Chapter 29

For even and morn
Ye will never see
Thro’ eternity.

 

The room became hazy with black powder smoke and muffled, almost distant sounds of a woman's screams. Ainsley looked down to his chest and saw nothing. A misfire? His body shook as he tried to make out the chaos that unfolded.

“Peter!”

Through the cloud he saw Evelyn on the ground, her cream coloured dress stained red.

“Oh my god! Evelyn!” Daniel called out.

Ainsley knelt at Evelyn's side, the red stain, at first the size of his fist, expanding rapidly as blood seeped into the satin that made up her garment. Ainsley pressed his hand flat on to her wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding but he could feel it rushing through his tight fingers.

Evelyn moaned, her lips trying to form words as she grabbed Ainsley's arm. Her eyes were wide, as if she knew something was wrong.

“Daniel,” she moaned.

“We have to take her to the hospital,” Lord Weatherall said frantically from behind Ainsley.

“There's no time,” Ainsley answered. “She'll bleed out before we get the carriage hitched.” He looked at her wound, easing up his hands and replaced it quickly to stifle the bleeding. He looked up to Will, but he was gone.

“Do something!” his brother growled at him with barred teeth.

Ainsley shook his head. There was not enough time. He could not be quick enough. His slow hands would torture her before he could be of any help. Dr. Lehmann had said it himself, he was a great scientist but a horrible surgeon.

“Peter, save her!” Daniel yelled again grabbing Ainsley's lapel as he had done earlier and forcing his brother to look at him. “Damn it, Peter, you will save the woman I love or—”

Ainsley nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I'll do my best. Margaret press here, hard.”

She placed her hands where her brother indicated.

Ainsley rolled Evelyn on to her side to get a look at her back. The bullet had not gone through. “Help me get her into the dining room,” he said, positioning his hands beneath her. He directed them to the dining room. Margaret rushed ahead to pull off the tablecloth and pull the chairs back. Laying her on the table Ainsley used his hand to compress the wound.

“Father, my bag.”

Lord Marshall nodded and disappeared.

“Margaret, get me the sewing kit. Light! I need light!”

Julia and Violetta scrambled into the room pulling oil lamps from all corners of the house and laid them around Evelyn on the table.

“Save her, Peter,” Daniel whispered, as he leaned into the table from the opposite side.

Ainsley began to doubt he could. The blood had covered his hands entirely and he was losing his grip. He could not leave her to die, but trying to get her to the hospital was similar to a death sentence, he'd have to get the bullet out and stitch her up.

Lord Marshall returned with his bag which he placed at Ainsley's side, and a few moments later Margaret rushed in with the sewing box.

He had never thought he would have to perform surgery under such conditions. The hospitals had anesthetics, a team of assistants and the surgeons all had one thing he didn't have. Speed.

Margaret opened the doctor's bag and looked to Ainsley. “What do you need?”

“Tweezers, scalpel...” Forcing out a deep breath Ainsley rubbed some sweat from his brow with his bloody hands.

You're a good surgeon, Peter, but you are far too slow.

Doctor Lehmann's words resounded in Ainsley's mind as he looked over Evelyn, wondering how best to stop the bleeding. He was too slow, far too slow for the task in front of him. Even if he were able to fish out the bullet and stop the bleeding, she would die of shock, or worse linger for days and succumb to infection.

“Father, take them out,” he commanded. He did not look up or indicate whom he meant by 'them' but Lord Marshall knew and escorted Lord Weatherall and Daniel out the door.

“What's he going to do to her?” Lord Weatherall asked in near desperation.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Lord Marshall answered as he ushered him out. “My son is a brilliant surgeon.”

With the door closed, Ainsley set to work. Margaret and Julia had laid out all his tools, even some he had not requested and arranged them on the tea cart and wheeled it over beside him.

“Help me with her stays,” Ainsley said.

Together they made quick work to remove all layers of clothing, leaving her in her under shift which had become so soaked with blood it shone crimson. Ainsley rolled up the sticky fabric and looked at the wound. It was a small hole at the side of her stomach, just above her pelvic bone. It had been shot in at an angle and Ainsley desperately hoped it had missed her vital organs.

“Hold her down,” he commanded.

“You think she will be going anywhere?” Margaret asked, hesitantly.

“Hold her down!” His tone must have been determined enough because Margaret and Julia did as he bid without further question.

Scalpel in hand, he made an incision along the entry point, ignoring the tight squirming coming from the patient. It would have hurt worse than the sudden impact of the bullet and her muffled cries drove him to work faster. With the slim forceps, he dug into her flesh and searched for the bullet.

“She's passed out,” Julia said.

Ainsley glanced to her face.

“Make sure she keeps breathing. Let me know if she stops.”

Margaret nodded, and leaned in closer to Evelyn's face. She held her hand to the side of her throat to locate her pulse. “She's weakening.”

Ainsely hurried. He had found the bullet but for some reason could not get the tweezers around it. He moved the tool around and finally he felt the tool become rigid. Slowly he pulled the bullet from her body. The bleeding had slowed but that was scarcely a comforting thought.

“Thread me a needle.”

Margaret nodded and went to the sewing box.

“Hurry!”

With trembling fingers Margaret handed Ainsley the threaded needle. With his fingers, he searched around her wound, seeking any organs or arteries that the bullet may have hit. “It's too dark!”

Julia carefully lowered a lamp toward the wound.

With the needle and thread, he began to stitch Evelyn up. Had he been in the morgue he would have been careful and far more precise but with Evelyn he did not have the time. Within minutes he had operated, found the bullet, and pieced her back together.

Finally he turned from the scene and retreated to a table of spirits left from dinner.

“Peter,” Margaret began, disparaging of her brother's need for drink.

Ainsley glared at her as he walked back to Evelyn with the bottle and poured it gingerly on her wound. “We need bandages. We need to keep the wound clean.”

Margaret nodded and grabbed the tablecloth and began tearing it into strips. She helped him wrap many pieces around Evelyn's midsection, securing the last one with a firm knot.

“What do we do now?” Julia asked.

“We wait.”