prayers again. After he was certain that the bleeding was sluggish, he placed his hand on Arabella’s breast to feel her heartbeat. It was rapid, but, he thought, steady. He looked down at her pale face, the heavy black lashes laying still against her cheeks. It was the plan of his own face. Except for the cleft in the chin. She didn’t have it. He remembered that long ago day when he had first met her, how she had told him she didn’t have the cleft. He remembered her bitterness, her anguish, her deadening grief for her father.
But now she was his. Now everything had been resolved. He wouldn’t let her die. He wouldn’t.
Finally, he slowly lifted the pad from the wound. He breathed a sigh of relief, for the bleeding had slowed to a trickle.
The earl did not again look up until Dr. Branyon hurried into the room. “Good God, Justin, what the devil has happened here? Giles told me that Bella had been shot by the comte. What the hell—”
The earl gently lifted the wadded pad from Arabella’s shoulder, his eyes meeting Dr. Branyon’s.
Dr. Branyon abruptly turned and held up his hand for Lady Ann to stop. He said curtly, “Ann, I do not want you in here. Go downstairs or go to Elsbeth