Serafina knew that Dylan Tremayne had a quick mind. He had jumped immediately at the thought and spoken as if it had come from her own mind. “It’s not that exactly,” she said, “but when I was younger I had some fanciful ideas much like you do now.” She hesitated then said, “I found out that fancy doesn’t last, and it’s not real.”
“Is it people you’re talking about now?”
Indeed, colour rose in her cheeks, for she had been thinking of her husband, Charles. She’d had romantic notions about him as big as the Alps, and they had all come tumbling down when she had found out what kind of a man he really was. Since that time she had been afraid to trust anything that could not be verified in a laboratory or on a sheet of paper.
“I suppose it’s partly my father who taught me to trust reason and logic and things that could be weighed and measured in a laboratory.”
“Well, those things are necessary, but there is beauty in the world. Look at that.” Dylan waved at a skylark that was making his way across the sky above them. “What a fellow he is! I’m sure there are people who can describe the mechanics of his flight, how he does it, but, Lady Serafina, I’m more interested in the beauty of it and the songs that he sings. Listen to that.”
Serafina followed the flight of the skylark and was trying to prepare an answer when she suddenly heard Danny Spears cry out, “David, get out of there!”
Serafina whirled and saw that David had gone into the pasture where the bull was kept. With one quick turn of her head, she heard the sound of hooves and turned quickly to see the red bull Albert had warned her about heading straight toward David. Her heart seemed to stop, and she cried out, “David—!”
She saw at once that there was no time. Albert was too far from the fence, and Danny was even farther. She started running, knowing it was hopeless, but she was surprised as Dylan ran as fleetly as a deer and hurdled the fence using his arm as a fulcrum. He ran straight toward the bull, ripping off his coat as he went, and when the bull was no more than ten feet away from David, he shouted and waved the coat at the huge animal. Serafina saw the bull’s attention turn from David to Dylan. The bull whirled quickly, raising dust in the pasture, and made for Dylan. Dylan threw the coat at the bull, hoping, she thought, to throw it over his face, but it missed.
And then she saw the massive horns of the bull swing in an arc and, to her horror, strike Dylan in the side. He was lifted like a bag of feathers and rolled in the dirt. Serafina knew she screamed, and she ran forward and saw that David had slipped through the fence to safety. She turned back toward Dylan and watched with terrifying dread.
Serafina had never known such a sickening feeling. The bull was savaging Dylan, who was trying to fend him off, but the wicked horns swung, and she saw blood leave a red track along his left leg. “Dylan!” she cried as she ran forward but had to stop at the fence.
Suddenly Danny was running. He held a shotgun in his hand and slipped through the fence as if he were greased. The bull swung his horns again, and the blunt side caught Dylan in the head. He lay still. But when the bull lowered his head, she heard the shotgun explode. The charge caught the bull in the nose, and he bellowed as he backed off. Danny, small but bold as a lion, ran forward and let the bull have the other charge. He bellowed again, turned, and fled, his hooves like miniature thunder on the hard turf.
Serafina slipped through the gate and ran to Dylan’s side. She had seen the terrible blows, and blood was seeping out of a wound on his left leg. When she held his head, she felt a knot beginning to swell.
She looked up and said, “You were wonderful, Danny!”
“I keep this shotgun to run the crows away. It was only bird shot,” Danny said, his eyes wide.
“Is he all right, Mum?”
Serafina turned to see Albert Givins and Peter Grimes, the footman, coming. She called out, “Get a door and carry him to the small laboratory.”
She pulled Dylan’s head up and knew that the horns could have penetrated his body in other places, even if no blood showed yet. She was holding his head tightly to her breast when she heard David say, “Is . . . is he going to die, Mum?”
“No, he won’t die.” She sat there until the men came carrying a door, and all together they picked up the still form of Dylan Tremayne and placed him on it, then looked at Lady Trent for instructions. “We’ll take him to the outside laboratory,” she said.
Danny Spears swallowed. “But that’s where you take the dead people to cut them up.”
“There are instruments there.” She turned to her son. “David, run quick to the house and get your grandfather.”
“I’ll get him right now!”
She walked beside the makeshift stretcher as the four took the injured Tremayne toward the small building that her father used for autopsies, among other things. She tasted a bitterness in her spirit.
