Chapter Twenty
Why does Miss B. keep waking me up? Why can she not let me sleep? I am so tired, and my head hurts like I put it through a brick wall.
Then it was morning. The light hurt her eyes, so the drapes were drawn.
Why am I in the red sitting room? I hate this room. Why am I not in bed? And why am I still dressed?
Miss B. was getting her to sit up and take some beef broth. Surely that was a strange morning drink. But her stomach was queasy, so that was just as well. Parker was arranging her hair and offering her a steamy towel to cleanse her face and hands.
How did they get so dirty?
“Would you like to change your frock? Sir Bertie will be coming to sit with you today.”
“Sir Bertie? Whatever is he coming for?”
“You were attacked in the East End yesterday, my dear,” Miss B. said. “Sir Bertie fought off the ruffians and rescued you. You had been knocked unconscious and sustained a concussion. We are watching you carefully lest you slip into a coma.” She smoothed Catherine’s hair gently. “That is why we are not letting you sleep as much as you would like.” Catherine watched as a sudden gleam animated her eyes. “Sir Bertie insists on watching you today. It was only with the greatest of difficulty that I was able to send him home last night.”
Images of the day before began to materialize in her mind. Horrid, horrid men. Then an image of Bertie, bending over her here on this sofa, stroking her cheek, applying ice to her head.
Turning her head away, she winced. “Do not send for my brother, please. He will only strive to complicate everything, and I cannot deal with Robert right now.” A picture came into her mind of Sir Bertie dancing with the lady with the long neck. “And I am afraid Sir Bertie must take me as he finds me. I have no inclination to change my frock. It would take energy I am afraid I do not possess.”
Her head pounded like a drum, and it was difficult for her to think.
“He is going to come in through the servants’ entrance so as not to cause gossip,” Miss B. assured her.
Lady Clarice came into the room. “I am afraid the damage is already done, Sukey. Someone saw Sir Bertie carry her into the house yesterday. It’s in the Post.” She handed the newspaper to her friend.
Catherine moaned. “That’s torn it. My brother will be on his way home from Newmarket. Were you here all night as well, Lady Clarice?”
“No, I just arrived. I had to see for myself how you did. You look far better than I expected, but what a near thing it was!”
At that moment, Sir Bertie walked into the room, his brow puckered, his eyes narrowed in concern. “You are awake. Thanks be to Providence,” he said.
“And you,” said Catherine softly. “You are my rescuer. Do you think it might have been white slavers? Or is that something out of The Mysteries of Udolpho?”
“I know little about that sort of thing, but I have never known them to prey on women of quality. Too many repercussions if they go missing. Were the men waiting for you as you came out of the church?”
“They were surrounding my carriage. They attacked my coachman.” She turned to Miss B. “I haven’t even asked. How does he?”
“He is being watched over for concussion as well,” said Miss B. “It took him a bit to come around.”
“I think this was more than an opportunistic attack if the men were waiting for you,” said Sir Bertie. “How would they know it was a woman and not a man who had come in the coach? I think this involved some planning, some foreknowledge of your routine.”
“That does not augur well,” said Lady Clarice. “I feel responsible. I should have better calculated the risks in sending you there.”
Catherine objected. “It was my own fault. I was the one who went unescorted. It was foolish and wrongheaded of me.”
“Your brother did not turn up?” Miss B. asked.
“He must have taken it into his head to go to Newmarket and completely forgotten. He probably has a horse running,” Catherine said.
She looked at Sir Bertie. Was he here out of true concern, or was it only gentlemanly obligation? She did not want to impose on him. In the past, she would have been only too willing to have him here, but after the scene at the ball, she wondered. She desperately wanted him to stay. His very presence calmed her.
“Come, Sukey,” said Lady Clarice. “Now that Sir Bertie is here, we will get you home for some rest.”
“Could you call Lady Catherine’s maid before you go?” asked Sir Bertie. “We must observe the proprieties.”
“Of course,” said Lady Clarice, pulling the bell. “Even though they are ridiculous.”
“What did the newspaper say?” asked Catherine.
“The newspaper?” echoed Bertie.
“Apparently, you were observed carrying Lady Catherine into the house,” said Lady Clarice.
Catherine brought the back of her wrist to her forehead. “Lady Clarice, will you kindly tell Stebbins to deny me to callers? Tell him to be firm.”
The ladies both stood. “I will do so on the way out, my dear. Ah, here is Parker, so we will take our leave. Try to sleep, Catherine. Sir Bertie will wake you every two hours until this evening. By then, Sukey says you will be out of danger.”
“Miss B., thank you ever so much for staying with me last night,” Catherine said.
“You are welcome, dear.” She turned to the maid. “Bring some more ice for her head, if you please. She should have it now and this afternoon, as well.”
When everyone else had departed, Sir Bertie took a chair by the fire opposite the sofa. However, even the best effort could not keep her from sliding back into sleep. She was vaguely aware of ice being applied, but she did not open her eyes.
* * *
Someone was clasping her hand. “Wake up, Lady Catherine.”
She struggled out of a deep sleep. Sir Bertie was bent over her. “Why are you still here?” she asked, confused.
“I need to be,” he said. “You are not out of danger yet.”
“My maid can take care of me.”
“I would be fretting if I were not here,” he said. “I keep reliving the moment I saw you lying there in the street.”
His concern warmed her. With her defenses down, she allowed herself to feel cared for.
He called for the ice again, and she watched him pace the room.
