Read My Favorite Countess Online
Authors: Vanessa Kelly
My Favorite Countess (35 page)
Taking a deep breath, she forced her attention onto the doctor. Her heart stuttered at the grim look on his jowly face.
Mrs. Griffiths leaned over and whispered into his ear.
“Yes, yes,” he responded irritably. “I realize the situation. I don't need you to explain it to me.”
Silverton's head came up. “What's wrong?”
“My lord,” the doctor said, “may I talk to you in the other room?”
“No!” Meredith's voice was surprisingly forceful. “You will talk to us both, Doctor. Is something wrong with my babies?”
“My lord,” responded Steele, now looking very nervous. “It would be more appropriate if I spoke to you first.”
Silverton hesitated, looking down at his wife. Anguish pulled his handsome features into a tight mask.
Meredith groped for his hand. “My love,” she said, “whatever it is, we'll get through it together.”
He gazed at his wife for a moment, then nodded. “Whatever it is you have to say,” he said, never taking his eyes off Meredith, “you can say to both of us.”
“Very well,” Steele replied stiffly. “One of the babies is lodged tightly against Lady Silverton's pelvis. I cannot turn it, and no amount of pushing will free the head. It's . . . it's stuck. I'm sorry.”
Meredith groaned and dropped her head on Silverton's shoulder.
“Good God, man, don't apologize,” snapped Bathsheba. “Tell us what is to be done. Her ladyship can't take much more of this.”
“There is only one thing to do, under the circumstances. We must act to save Lady Silverton's life. If we are very lucky, we might be able to save the second child. But even then, the chances are slim.”
Bathsheba froze, and both Meredith and Silverton gaped in horror at the doctor. The marquess found his voice first.
“Are you absolutely certain of that?”
“Quite, my lord. This is not the first such case I've seen.”
“No,” Meredith cried, thrashing her head on the pillow. “You must save my baby.”
“My lady,” pleaded the doctor. “There is no other way, I promise you. I must crush the baby's head and extract the rest of its body. If I don't, you will die.”
Meredith's protesting wail filled the room. Black dots danced in front of Bathsheba's eyes as a wave of shock washed over her. She clenched her teeth and gripped Meredith's hand as she forced her head to clear.
Silverton snapped his attention back to Meredith and tried to soothe her, even though he looked enraged and terrified, all at once. He clearly had his hands full with his distraught wife.
Bathsheba rose to her feet, keeping a firm grasp on Meredith's cold hand.
“Dr. Steele,” she said in a hard voice. “There must be something else you can do. I refuse to believe this is your only alternative.”
He began to bluster about all his years of experience, but Bathsheba's eye was caught by Mrs. Griffiths, who stood behind him, vigorously shaking her head.
Bathsheba cut Steele off with a sharp gesture.
“Mrs. Griffiths, do you have something to say?” she asked.
Steele fell silent, apparently stunned by Bathsheba's question. The nurse cast a worried look between Steele and Meredith, who was now sobbing quietly in Silverton's arms.
“Go on. Please,” Bathsheba encouraged the nurse.
“Well, my lady,” Mrs. Griffiths began, “I've seen Dr. Blackmoreâ”
“This is outrageous,” Steele roared. “That you would even think to place my word against that quack, that . . . that murderer.”
Bathsheba gasped with outrage, but Silverton's voiceâcold and deadlyâsliced through the room.
“Dr. Steele, you will shut your mouth or I will shut it for you. Do I make myself clear?”
Steele gaped at him, but then gave a weak nod.
“Good,” said the marquess. “Mrs. Griffiths, please continue.”
“As I was saying, sir, I've seen Dr. Blackmore save more than one mother and child in this situation, using forceps.”
“Forceps!” exploded Steele.
Another look from Silverton sent Steele into a fuming silence.
“Yes, forceps,” Mrs. Griffiths said defiantly. “Those that know how to use them can save many lives, and Dr. Blackmore knows what he's about. He's the best man-midwife I've ever worked with.”
Steele wiped beads of sweat from his purpling forehead. “Lord Silverton, I beg of you. This is the only way. You must trust me. It is madnessâ”
Meredith's voice came low and harsh from the bed. “Get out of my house. Now.”