I said awful things to him and told him not to come back!
She had suddenly an overwhelming impulse to cry out to God to save Dylan, but she was out of the habit of prayer and not a word would come to her lips.
I
f Serafina Trent, the Viscountess of Radnor, prided herself on anything, it was her calm, reasonable, and logical approach to all matters, no matter how minor. As she walked beside the wounded Tremayne, however, she found that her hands were unsteady and her mind was filled with a dread that she had never known. Glancing over her shoulders, she saw the bull at the far end of the pasture, and the thought of what the vicious animal might have done to David sickened her. Her son was her treasure on this earth, and the thought of his being savaged by the bull was more than she could bear.
She looked down. The wounded man was being borne by Albert Givins, the coachman, and Peter Grimes, the footman, with the help of two other male servants. As they walked, carefully carrying the burden toward the outside laboratory, Serafina forced herself to remain calm.
The outside laboratory was simply a rectangular, redbrick building some twenty feet by thirty-six, the walls pierced by several windows and covered by tile. It was separated from the house by a series of enormous yew trees, and Serafina moved ahead now toward the door. The men paused with their burden as she opened it and quickly turned on the gaslight. One quick look assured her that the table on which autopsies were conducted was the logical place. It was waist high and would make it easier to tend to Dylan’s wounds. “Let me put something on that,” she said to the men and quickly found several blankets. She made a pad out of them, working efficiently, then turned and said, “Bring him in and put him on this table.”
The men moved carefully, and Serafina said, “Be as gentle as you can. He may have some broken bones.”
“Yes, ma’am, so it be,” Peter said. He and the other three men got a firm hold, and Peter said, “On the count of three we go. One. Two. Three.”
Serafina could not help but notice that Dylan’s face showed no response as he was lifted and placed on the blanket.
“That’s very good.”
“Wot else can we do, ma’am?” Albert asked.
She did not have time to answer, for David came running in, his face still pale and his voice unsteady. “Mum, Grandfather isn’t here. He’s gone to a meeting of the Royal Society in London.”
She stood there uncertainly, and then Aldora came in, having followed Danny. “What is it? What’s happened?” she cried.
“It’s Dylan. He’s been badly injured. He needs a doctor.”
Aldora stared at the still form of Dylan and said, “Father’s not here.”
“I know. We’ll have to get another doctor. Get someone to fetch Dr. Goldsmith as fast as he can.”
“I’ll do that, ma’am,” Albert said quickly. He was a small man, having been a jockey at one time, and never lost his cockney accent. “I’ll take the phaeton and the matched bays. They be the fastest.”
“Hurry, Albert! Explain the situation to him and get him here as fast as you can.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be quick as the wind.”
As Albert ran through the door, Serafina turned to see David, who was staring fixedly at the still body of Dylan Tremayne. His lips were trembling, and he was so pale she feared for him. Going to him quickly, she put her arm around him and said, “You don’t need to be in here.”
“It’s my fault.”
“No, of course it’s not your fault. It was an accident.” Looking quickly up at Aldora, she added, “Dora, take David to the house, and don’t let anybody else come here. There’s no time for visiting. Oh, and tell Mrs. Fielding to get the small parlour made up into a bedroom.”
Aldora blinked with surprise. “Into a bedroom?”
“Yes, get a bed in it. Get some of those chairs and couches out.”
“I’ll do it myself,” Aldora said, but she cast an apprehensive look toward the body of the wounded man. “Is he . . . is he going to die?”
“No, of course not. Now, David, you go with Dora, and I’ll come and tell you after I’ve treated Mr. Dylan’s wounds.”
“Yes, Mum.”
“Is there anything else we can do, ma’am?” Peter asked.
“After I’ve treated him, I’ll want you and the others to carry him into the house to the small parlour.”
“Yes, ma’am, we’ll be outside in case you need us.”
“Thank you, Peter.”
Serafina did not watch the men leave. Her mind was already bent on the job that was before her. Going back to Dylan, the thought came to her,
I’ve taken care of dead bodies on this very table, but I wish father
were here.
