Virtue of a Governess (28 page)

“No, I’ll seem overbearing.”

“You are.”

He gave her a lopsided grin and turned away from the window. “I am not overbearing at all. I am a concerned husband.”

She laughed at that. “Be a concerned brother then and pour me a Madeira.”

“What are you trying to knit this time?” He went to the drinks cabinet, poured the drink and handed it to her.

“I need to make five scarves for a family who just lost their father.” She gave him a sarcastic glare. “And I can knit, thank you very much. True, I am not exceptional at it, but I’ll improve with time and practice.”

“You are too good. I hope they appreciate your kindness.” Wandering back to the window, he searched the street. Nicola had never been this late. A gnawing feeling twisted his gut. The door opened and Agnes came through, carrying a basket of logs for the fire. “Agnes, tell cook to hold dinner until Mrs West is home.”

“Yes, sir.” Agnes unloaded the wood and placed a piece on the flames. “Cook was just mentioning the same thing to Timms, sir.”

“Timms?” Nat frowned. “Why is he home? Didn’t he take my wife this morning?”

“Yes, sir, he did. She sent him home.”

Nat stormed from the room and down the hall to the kitchen. Fran called him, but he ignored her. He opened the kitchen door harder than he meant to, startling the cook and Mrs Rawlings. Both bobbed their respect. Timms jerked to his feet from a chair by the door where he’d been polishing his boots.

“Timms, why aren’t you with my wife?”

“She told me to return home, sir. We were caught in a road blockage. She didn’t want to wait and decided to walk.”

“Walk to where?”

“Charlotte Place, sir, to see the printers.”

“And afterwards, do you know of her intentions?”

“To go to the dressmakers and then back to the Home.”

“And she didn’t want you to meet her there?”

“No, sir. She said for me to come back here in case you had need of me. She said she’d catch the omnibus.”

Nat clenched his jaw at her damned independence. “Get the carriage out. We’ll go to the Home and collect her.”

“Yes, sir.” Timms hastily pulled on his boots and after taking his jacket off the hook on the back door, hurried out into the yard.

Nat turned to the housekeeper and cook. “I apologise that the meal may be ruined, Cook.”

“Nay, sir, I’ll sort it out, never fear.” She bobbed her head, her double chin wobbling.

He left the kitchen and met Frances in the hall. “I’ve ordered the carriage.”

“Yes, I thought you might.” She put on her cloak and gloves as Agnes joined them to collect his outdoor clothes for him. “I will laugh at you over this, you know. Such fuss just because she’s a little late.”

“She’s two hours late, Fran.” He took his hat and gloves from Agnes. “If something had held her up, she would have sent word.”

The time it took to travel to the Home served to further tighten his stomach into knots. Nat prayed she was there, yet a part of him knew she wouldn’t be.

In the Home’s parlour he spoke to the women gathered, asking them if they knew the whereabouts of his darling girl.

“I’m sorry, Mr West.” Florence, the only woman standing, twisted her fingers together. “Mrs West left here about eleven o’clock. She was going to the printers. She said she’d be back by three and when she didn’t arrive I assumed she’d gone home.”

He glanced at Frances, and the worry he felt was reflected in her face. “We’ll go to the printers first and see what time she left there.”

Frances stood, nodding. “Thank you, ladies. We’d best be going now.”

“You will let us know when you find her, won’t you?” Florence asked, walking with them to the front door.

“We will.” Frances squeezed her hand.

Putting on his hat, Nat noticed that his hand trembled. Frances saw it too, and covered it with her own. “We’ll find her, Nat.”

He managed a brief smile, but his facial muscles felt stiff with the effort. As he helped her inside the carriage, the sound of hoof beats on the drive made him pause.

“Who could this be?” Florence said from the doorway. “It’s nearly dark.”

Nat stepped back to see the rider come into the golden light spilling from the doorway.