Bathsheba swung around, her mouth falling open at the sight of the marchioness. She'd pushed herself up on her pillows, her black hair a wild tangle around her head, and her silver eyes blazing with hatred. She looked like an avenging goddess, and Bathsheba could almost believe she was about to rise up and throw Steele out on his ear.
“But, my lady,” whimpered Steele.
“You will not hurt my babies,” spat Meredith. “Get out.”
Silverton stood and took a menacing step toward the doctor. “You heard my wife. Leave now.”
Shocked, Steele took his bag and fled out the door.
A stunned silence filled the room. Then Meredith doubled over with a keening wail of pain. Silverton sank down beside her, gathering her up in his arms. He lifted his face, now drained and pale with fear, and stared at the nurse.
“Are you sure about this, Mrs. Griffiths?”
“I am, sir. If anyone can save those babies and Lady Silverton, it's Dr. Blackmore.”
He switched his pleading gaze to Bathsheba, who was already scrambling to grab her reticule and bonnet.
“Don't worry,” Bathsheba said as she yanked on her bonnet, all askew. “I'll find him. If I have to search every blasted alley in St. Giles to do it.”
“Take Robert with you. He can help,” called Silverton as she rushed to the door.
Mrs. Griffiths followed her. She gripped Bathsheba's arm.
“Hurry, Lady Randolph,” she whispered. “I don't think she has much time.”
Chapter 27
Trying to keep her face dry, Bathsheba ducked her head as Robert handed her from the carriage and onto the slippery pavement of Drury Lane. In keeping with their wretched luck all day, it had started to rainâa steady downpour that would soak them in minutes. Worse, the foul weather would hamper their search. Fortunately, at least they now had some notion where to seek John out.
After rushing from Silverton House, Bathsheba and Robert had headed to Market Lane in the faint hope that John had returned to his town house. He hadn't, but his manservant Jordan was there. He told them John had been called some hours ago to St. Giles to treat two patientsâa young woman in labor and an elderly man dying of consumption.
Bathsheba had been horrified at the idea of searching the tangled laneways of the rookery, especially at night. But when Jordan explained that the pregnant woman lived in the same slum as the Butler familyâthe flower girl, Bess, and her parentsâBathsheba's spirits lifted. She just might be able to recognize the tenement where Bess lived, if she could manage not to get them hopelessly lost or murdered first.
After a hurried discussion, she and Robert developed a plan. Jordan would go with them to St. Giles. He knew where the dying man lived, so he would look for John there. Bathsheba and Robert would try to find John's other patient. Although the prospect of searching the stews made her grow faint, the only alternative was to wait for John to return to Market Lane. By then, it might be too late for Meredith. Much worse to confront the terrors of the rookery than to face that possibility.
Bathsheba waited impatiently as the coachman unhooked a lantern from the carriage and handed it to Robert. Jordan had already faded into the night, disappearing into the shadows of Coal Yard like a wraith.
“Are you sure about this, Lady Randolph?” Robert asked, casting the lantern light onto her face. “You could wait here with the horses, and the coachman could come with me. I'm sure I could find the right building if you gave me directions.”
She snorted and turned her back on him. “We're not going for a stroll in Mayfair,” she flung back over her shoulder as she strode into the darkened laneway. “You'll never find the place without me.”
Despite her bravado, her legs trembled so badly she wondered how she managed to stay upright. More than anything, she longed to climb back into the carriage and huddle in the corner, leaving the men to search for John. But only she could find the place they were looking for in the confusing mass of tumble-down structures that made up this part of the stews. Letting her nerves get the best of her was unacceptable. She was Meredith's only hopeâshe and John, together.
Robert scrambled to catch up with her. “No need for sarcasm, Lady Randolph,” he grumbled. “And I suggest you let me go first with the lantern. It's dark as pitch in there. If you run head-first into a wall and knock yourself out, don't expect me to pick you up.”
She gave a surprised choke of laughter. “How very rude of you, Mr. Stanton. Whatever would your grandfather say?”
“I expect he would agree with me,” he retorted.
