CHAPTER ELEVEN
Barely half an hour after Emma left the duke alone with his dark thoughts, Giles arrived with an urgent note from Amesbury’s valet pleading that Thomas come immediately. His lord was deathly ill.
The note slipped from Thomas’s hands unnoticed, as he tried to contain the sudden chill of foreboding that gripped him. He should not have left Amesbury alone; he had guessed he’d been unwell.
Dashing out of his study, tugging on his greatcoat, he mumbled for Giles to ready his mount; the carriage would be too slow.
Racing through the dark deserted streets of London, he prayed he wasn’t too late. Surely, whatever ailed Amesbury that evening would not kill him. Thomas refused to entertain such a morbid thought.
Amesbury’s valet, his demeanor somber, greeted Thomas on the steps and took his horse’s reins. “He is in his chamber, Your Grace.”
Bounding up the stairs two at a time, Thomas tried to remember which chamber belonged to his friend. He didn’t have to wonder long as Myles stood leaning against a wall, his arms crossed on his chest.
“What happened?” Thomas asked, breathless.
“I don’t know. The doctor’s with him. I just arrived myself.”
The door opened and an elderly white-haired, bespectacled doctor stepped into the hall. One hand carried a worn medical bag while the other quietly closed Amesbury’s chamber door.
“Lord Amesbury is suffering from an overdose of laudanum. Every sign leads me to believe he is addicted to opiates and has been for some time. If his use continues, he will die. I placed smelling salts on the table beside his bed. See if you can keep him awake and push fluids into him. I bled him to extract the poisonous drug from his system. There is nothing else I can do.” He bowed. “If you will excuse me, I have another patient to see. I will come back on the morrow. The next several days will be difficult––if he lives through them.”
Thomas shared a confused look with Myles. Quietly, they entered the room and went to stand at Amesbury’s bed. Amesbury lay on his back, perfectly still. His lips were tinged blue, as was his skin. If it weren’t for the slight rise and fall of Amesbury’s chest Thomas would have sworn his friend had already passed on.
Thomas, for the life of him, could no longer draw air into his lungs and reached to grasp the bedpost to keep from swaying.
His eyes fell on the bandage on Edward’s wrist, and he cursed. He did not believe in bloodletting. In his opinion, it killed more people than it saved.
Grabbing the smelling salts off the table, he looked at Myles. “Sit him up and hold him while I do this.”
Myles climbed up next to his friend, stacked pillows against the headboard, and struggled to raise his friend’s unconscious body. The moment Thomas passed the vile under Amesbury’s nose he awakened and struggled to breathe, fighting to push the salts away. His unfocussed eyes popped open, and he began to sputter deliriously.
Thomas grabbed the glass of water beside the bed and tried to get Amesbury to take some. It was useless; he gagged and spit it out. Thomas did not think it a good idea to try the water again. If his friend could barely breathe he certainly could not swallow anything. They were liable to drown him. Their goal was to keep him alive, not kill him.
No sooner had his sick friend opened his eyes than they rolled back and his eyelids closed again. His body sank heavily against the pillows.
The night continued much in the same manner. The two men took turns doing what they could. Thomas pulled a chair beside the bed and stared at Amesbury’s chest, watching it rise and fall. Several times their friend appeared to stop breathing. Thomas willed his friend’s heart and lungs to keep going, for each time Amesbury stopped breathing, Thomas stopped breathing as well. God answered him each time, because sure enough his friend’s chest would rise and fall again. Then Thomas would suck much-needed air into his lungs and thank God.
Every half-hour they hit Amesbury with the smelling salts; Amesbury’s eyes would open, roll back in his head, and close again. Thomas met Myles’s worried, bloodshot eyes across the bed, knowing he looked much the same as Myles.
“I feel useless. Why doesn’t he wake up?” Thomas demanded.
Myles dragged his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. I’ve never been one to take laudanum. I don’t know what it feels like or how it affects the body.”
“Nor do I. I never believed in it. Doctors seem to think it’s the cure-all for any ailment. Clearly it is dangerous – more dangerous than I’d believed.” He paused, putting his thoughts together in his mind. “What happened to him while we were overseas?”