“I will prepare for our departure.” Julian exited the room, closing the door behind him. Oliver groaned, and Mary assisted him to the settee, then sat beside him, holding him close.
“I cannot lose him, Mary. Garrett is precious to me. It will destroy me if…” His voice shook, his eyes grew moist.
She held him in her arms; her comforting warmth calmed him. “I understand. He is the living link to your lost love. I saw her portrait in your study. Moira was beautiful. You love her still.”
“I do, but not to exclusion of allowing love into my life once more. And I have allowed it, with you, Mary.”
They held each other tight. God, he needed and ached for this. As soon as Garrett was recovered, Oliver would not waste another damned minute. He was in love, as he predicted—for the last time in his life.
* * * *
Time passed far too slowly as Abbie, Dr. Phillips, and Martin took turns keeping pressure on the wound. She’d managed to coax Garrett into drinking cool water during the short periods he was lucid, but he’d remained unconscious for most of the two hours.
Blast, had she made the right decision? Garrett had agreed, but was he in his right mind to make any type of conclusion in his present state? This was not a wound they could bind and hope for the best.
Martin ordered a tray with tea and sandwiches, and Dr. Phillips immediately helped himself. Abbie could not think of food. Her insides tumbled and shook with worry and fright. The thought of losing Garrett tore her asunder.
At last, Martin announced, “Dr. Faraday from London.”
“Good God, a blackamoor!” Phillips gasped, clearly shocked.
The young man appeared to be no more than thirty. He had an air of self-confidence that Abbie immediately admired, and he did not flinch at what she considered a derogatory term.
“I assure you, sir, I am neither Muslim nor from Africa. I was born in Chelsea,” the young doctor stated, his tone even.
“There must be some mistake,” Dr. Phillips prattled. “This cannot be the earl’s personal physician.” He turned to face Dr. Faraday. “What are your credentials?”
“My father is white, does that suffice? Do I have enough Anglo-Saxon in me to warrant the consideration I am due?” Dr. Faraday kept the emotion in his voice under control, but Abbie could hear the annoyance nonetheless.
Dr. Phillips merely sputtered, mumbling unintelligibly.
“I graduated from Cambridge, and am a member of the College of Physicians, which I believe are adequate credentials by anyone’s standards,” Faraday continued. “Now, is this the patient?”
“Yes, Doctor. I am Mrs. Hughes. I have no credentials except that my late husband was also a physician. I demanded that we wait for your arrival; Dr. Phillips diagnosed removal of the arm.”
Dr. Faraday sat his large satchel on the table they had placed near the chaise Garrett laid upon. “Well, we will determine if amputation is necessary; however, an examination is in order first. Will you assist, Dr. Phillips?”
The older man seemed stunned at the request, then cleared his throat. “Yes, of course.”
“Mrs. Hughes,” Faraday said in a kind voice. “You may remain, as we may need your assistance. Martin as well. Allow me to see the wound.”
Nodding, she reluctantly stepped away from Garrett, and as soon as she released pressure, another spurt of blood thrust out, tricking down his chest.
“See how it pumps? Definitely an artery. A vein has more of a steady flow. I am assuming the artery is still intact or he would have bled out by now. How long since Mr. Wollstonecraft has been shot?” Faraday asked.
Abbie glanced at the mantel clock. “Two hours and fifteen minutes.”
“There is no time to waste. I will require boiling hot water to sterilize my surgical apparatus, and we will need plenty of brandy for the patient.”
“I will see to the water immediately.” Martin rushed from the room.
“Dr. Liston, at St. Bartholomew’s, is testing using ether, a compound from America. It renders the patient unconscious during operations and various procedures. Alas, we will have to dull Master Garrett’s senses with spirits,” Faraday stated.
“Ether? How fascinating,” Phillips murmured, temporarily forgetting his previous prejudice.
“Will you be able to assist, Mrs. Hughes? A warning: there will be a good deal of blood,” Faraday said as he unpacked his satchel.
Abbie nodded shakily.
“Then let us make preparations. Dr. Phillips, place pressure on the wound while Mrs. Hughes assists the patient in drinking a copious amount of brandy. I will prepare.”
Everyone went about their duties silently. With the knives boiled, and sleeves rolled up, Dr. Faraday insisted that they wash with carbolic soap before handling any of the sterile instruments.