The rider, no more than a youth, dismounted and swiped off his cap. “Who is in charge here?”

Florence stepped forward. “I am. Can I help you?”

“I’m from the hospital. A lady has been brought in and the doctor believes she is associated with this Home.”

Nat thought his heart would stop. “A lady?”

The youth nodded, causing his blond hair to fall over his eyes. “Doctor Harper thinks she might be the lady who held the charity ball last year, which he attended.”

“Hurry, Nat!” Frances demanded from the carriage door.

“Timms follow this fellow.” Nat, with one foot on the folding step, looked back at the boy. “Take us there.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy grabbed the horse’s reins and heaved himself back into the saddle.

“We mustn’t become over-imaginative, Nat. She could have merely sprained an ankle,” Frances said, gripping his arm as the carriage careened down the drive and along the roads into the city.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Frances. If it was only a sprain she’d have told them her name.”

“Yes, of course. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

Agitated, he flung his hat off onto the opposite seat and ran his hand through his hair. “She must be unconscious. Perhaps received a blow to the head.” He bit back a moan of agony at the thought.

“Yes, she may have fallen and banged her head. It is very likely, the roads are so uneven.”

He closed his eyes, willing her not to be badly hurt, but they sprang open again as the carriage slowed and turned into the hospital drive. In the darkness, he felt disorientated, but lamplight showed up the front door and before the horses had come to a complete stop, he threw open the door and jumped down. He waited fractionally to help Frances and then they were hurrying through the hospital entrance to the office on the right.

“Come this way, sir.” The youth on horseback had followed them in and was now gesturing for them to go with him down a wide corridor to the right.

Nat followed blindly, his mind in turmoil and Frances clinging to his arm. The boy turned left and then right again into a large ward, lined with beds. He stepped up to the nurse seated at a desk. “I’ve brought these people here. They might know the lady Doctor Harper was examining earlier.”

The nurse rose, and smiling kindly, came towards them. “I’m senior Nurse Orwell. Please wait here while I fetch the doctor.” She disappeared through a doorway behind her desk, returning a few moments later with a small bespectacled man.

“I’m Nathaniel West.” He searched the doctor’s face for any hint of bad news.

“How do you do, Mr West. I’m Doctor Harper.” He held out his hand to be shaken.

Nat, his patience at an end, hastily shook it. “My wife has been missing and—”

“Ah, I see. Did you marry Miss Douglas from the governess home?” Harper nodded as if it all made sense to him now. “I remembered her name about ten minutes ago. I thought it was her, as I attended the ball, you know, but I couldn’t think of her name at first. I was about to send for Mr Belfroy.”

“How is she? Can I see her?” Nat stepped forward. If the man didn’t take him to her shortly, he’d not be responsible for his actions.

“Yes, yes, come along.” Harper bowed to Frances and then waved towards the door he’d come out of. “I have her in a room by herself, so she can be assessed.”

Nat followed Frances into the bright white-washed room. The room held a bed and a chair. Under the window was a narrow wooden table. Nat heard Frances’s small gasp and he closed his eyes. He stopped, unable to move or open his eyes in fear of what he might find.

“As you can see, Mr West, your wife has been attacked. Her left eye has closed shut due to swelling and bruising and she has a lump on the back of her head. The main injury is the stab wound.”

Nat’s eyes flew open. Stabbed! He stared at the slim figure of Nicola lying under the white sheet. “Is-is she dead?” He swayed. She looked dead. His beautiful girl, his darling Nicola looked dead to him. Please, God, please don’t let her be dead.

He blinked, realising he’d missed what the doctor said. “What did you say?”

Harper walked to the bed and felt Nicola’s pulse. “I said that the knife hit her hip bone and skimmed off it. I can’t see evidence of any organs being damaged by the blow. Although deep, the wound is clean. I’ve stitched it and believe she will recover fully from this attack.”

“Why isn’t she awake?” Fran’s voice came out on a choked whisper. She sat on the chair by the bed, tears filling her eyes.

