I handed her the candle, and together we bathed his wounds and revived him with the salts, until he opened his eyes and groaned. “Is there immediate danger?” he asked in a weak voice. What a coward, I thought. I assured him he was fine and that I was about to fetch the doctor.
“Jane,” I said to her, “I shall have to leave you in this room with this gentleman, for an hour, or perhaps two hours.” I tried to sound confident; I was removing the tourniquet as I spoke. And I was determined to leave no detail to chance, give the two of them no reason to speak a question or command between them. “You will sponge the blood as I do when it returns; if he feels faint, you will put the glass of water on that stand to his lips, and your salts to his nose. You will not speak to him on any pretext—and—Richard—it will be at the peril of your life if you speak to her: open your lips—agitate yourself—and I’ll not answer for the consequences.”
With that I gave the bloody sponge to Jane and watched her take up the task I’d given her. “Remember!—No conversation,” I said, and I left them there.
What else could I have done? Should I have let him die for his own foolishness, to protect my secrets? And yet: to think of Jane sitting there, mere yards from Bertha—was I myself a madman?
Thank God, Miss Ingram appeared to have given up on me. I dressed swiftly for the journey and raced to the stables for Mesrour. Pilot barked once to be allowed to come, but I quieted him with a word and made off in a state of both panic and exhilaration.
Though it was hours before dawn, I found Carter attending a dying patient, and despite that I sent in a message that my own errand was a matter of life and death, I still had to wait until he felt he could leave the suffering woman. In the meantime, I rounded up a post chaise for the surgeon and finally we were off, I still on Mesrour and urging the driver to whip his horses to a faster pace. It was one of the longest rides of my life; and I confess it was the uncertainty about Jane in that dark chamber alone for hours with Richard—so close to Bertha herself—that made my blood run cold.
Dawn was just announcing itself when we arrived. The driver waited below while I hurried Carter through the silent Hall.
“Now, Carter,” I said as we entered the chamber, “be on the alert: I give you but half an hour for dressing the wound, fastening the bandages, getting the patient downstairs and all.” As I spoke, I could not bear to look at Jane, dreading to think what she might have learned in my absence.
“But is he fit to move, sir?” Carter asked, bending over for a closer look.
“No doubt of it; it is nothing serious: he is nervous, his spirits must be kept up. Come, set to work.” I pulled back the curtain and drew up the Holland blind, letting in more light. Then I turned to Richard. “Now, my good fellow, how are you?” I asked him, feigning cheer.
“She’s done for me, I fear.”
“Not a whit!—courage! You’ve lost a little blood; that’s all. Carter, assure him there’s no danger.”
“I can do that conscientiously,” said Carter, who had already undone the bandages; but in the next moment he discovered the torn flesh where Bertha’s teeth had been, and he frowned at me.
“She bit me,” Richard murmured. “She worried me like a tigress—”
I hurried to stop him from saying too much. “You should not have yielded,” I said impatiently. “You should have grappled with her at once.” She had seemed so quiet, he replied; and he had wanted to see her, had believed he could do her good. His weakness made me furious; not only had he not trusted my word about her condition, but he had explicitly disobeyed my orders, and now was insisting on discussing it in front of Jane. I tried to soften my tone, to cover my own panic and fury, to keep Richard calm and Jane disinterested. But I needed him out of my house as swiftly as possible, before my guests awoke—and before Jane heard another word.
As Carter finished the shoulder dressing and turned his attention to the other bite marks on Richard’s arm, the latter whimpered: “She sucked the blood: she said she’d drain my heart.” Yes, I thought, now you see how she has been draining mine.
I turned away in disgust. “Come, be silent, Richard.” I spoke as soothingly as I could. “Never mind her gibberish: don’t repeat it.”
“I wish I could forget it,” was the answer.
As did I. As did all of us, I was sure, including staunch Jane, to whom I now turned, having thought to send her down to my room for a clean shirt for Richard, so that I could have a word with him in private. I thanked Carter for his willingness to leave a deathbed for this tragic scene, and to Richard I issued the threat that, should the governess or any others in the house learn of Bertha’s presence, his sister would be sent away to a harsh asylum, far from my protection. I knew Richard would not want Bertha to end her days in such a place, and I hoped the threat would be enough to silence him.
Jane returned in only a few moments.
“Was anybody stirring below when you went down, Jane?” I asked her.
“No, sir,” she responded. “All was very still.”
Carter and I helped Richard into the clean shirt and his own waistcoat, while sweet Jane ran several more silent errands up and down the stairs in her velvet slippers. I administered to Richard a small draught of a medication I had gotten once in Italy, which would soothe pain and give strength. It was potent, though short-lived, and just the thing to get him down the stairs and into the coach.
Jane led the way, keeping a lookout as we escaped down the back stairs. “Take care of him,” I said to Carter as we helped Richard into the coach, “and keep him at your house till he is quite well: I shall ride over in a day or two to see how he gets on. Richard, how is it with you?”
“The fresh air revives me,” he said, his voice weak. Then he said, “Fairfax…”
“Well, what is it?” I said, impatient for the coach to be gone. Jane was still standing nearby, listening, and I was afraid for what Richard might say.
“Let her be taken care of; let her be treated as tenderly as may be; let her—” And he burst into tears. Enough, I thought. See how he suffers after only one night, while I—I have had her on my soul for nigh on fifteen years!
I signaled the driver to be gone and he cracked the whip and the coach started off. I barred the yard gates behind them, wishing to God that Bertha could be gone from my life.
*