The doctor placed a padded stick in Garrett’s mouth, and as soon as he made the first incision, Garrett moaned and passed out. Using clamps, he spread open the wound. “There. By God, he is lucky. There is a small tear in the subclavian artery. The surrounding veins are intact, and it appears that the brachial plexus is whole.” Faraday turned slightly toward Abbie. “That is the bundle of nerves controlling arm function. Whether he will have complete control of his arm remains to be seen.”
“The bullet must have passed straight through, nicking the artery on its passage,” Phillips stated.
“Yes. Will you clamp the artery closed, Doctor?”
Phillips gave Faraday an astonished look. “I have never done anything remotely like this before…”
“There is always the first time. Mrs. Hughes, pass me the curved needle.”
The next several minutes passed in silence, as more oil lamps were brought in to cast further illumination while the sun set. Abbie watched, fascinated, as the two unlikely doctors worked in tandem to close the tear.
“My word. The neatest, tightest stitching I’ve had the honor to witness,” Phillips remarked, awe in his voice.
“Thank you, Dr. Phillips. Will you finish closing the wound?” Faraday stepped aside, and Abbie’s admiration for the young man increased. Regardless of Phillips’s rude tone and prejudicial comment, Faraday had kept his composure and included the older country doctor in the procedure.
“Despite our care, infection will be the next hurdle to overcome.” Faraday turned to face her. “May I say that I admire your instincts, Mrs. Hughes? By keeping constant pressure on the wound, I can honestly state that you saved Garrett Wollstonecraft’s life. Well done.”
Faraday joined Phillips, and together they addressed the exit wound, then bound Garrett’s shoulder with the torn, clean cloths.
She had saved Garrett’s life. Abbie exhaled shakily as she sat in the nearby wingchair.
Phillips passed her a cup of tea. “Well done, indeed, Mrs. Hughes.”
She gave Phillips a polite nod and sipped. Closing her eyes, she sighed as the warmth from the tea spread through her, giving comfort and calm as only a cuppa could.
While reveling in the quiet peace, a clamor rose outside. Loud voices grew closer, then the earl and viscount burst into the room with Martin and one of the footmen hard upon on their heels. Abbie stood, as did Phillips.
“My son. Bastian, tell us everything,” the earl said to Faraday, his voice shaking with worry.
The young doctor gave a compelling narrative, including Abbie and Phillips in the telling. “I gave your son a strong dose of laudanum, and along with the brandy, he will sleep for hours. We can only hope that infection and fever do not take hold. He should stay here for the night and may be moved to his room tomorrow.” He laid a hand on the earl’s shoulder. “Though your son lost a goodly amount of blood, my lord, I do not feel a transfusion is warranted. We have Mrs. Hughes to thank for ensuring the situation did not become dire, even fatal.”
Abbie blushed under the praise, and the earl and viscount came to stand before her. “How can I thank you, Abbie? May I call you Abbie?” the earl said, a shaky smile curving about his mouth.
“Of course, my lord.”
He clasped her upper arms gently. “No more of that. You are family. I am Oliver.”
Julian nodded as he clutched her arm, pulling her from his father and into a crushing embrace. Goodness. She was not used to such emotion from Garrett’s older brother, but this proved she did not know these men at all. Abbie found that she wanted to. Family. How utterly astonishing. “And I am Julian. Thank you, Abbie.”
Momentarily dumbfounded, she returned the embrace and basked in its welcoming warmth. They broke apart and laughed, more from the relief that Garrett would no doubt survive.
“Martin, see there is a light supper laid out for our guests in about an hour. Bastian, you will be staying the night?” Oliver asked.
“Of course,” Dr. Faraday replied. “I assumed as much and brought my valise. I left word at the hospital that I would be staying until Garrett is on the mend.”
“Brilliant.” Oliver turned toward Martin and said, “Riordan and his wife, Sabrina, are following directly behind us. He had to make arrangements for his students. See that rooms are prepared for everyone.”
Martin bowed. “At once, my lord.”
“Dr. Phillips, will you stay for a meal?” the earl asked.
“Well, I…” The older man was obviously flustered at being asked to dine at the earl’s table. “I would be honored, my lord.”