“I think it is a good sign that you are still conscious,” he said. “The longer you stay that way, the less likely you will drift into a coma.”
“You must not fret,” she said softly. “I am going to be up and about in no time. But right now, I’m just so sleepy.” She yawned.
“Cumberwell was here,” he said. “He was not too happy to be turned away. I could not think that your instructions to Stebbins included him, but you were resting so well, I did not like him to disturb you,” he said. “We talked over the matter. I have been thinking, and I believe your attack may be tied to the Gentleman Smuggler. He could have paid those ruffians.”
“But he has let me alone ever since I have returned to London! Why would he attack now?”
“Perhaps you saw him and did not realize it.”
A hazy memory rose in her mind. Could that be it?
“The Fotheringills’ ball,” she said. “I overheard someone talking. His words could have referred to the smuggling operation.” She told Bertie about going out for a breath of air during the ball. “I must have made a sound, because he and his associate started after me. It was very dark, but there was a bit of light showing through the kitchen window. Perhaps he recognized me before I went inside.”
Sir Bertie said, “There you have it. Were you able to see him at all?”
“No. And he was not the one speaking. But it sounded like the one man was talking to our Gentleman Smuggler—all about his men being in jail and their not being able to put their hands on Saint Barnabas brandy though it was the middle of the Season.”
“Don’t force the memory now. It will only make your headache worse.”
She shifted a bit on the couch. It suddenly felt full of lumps.
“Are you uncomfortable?” he asked. “I can easily carry you up to your bed, if you like.”
“Maybe that would be best—if you do not mind.”
“I can manage,” he said.
Bending over her, he moved the blankets and, putting one arm behind her neck and the other under her knees, lifted her easily. She did not know what to do with her arms, so she put them around his neck. “I’m afraid my bedroom is on the second floor,” she said.
“You are as light as down. Don’t worry.”
She directed him up the two flights of stairs and into her wing of the house. It was lovely being held so close to him. Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she savored the feeling. Then her head recalled her attention with its pounding.
Her maid scurried ahead of them. Catherine knew she would turn back the bed and ready the fire. For May, it was still chilly in the big stone house.
She was cheered by the sight of her bedroom. It was the only room in the house in which she felt at home. Catherine had seen to its decoration herself, choosing apple-green walls with white trim and upholstery in yellow, green, and white. As Sir Bertie put her down, she relished the comfort of her bed.
“I am going to sleep now,” she said.
Sir Bertie smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “I will leave you to your maid and come back to wake you in a couple of hours,” he said.
Catherine wished she could tell him she did not need him, but she was far too desirous of his presence. He was both soothing and solid. And she loved the touch of his hand, no matter how brief. She went off to sleep feeling comforted, a steady warmth in her breast.
Two hours later, Sir Bertie woke her gently. “Time for another bit of ice. How are you feeling?”
Catherine struggled to wake up. “The pain is lessening, I think. I should like to try to sit up.”
As he helped her into a sitting position, they heard a thundering voice in the doorway. “Backman! Get away from my sister or I’ll have you horsewhipped!”
“Robert!” she exclaimed. “Do not be so rude! Sir Bertie saved my life!”
Her brother strode until he was next to her bed. He pulled the ice bundle off her head. “What is this tomfoolery?”
“It is ice. It brings down the swelling,” she said. Sir Bertie had backed away and stood in the doorway.
“I thought you were at Newmarket!” she said.
“I broke my journey for a couple of days. Lucky thing, too. I saw the gossip you’ve been generating in the Post.”
“Sit down for goodness’ sake and listen,” she said. “I was set upon by ruffians in the East End yesterday afternoon because you did not appear to escort me! They beat me with a cudgel. I do not know why or what their intentions were. It could be connected to the smuggler, but believe me when I say they might have killed me or kidnapped me if it were not for Sir Bertie. He heard my screams from blocks away and came to my aid. Fortunately, he was in the neighborhood looking at property for Lady Clarice.”
“None of this explains what Backman is doing in your bedroom!”
“I just moved up here this morning. I have been on the sofa in the sitting room. Sir Bertie has been waking me every two hours so I would not slip into a coma. He deserves your thanks. If you are at all happy that I am alive, that is.”
“Backman, you will wait for me downstairs.”
“He will do no such thing. Neither he nor I answer to you. Now go away; you are making my head pound!”
Sir Bertie said stiffly, “She is not out of danger, Redmayne. I’ll leave, but you must arrange for her to be cared for.”
“I am capable of taking care of my own sister! In any case, that is what her maid is for!”
“Leave my bedroom, Robert!” cried Catherine, holding her head. What an abominable idiot her brother was.
“Redmayne,” said Sir Bertie. “After you.”
“You have not heard the end of this!” exclaimed Robert.
“What are you going to do?” asked Catherine. “Insist that he save my reputation by marrying me?”
Robert clenched his hands at his side, his face choleric.
Sir Bertie turned to leave the room, saying, “I hope you will soon be recovered, Lady Catherine.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “Thank you, Sir Bertie. Thank you so much.”
Once he had left the room, she began to weep. “You are so cruel, Robert. Leave me now, or I shall chuck this piece of ice at you!”
“He is an encroaching popinjay!”
“You are the popinjay!” She took the lump of ice from her head, unwrapped it, and hurled it at her brother. It struck him in the chest. “Leave at once!”
“You are not to go to the East End again!” he said on his way out of the door.
Catherine decided in that moment that at soon as her head ceased to pound, she was going to write to her father and bid him join them in London.