“You're probably right,” she said absently, scanning the buildings in the fitful light cast by the lantern.
She reached out and grabbed his sleeve, jerking him to halt at the junction of a laneway and two alleys. Her heart raced with fear and frustration as she tried to remember which way to go. She cursed, unable to make up her mind. Robert took her hand in a reassuring clasp.
“Take a deep breath and try not to think too hard for the answer,” he said. “That usually works for me when I've forgotten something, or when I'm afraid.”
She gave an irritated sigh but did as he suggested, closing her eyes and trying to let the tension fade away. Gradually, her pulse slowed and her mind cleared. Then she opened her eyes and let them wander where they would. Suddenly, she knew exactly where to go.
“That way,” she exclaimed eagerly, pointing to an alley branching off to the right.
Robert pulled her forward, holding the lantern high above their heads. The rain hissed down and spattered off broken pavement. She stumbled into a muddy hole, but Robert held her upright in a sturdy grip.
They made steady progress into the nightmare landscape and, strangely, Bathsheba grew ever more confident. Despite the rain and gloom, she began to recognize landmarks. As frightened as she'd been that day with John, she'd obviously kept enough of her wits to know where they were going.
They rounded a corner. After a brief hesitation, she led them through a deserted courtyard. She jumped when something scuttled by, brushing against her skirts. But that was the only living creature in the place. The rain, at least, had done that much for themâkept the most dangerous predators in the rookery safely in their lairs.
“That was a good trick,” she said to Robert as they hurried through the courtyard. “Thank you for helping me.”
“My grandfather taught me that. It was a trick he used during battle, when fear threatened to get the best of him.”
They exchanged brief smiles, then clasped hands tightly as they plunged into the black maw of another laneway. A few candles flickered here and there behind broken windows or tattered curtains, but darkness loomed on all sidesâthick and suffocating. If not for the light cast by the lantern, they would have been lost in the encompassing gloom.
As they emerged from the alley into another courtyard, a rough murmur of male voices brought them up short. Robert hissed out a warning and pulled her into a deserted doorway. He peered cautiously around the edge of the door frame, keeping the light well behind him.
He muttered a curse under his breath.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“There's a group of men in front of that building,” he returned. “Lady Randolph, you must stay back. I don't like the looks of this.”
“Robert, please stop calling me Lady Randolph. It's annoying and ridiculous under the circumstances.”
“I most certainly won't,” he huffed. “No need to lose one's manners simply because one could be knifed by a ruffian at any moment.”
“Do get out of the way,” she ordered, shoving past him. “I can't see anything.”
She peered through the rain at the knot of men gathered under the sagging portico of a tenement. Her heart thumped with relief and excitement.
“I know those men! We found it.”
“Lady RandolphâBathsheba, wait!” Robert cried.
Ignoring him, she raced across the courtyard and skidded to a halt in front of the men. They gaped at her, stunned into silence. All but one. He calmly removed a blackened pipe from between his teeth and ran his gaze over her sodden figure.
“You be lookin' for the doctor, I reckon. Must be a terrible lot of trouble you're in for you to be riskin' your pretty neck in this part of town.”
It was Mrs. Butler's neighborâthe one who had complained about the squalling baby.
Robert came up behind her in a rush, thrusting himself between Bathsheba and the men.
“Here,” he said loudly. “You stay away from her, you lout.”
A growl rumbled up in concert from several throats. Her pipe-smoking friend, however, barely gave the young man a glance.
“Do stop acting like an idiot, Robert,” Bathsheba snapped, elbowing him out of the way. “This man is a friend of John's. He can help us.”
The men's grumbles turned into laughter, and several ribald jokes were made at Bathsheba's and Robert's expense. The pipe smoker waved them to silence.
“You speak rightly, missus. How can I help you?”
“Is Dr. Blackmore here? With the woman having a baby?”
The man's rough face split into a grin. “That he is, and that be my grandson he delivered a few minutes ago. Safe and sound. And my daughter, too.”
Bathsheba staggered as a wave of relief washed through her, so strong that her head spun. A meaty paw shot out and gripped her elbow.