“I’ve given her laudanum.” Harper felt Nicola’s forehead. “The pain was rather intense, but she’s resting peacefully now.” He straightened. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to check other patients. I’ll be back shortly.” With a nod he left the room.

From his position by the door, Nat stared at Nicola’s damaged face. How could anyone have hurt her so savagely? For what purpose? A burning rage filled him. He clenched his fist, fighting the urge to smash someone or something. There was a roaring in his ears. His jaw ached from tension.

“Nat.”

He jerked his gaze away from Nicola to Fran.

“Nat, come closer, take her hand. We need to tell her we’re here and that she is safe.”

“I cannot.” And he couldn’t. He was physically unable to move. His heart cried out to her. He longed to gather her into his arms and hold her forever, but he simply couldn’t.

“Don’t be silly, Nat.” Frances frowned, her whispers growing more demanding. “Come over here. She needs you.”

He took a step back, the desire to flee the room so strong he could hardly resist it.

Frances rose, her expression close to loathing. “Nathaniel West if you leave this room I’ll never speak to you again.”

He sucked in air, not knowing he’d held his breath. Panic gripped him. “Fran…” His chest tightened. His eyes stung.

“Oh, dearest.” Fran ran to him and held him hard against her. For an instant he wanted to repel her embrace. He needed air. He needed…

He needed his love, the one he’d die for.

Through tear-blurred vision he gazed at his darling. She’d been in pain, hurting, crying and he’d not been there. Why wasn’t he with her? Why did he ever let her out of his sight? She was too precious and meant so much to him, so why hadn’t he been there to stop this?

How would she ever forgive him?

He closed his eyes, feeling the hot tears roll down his cheeks. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried and it felt foreign, strange.

“Nat.” Fran smiled up at him, her eyes as wet as his. “Sit with her. Let her know you’re here.”

Allowing her to guide him to the bed, his legs heavy and heart even heavier, he drew nearer to Nicola’s bedside. This close, the bruising on her swollen eye appeared worse, her skin so pale. Pain, a psychical pain in his chest rendered him to his knees beside the bed.

He grabbed her hand and kissed it, laying the palm against his cheek. “Nic, my dar…darling.” He cleared his throat. “Sweetheart, it’s me, Nat. I’m here. I’m holding your hand.” When there was no response he glanced up at Frances standing beside him.

“Perhaps it’s the laudanum.” Fran laid her hand on his shoulder.

“I want to take her home.”

“You can. As soon as she is better.”

“She can get better at home.”

“They won’t allow you to move her, and we don’t want to, not yet.”

He gently touched her hair, always so soft. If only he could hold her, take the hurt from her. “How could anyone do this to her?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll find the culprit.” He got to his feet, still holding Nicola’s hand. “I’ll find the person who did this and I will kill him.”

A dull ache spread from Nicola’s side, engulfing her whole body it seemed. From one eye, she watched the nurse and doctor move to the end of the bed and murmur to each other. They’d finished examining her and changed the bandage on her hip. She’d liked to have known what they said, but tiredness won over curiosity and she closed her eyes.

Whispers woke her. Opening her good eye, she waited for her vision to clear. Frances sat beside the bed, whispering to a nurse who stood in the doorway.

“Thank you, nurse. I’ll sit with her for an hour or so.” Frances turned back and her eyes widened when she saw that Nicola was awake. She held her hand. “Dearest.”

“Fran.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know. I feel nothing for the moment.” She frowned, wondering why. “Earlier it hurt, my side.”

“Yes, dearest, it will for a while. The doctor is happy with your progress though and says that he’ll reduce the amount of laudanum, if you can handle the discomfort.”

“Laudanum.”

“Yes, for the pain.” Frances fiddled with straightening the sheet and blanket. “If you have less of the drug you’ll be clearer in your mind, but the pain might be too much for you.”