Where was Monsieur Bartholdy taking him? But when the surgeon cut a hole in the side of her muslin gown, Julia was glad he was gone.
The surgeon washed away the blood. “Glory be. This is but a flesh wound. The bullet merely scraped you, child, and kept going. You shall require no more than a bandage.” He shook his head, smiling. “You are a very fortunate young lady.”
Only a flesh wound. That was good. She waited impatiently as he applied some kind of salve to the wound and then bandaged it with Madame Bartholdy’s help.
“Madame Bartholdy,” Julia said, reaching for that lady’s hand, “please tell Mr. Langdon that he must get away from here. He could still be in danger.”
“You can tell him so yourself,” she said cheerfully, laying a thin shawl over Julia to ensure her modesty. “I’ll go get him.”
“Now, miss, I think you will be well.” The surgeon was packing up his things. “Change your bandage once or twice a day and do not do anything strenuous for several days.”
“Oh, I must pay you.” She could not allow the Bartholdys to bear the expense.
“I will take care of it,” Nicholas Langdon said as he strode toward her. He and the surgeon spoke quietly with each other in the corner of the room for a few moments before he came toward her.
“You must go.” Julia tried to sound as urgent as possible. “My uncle may try again to kill you.”
“Won’t he also come looking for you?”
“Yes, but he won’t kill me.” He will only force me to marry Mr. Edgerton. “You are the one in danger.”
“I do not think he will attempt to kill me a second time in one night. But I must go now and speak to the constable. I saw some men overcome our shooter and capture him, just after the second shot.”
“Oh. But what if—”
“Do not worry.” He grabbed her uninjured hand and held it firmly between both of his. “I shall return for you very soon. First I must make sure your uncle is arrested—tonight, so he cannot harm you or me again.”
“But you do not know who else may be out there, trying to kill you.”
“Hush, now.”
She was so aware of his bare hand holding hers. What did he mean by it? For him to hold her hand without gloves . . . it was very improper. But she suddenly didn’t care, for the first time in her life, what was proper or improper. She loved this man with all her heart.
But that was precisely why she should not allow him to hold her hand. He could not marry her, after all.
He seemed about to say something else when a knock came at the door.
“Nicholas?” came a man’s voice from behind them. “I heard you—or a lady—were shot. What has happened?”
Mr. Wilson came toward them, his eyes roving from Mr. Langdon to Julia lying on the settee.
“This lady, Miss Grey, was hit by a shot fired at me, I’m afraid.” Mr. Langdon looked down at her, his expression very serious. “But now I must go and see what I can do to have our assailants arrested. Would you stay here while I’m gone and make sure the lady is safe?”
“Yes, of course.”
Madame Bartholdy was standing over Julia, smiling. “You should rest, my dear. The surgeon said to give you a few drops of this to help you sleep.” She held a small bottle and a glass in her hand.
Julia tried to catch a last glimpse of Mr. Langdon as he walked out the door. God, keep him safe.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Julia awoke to a bit of light spreading on the floor from some unseen window. Where was she? She recognized the Bartholdys’ sitting room and realized she was lying on their settee amidst a comfortable cocoon of blankets. Then the events of the day before came back to her.
Her side pained her a bit as she sat up. But it was only a flesh wound, the surgeon had said. Her finger was still wrapped in the bandage Nicholas Langdon had tied on and did not hurt at all. But she must have dropped her cross when the bullet had hit her finger. She wished she could have it back, wished she had not dropped it, but at the time, it was the last thing on her mind.
Had Mr. Langdon and the police apprehended the men responsible for shooting at him, including her uncle?
“I have to go.” Julia pushed herself up, feeling the pull of the bandage on her side and a twinge of pain.
“Where are you going?” Madame Bartholdy sat up straighter from the armchair where she sat covered with a thin blanket. She smiled pleasantly.
“Madame Bartholdy. Thank you for caring for me last night and staying with me. I seem to have slept all night. Do you know if Mr. Langdon was able to . . .”
Footsteps sounded in the corridor, and then the man in question stood in the doorway.
“Miss Grey, Madame Bartholdy,” he greeted them politely. He turned to Julia with a slight crease in his forehead. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“I am very well, thank you. Just a flesh wound.” She smiled.
“I retrieved this for you. At least, I think it is yours.” He held out her heavy iron cross.
“Oh yes! Thank you. It belonged to my parents. I brought it with me to use as a weapon, in case I needed it.”