Taking a firm grip on herself, she went back and began to examine Dylan. Blood was running down from his scalp onto the table. A gust of relief came to her lips as she saw that it was a minor cut that would require only a few stitches. A quick examination revealed that his shirt was torn, and his left side was bleeding profusely. His left trouser leg was soaked with blood, and through the rip in the cloth she could see the jagged wound left by the tip of the horn.
She moved quickly across the room, brought several instruments back on a tray, and set them down on the table. With quick, efficient movements, she cut the shirt off rather than try to unbutton it. When she pulled it from him as gently as she could, he groaned slightly as she moved him. She pressed cloth bandages against the wound in his left side, and as she did, Dylan struck out involuntarily, uttering a small cry.
Quickly she put her hand on his forehead and looked down into his eyes. “Can you hear me, Dylan?”
A long moment’s pause, and then slowly his eyes opened, and he whispered, “Yes.”
“You’ve been badly hurt. You must lie very still.”
“What’s wrong . . . with my side?”
“I’m looking right now. You have a bad cut. Does it hurt when you breathe?”
Dylan took a deep breath and grimaced. “It feels like somebody . . . kicked me.”
As well as she could, Serafina examined the ribs. “I don’t think they’re broken,” she said, “but they may be cracked. You’ll have to lie very still while I clean your cuts.”
She worked quickly and efficiently and noticed that he had turned his head to one side and was watching her. “Is David all right?”
“Yes. He’s fine. Father’s not here, so I sent for Dr. Goldsmith. But I need to get these wounds cleaned up. We don’t want anything to get infected.”
Serafina cleansed his side with alcohol and then put a bandage on it. No matter how gently she moved, she saw him flinch as she touched his side.
“You have a cut in your head. One of the horns probably struck you there.” She held up two fingers and said, “How many fingers do you see?”
“Two.”
“Follow my hand with your eyes.” She moved her hand up and down and then from side to side and said with relief, “You don’t have a concussion.”
“How did I get out of there?”
“It was Danny. He grabbed a shotgun loaded with bird shot and drove the bull away.”
“Good thing he did.”
“Very good thing indeed. Now, I’ve got to get your trousers off.”
Dylan’s eyes opened wide. “What?” he gasped.
“I’ve got to get your trousers off. Lie still.” She took the scissors and began cutting at the cuff. As she did, Dylan protested vociferously. “You can’t do that!”
“This is no time for modesty, Dylan. You have a bad wound in this leg.”
Dylan said nothing, and she quickly cut the trousers away and pulled them off. “That’s a bad cut. It’s going to need stitches.”
“Can’t you give me something to cover up with?”
“Don’t be foolish, Dylan,” she admonished him but took a large piece of cloth and handed it to him. “Here.”
She began to clean the leg, and once when the towel slipped off, he grabbed at it, gasping at the pain in his ribs.
“I didn’t know actors were so modest,” she said with a partial smile, then looked at the cut and shook her head. “If that horn had caught you an inch or so to the right, it would have been death for you. There’s a big artery that runs down the leg here. You would have bled to death before we could have gotten you here.”
Dylan looked at her, and she met his eyes. “God was with me then,” he said quietly.
“Yes, I think He was.” Her statement surprised herself and Dylan as well, for she had never said so much about God before.
To cover her confusion, she whirled, went over to the medicine cabinet, and came back with a bottle. “This is ether,” she said. “It’ll put you to sleep.”
He started to protest, but she shook her head. “It’s going to be very painful sewing that leg up. Now lie still. You’ll get sleepy and be gone almost at once. When you wake up, you’ll be all treated.” She put a cloth over the lower part of his face, dropped three drops onto it, and then watched carefully.
The use of ether was the greatest advancement to date in scientific medicine. It had been developed a few years earlier, and doctors no longer had to work at such a fast pace. Before the discovery of ether, when there was no such thing as putting someone to sleep, patients fought and jerked against the agony brought on by the knife to the point that a surgeon’s most valuable asset was his ability to operate quickly. That had all changed with the discovery of ether. After an American surgeon, Dr. Crawford Long, operated on an etherized patient, the practice of medicine was revolutionized. Serafina watched closely, wishing someone were there to help her, but the wound was bleeding badly and needed attention immediately.