Body tremors and muscle spasms in her patient’s legs forced Sarah to bind the poultices of slippery elm powder mixed with calendula tincture against the bottom of his feet.
With Cob’s help she had managed to force some tincture of Guelder rose, or crampbark, down the man’s throat. But not enough to still the spasms. Sarah watched the blanket atop him quiver and debated what to do.
“Get that blue bottle,” Sarah said as she removed the blanket across her patient’s thighs. She held out her palm. “Just a small amount.” Massaging the cramping muscles with the neat tincture, Sarah heard a deep gasp at the door and stilled.
Cob, at her side, handed her a towel. “I’ll keep on it, me lady,” he offered. “Like tending a fetlock, truth be told.”
“Yes, thank you.” Sarah wiped her hands on the towel, then turned to face a scowling gentleman.
Mr. Gilmar Crandall was a stocky man of medium height. His full round face below a thick shock of brown hair was now creased in disapproval.
He was two years Sarah’s junior, but she saw a flash of her father in his stance. That she had not been as exceedingly foolish as everyone believed when she had declined the physician’s offer of marriage flashed through her mind.
Crandall’s lips thinned as he inspected the figure on the bed. “I thought your coachman was bosky,” he said. “Hoped it was a wild faradiddle. That he was attempting to roast me.”
“You are very tired,” Sarah soothed as she took his hat and gloves. She helped him out of his greatcoat. “From what did Brady take you?”
“I had finished,” Crandall reluctantly admitted. “The Granter boy sliced open his leg. He should be well to go in a week or so. Missed the tendons so was more stitchery than anything.” He stalked to the bed.
“Do you even know who this man is? Do not answer. I am certain that, as usual, you know nothing of him or how he came to be in this state.” After a glance at the shackle-marred wrist Crandall placed his hands on a quivering leg and ran it up and down.
“I fear this might be tetanic. What is beneath the poultices?”
Sarah met his gaze with worried puzzlement. “I am not certain. The soles have many deliberate cuts, some quite fresh. His ankles are badly bruised. Brady thinks a stock was used. You see the state of his wrists.”
Lifting a limp hand, Crandall turned it over. “Metal shackles,” he said under his breath. “They held them above his head from the look of the scrapes and cuts.” The doctor continued his examination. “Where was he found?”
“I found him on the way home from Lewes. Brady believes he crawled from the Peterson place. I told him to check the house in the morn and fetch Squire Buckley.”
“Has this man said anything?”
Sarah shrank from the memory of the savage moans. “No.”
Crandall laid his ear against the man’s chest. Then he motioned for Cob to lift him and pressed an ear to his back. When he finished, the doctor withdrew three vials from his surgical case. “I know you will not be persuaded to let me move the fellow,” he said. “There are signs of tetanus. Even granting that his lungs were healthy before he fell into the hands of whoever did this, pneumonia is likely.”
The corners of his full mouth twisted upward. “I shall not waste time for either of us. You know the amount and frequency of these medicines. Now let me help change the poultices so I know just with what I deal.”
* * *
An odd rasp daubed at Hadleigh’s consciousness. Distressed. Disturbed. He moved. Pain shot through him.
Again that ugly rasp. Hadleigh opened his eyes and his gaze lit on hands. It locked onto the stone and the straight edge they held. He tried to move but could not and watched the blade’s awful glide down the whetstone.
Hadleigh tried to protest. As his cry gurgled free he saw the straight edge arc out of the hand.
Then gentle fingers held his face. A hint of wild jasmine wafted over him. Large dark gold-flecked brown eyes—a woman’s eyes filled with concern—pleaded for understanding.
“No,” Sarah said as firmly as possible under the scorching dread in the steel grey eyes. “You are safe,” she assured as he sank back into unconsciousness.
Standing behind her, the retrieved razor in hand, Brady apologized. “Didn’t mean noo harm, me lady.”
An unusual surge of anger warned Sarah that the stranger had become too dear to her. She shrugged the thought aside and motioned. “Did you not think of them?”
“His feet,” Brady said dumbly looking at their wrappings. He went axle stiff. “I did na mean—”
“I know,” Sarah said. She now remembered that her patient’s face had felt overly warm. She saw sweat beaded on his brow. “Please get Molly and fresh cold water.”
At the end of a very long morning Sarah thanked Molly and Cob for their help. She asked them to watch the patient and call if there was any change. She motioned Brady to come with her as she left the salon.
Darton, the sixty-year-old butler who had served her husband since before his first marriage, halted her just outside its doors. “My lady, Squire Buckley has arrived. I placed him in the Chipped Pitcher Salon.”
“‘Bout time,” Brady said, syllables heavy with sarcasm. “The Squire bein’ so busy and all doin’—”
“I shall see the magistrate, shortly,” Sarah interrupted Brady to tell Darton. “Please take him a tray of his favourite cakes,” she instructed the butler.
“Odds be he’ll know no more than I told ye,” Brady blustered. “He won’t know who this man be or anythin’ else. Sir always said Buckley was the greatest buffon—”
At the small shake of her head he hunched his shoulders and fell silent. When Darton left them Brady said, “Cob and me don’t b’long inside, m’lady. We know horses and such—”
“I know,” Sarah said kindly. “I thank you for your help.” She worked her jaw as she thought of the days ahead. “Something must be done.” Sarah turned an inquiring smile on her coachman.
“Did Cook say something about Farmer Cauley’s brother being home to visit?”
“Bob Cauley? Aye, seen him in Lewes. Right pulled down at losing his major. Brought the body home from the Peninsula.”
“Did he say if he had plans?”
“I fadge he’ll be goin’ back to the army. Said his term’s up but he don’t know no other life.”