“Careful now, missus. Don't want to fall and bust your pretty head.”
She sucked in a wavering breath and found her balance. “Can you take me to the doctor? It's urgent.”
He knocked his pipe against the building and stowed it in his pocket. “It always is when there's a doctor involved, ain't it?”
Jerking his head for them to follow, he led them into a dingy hall and to the back of the building. Bathsheba's heart thudded with an erratic and painful beat, both at the thought of seeing John again and that they had found him so easily. With a little luck, they would be back in Grosvenor Square less than an hour after they left.
Their companion threw open a door and nodded for them to step through. Bathsheba blinked in the bright light cast by several branches of candles and a lamp. After a moment, the dancing motes in her vision cleared and a tall, broad-shouldered figure swam into focus.
John.
He cradled a swaddled infant in his arms as he spoke in a low voice to a tired-looking young woman on a cot in the corner. Bathsheba stumbled forward, fighting the impulse to burst into tears.
At the sound of her footsteps, John's head came up. He froze, staring at her with a blank expression. She gave him a tentative smile, but before she could say a word his silver gaze blazed into furious life.
“Jesus Christ, Bathsheba,” he said with a growl. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Bathsheba stood as if nailed to the rotten floorboards, the half-smile curving her plush lips fading away. John had thought never to see her again, and yet there she was. Rising before him like a beautiful apparitionâan enticing dream, one that had tormented him every night, just as the memory of her heartless rejection had dogged him during the endless hours of the day. When he wasn't being hauled off on murder charges, that is, or seeing his life's work crumble into dust. The fact that Bathsheba had been right about that last one, too, had made it a cruelly bitter potion to swallow.
She stared back at him, her slender throat working, trying to force words up into her mouth. The fashionably dressed young man beside her took her arm in a possessive grip, glowering at John with open suspicion.
Jealousy clawed deep in John's gut. “Who are you?” he demanded.
The young man bristled. He did a good job of it, given his sodden state.
“I'm Robert Stanton,” he said. “Are you Dr. Blackmore?”
John nodded, then gently handed Sarah Repton her baby. It had been a difficult labor for the girl, and the last thing she needed was two dripping strangers causing a scene.
Even if one of them was Bathsheba.
“Let's go out into the hallway,” he said.
He stalked across the room, running his gaze over Bathsheba as he did so. Her soaked walking dress clung to every curve, putting her ample charms on brazen display.
“What were you thinking coming down here, especially in this weather?” he snapped as he jerked her away from Stanton and pushed her into the hallway. “You could have been killedâor worse. And you're drenched. Have you lost your mind?”
Bathsheba yanked her arm away and glared up at him. She looked like a bedraggled waif, and a furious one at that. Yet he still wanted to plaster her body against his and cover her lips with a smothering kiss.
What a fool he was.
“I came looking for you because I had no other choice, you tiresome man,” she said through clenched teeth. “We've been to your house twice today, but you couldn't be found. Because you were too busy running away from your responsibilities!”
Fury exploded inside him. “What the hell do you think I was doing with that girl and her baby? Playing whist?”
She grabbed his waistcoat and came up on her toes, shoving her face right up to his. “We needed you, John . . . I needed you. And you couldn't be found.” Then she burst into tears.
Baffled and stunned, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and looked at Stanton, who stared at them with a bemused expression on his face.
“What's this all about?” John asked as Bathsheba sobbed into his chest.
“It's Lady Silverton,” the young man replied. “She's gone into labor. Something's wrong. Steele wanted toâ”
“Steele? Why the hell is he with Lady Silverton? She's not his patient!”
Bathsheba gave a hiccup and pushed out of his arms. “No, she's not. But you abandoned her, and Wardrop is out of town. Lord Silverton couldn't find anyone else but Steele.”
“I didn't abandon her,” retorted John. “You know that, Bathsheba. Or you would have, if you hadn't abandoned
me.
”
me.
”
She gasped with outrage and jabbed a finger into his chest. “Why, youâ”
“Excuse me,” interrupted Stanton in a testy voice. “Meredith is in trouble. We've got to get back to Silverton House before it's too late to save her.”
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