“Please find Mr. Cauley,” Sarah instructed. “Ask him to call on me. Mr. Crandall should call within the hour so later this afternoon—any time then will do.”
“M’lady,” Brady began dubiously, “he’s a soldier.”
“Exactly,” she dismissed him.
When Sarah entered the salon, Squire Buckley released the lemon square he in his hand and heaved his bulky frame upright. “Lady Edgerton. Sorry to disturb.”
Barely touching his proffered puffy hand, Sarah murmured, “Good morning,” and withdrew hers. “Do be seated,” she invited as she did. Seeing the plate of lemon squares half empty, she stifled a smile and set her features into calm inquiry.
“What news do you have for me, sir?”
Buckley squared his bulky shoulders and fingered the large gold buttons on his old-fashioned waistcoat. “Something havy-cavy about the business at the Peterson place,” he began.
“Good of you to take in the man but really, my lady, he may be worse than a thief,” the squire reproved. “A decent man wouldn’t get himself clapped up like a common criminal.”
“Do you know anything of the matter, sir? Who he may be or who the persons are who did this to him?”
“Well, as to who he is. There is no way to learn that if he cannot tell us,” he explained with a wave of his hand.
“The men who did this to him?”
The squire tugged at his neck cloth’s knot. “Brady said he told you what was found at Peterson’s,” he said brusquely. “Not something to speak to a lady about.”
“I am a lady but by Sir Rufus’ grace only,” Sarah cajoled. “Merely Mr. Leonard’s daughter. Death has been spoken of many times in my presence,” she added. “The men at Peterson’s with their throats slashed may have tortured the gentleman but he could not have, in any case, cut their throats. Who were they?”
“They aren’t from our district,” Buckley said thankfully. “Bad blood from Kent or mayhaps London.”
Biting back a retort, Sarah persevered. “What of the man who rented Peterson’s?”
“It was let by a solicitor in London. I’ve written for details,” he hastened to add, then leaned forward triumphant. “Jim at the White Hart told me that he went by Mr. George.”
“How long was this George in Lewes? What was his business?”
“My lady, you mustn’t trouble over such things. The matter is in hand.” Squire Buckley hauled himself out of the chair. “You’d best spend your time ridding yourself of that encumbrance.” He gave her shoulder a paternal pat. “You’ve too good a heart,” he said as he palmed two lemon squares.
“I’ve warned people not to talk to strangers about the matter. No telling what that would bring to your door.”
Sarah swallowed her annoyance with practiced ease. “Please call if you garner any other information.”
* * *
Bob Cauley watched Sarah, Lady Edgerton, work in her stillroom. He had heard about her from his brother’s family. He saw a plump woman past the age of youth. Her hands were purposeful as she poured a decoction into dark bottles.
His brother’s wife had praised and nattered on about the baronet’s wife. Lady Edgerton was a physician’s daughter. She was skilled with herbal remedies and unstinting in her care of the people in the district. But Lady Edgerton, his brother’s wife had insisted cynically, had done well to snatch up Sir Edgerton upon her father’s death.
“Good afternoon.”
The greeting caught Cauley by surprise as did her direct gaze. It was kind but piercing. “Good afternoon, m’lady,” he said sheepishly. He squared his shoulders. “I be Bob Cauley.”
Sarah tightened the stoppers in the dark bottles and placed one in a cabinet. She did not appear surprised when Cauley handed her the others. “Thank you, Mr. Cauley.” She met his brown-eyed gaze, assessing him. She closed the cabinet door and walked around him. “Please follow me.”
In the long walking hall on the south side of the house Cauley remained standing when Lady Edgerton took a seat.
“Please do sit, Mr. Cauley. I shall get a crick in my neck if you force me to crane it so looking up at you.”
Cauley sat, his hat on his lap.
Sarah took in the large man’s weathered face. Light grey at his temples indicated an age in the forties. His jacket was faded but still the green 95th Rifleman’s with sergeant’s bands. His beard and a moustache were neatly trimmed. She looked at his hands—large and strong with light calluses.
“It was kind of you to come, Mr. Cauley,” she began. “I was sorry to learn of the reason you returned to England.” Sarah acknowledged his curt nod. “Forgive me if I ask some rather impertinent questions. I shall explain why directly.
“Did your duties for Major, was it Dunbaden? Yes. Did they include those of a, ahh, personal nature?”
Cauley fingered the brim of his hat. “I was batman. The usual duties. I tended him when he was wounded in Spain.”
The pain in the large man’s eyes moved Sarah. “I am certain you did your best. Sometimes there is no help.”
“Yes, m’lady,” he answered brusquely, and looked away.
Sarah cleared her throat. “I tend a man who has been very ill-used. Some details of his care are more suitable for a man. I would prefer one who is strong but who will not maul him.”
“M’lady, I’m sorry but I’ve no taste for nurse-maiding.”
Sarah stood. “Come. It is time to change his poultices.”
When they entered the morning salon Cob struggled to massage a spasm from one of the man’s legs while Molly tried to hold him still. The maid’s harassment melted into relief, but she grew uneasy when a stranger followed her mistress.
“Molly, please prepare fresh poultices,” Sarah ordered as she took her place beside the restless figure. She saw Cauley motion Cob aside and work his large hands up and down the leg.
“The major was prone to cramp after he took a ball in the hip,” the man said dispassionately.
By the time the poultices had been changed Sarah respected the former sergeant’s skills. When he managed to get more medicine down her patient’s throat than she had in a full day she knew she must persuade him to stay.
Cauley’s brow furrowed as he pulled on his discarded jacket. He thought of his major who had died despite his best effort. He answered her unasked question.
“M’lady, if you’d send Brady to me, I’ll tell him to fetch my belongings. I’ve a yen to learn if this man be villain or victim.”