P. Elrod - The Hanged Man

“Mrs. Woodwake? The kitchen’s toward the back. Open cupboards, Mr. Fonteyn won’t mind.”

“I might,” he said. “Depends on the cupboard.”

Woodwake nearly bumped into another young man as he came in.

“Your pardon, miss,” he said politely, getting out of her way. He was also in evening clothes that looked slept in or-knowing James’s habits and those of his friends-passed out in. “Fonteyn, some of us are trying to slee-” He gaped at the tableau of a half-conscious man bleeding on the parlor floor. “Good God, what the devil is this?”

“All yours,” said James magnanimously. “Freshly delivered by my cousin Alex. That’s Alex tearing away his clothes, by the way. Who’d have thought it? Well, don’t stand there, get your kit and see if you can save him.”

“What about you?” Alex snapped.

“I’m almost blind drunk and wholly useless. Hamish, however, is in somewhat better condition and just back from Nemley, where he learned how to be a first-rate army doctor. I’m sure they covered taking out bullets. Is that not so, old chap? Here, now, where’s he gotten to?”

Hamish had vanished, but quickly returned with his bag and knelt opposite Alex. “I’ve never done a fresh bullet wound before. They only let us practice on pig carcasses.”

“Well, if you lose this patient you can’t have him for dinner.” James slouched toward a liquor cabinet that was in disarray and a selected a bottle. “Garde à l’eau,” he sang out by way of warning, then drizzled gin liberally on the now exposed wound.

Alex squawked in irritation as she was splashed, Hamish crowed approval, and Lord Richard roared and bucked. Hamish was a big sturdy fellow, built for rugby, but had trouble holding him down.

“Keep still, sir, you’ll make it worse,” he informed his patient.

Richard’s reply was unfit for polite company. He tried to pull his clothes back on. Alex forgot herself and the dire situation for a moment, staring in shock at the exotic pattern of blue tattoos covering the pale flesh of his torso. They coiled up from his lower regions, flowing over belly, chest, arms, and shoulders and apparently down his back. She’d never seen the like. Hamish was busy, but behind her James made a low whistle of surprise.

“Well, well,” he said. “I never thought I’d ever s-”

Woodwake returned, bedding in one hand and a pitcher of water in another. “Bandages?” she asked James.

“No, thank you. Never bother with the things.”

She shot him a look that he was long used to collecting.

“I know,” said James with satisfaction. “I’m a great fool. Not a mere fool, but a great one.” He pulled out a penknife and offered it. “Here, cut that sheet up, I’m tired of it anyway.”

Using the knife, Woodwake efficiently sliced and tore the fabric into long strips, giving Alex the impression that she’d have preferred it was James. Alex lighted the room’s one lamp, holding it close so Dr. Hamish could work. She smelled liquor on his breath, but he seemed up to the task. At least his hands were steady. Hers weren’t. She fought to keep the light still.

He bathed the wound clean and probed with his fingers to locate the bullet. Richard grunted his discomfort the whole time, but managed not to yell.

“You’re lucky, my man,” Hamish pronounced. “It went under the skin, but above the ribs and out again. Nasty furrowing, be quite a scar if it doesn’t go septic.”

Woodwake left again, returning with a washbasin and soap, setting both on the floor next to Hamish, who thanked her. Alex moved out of the way so Woodwake could sponge the wound clean.

“Are you two nurses?” Hamish asked, wiping his bloody hands on a piece of sheet. “I must say, you’re cool-headed. No fainting.”

James gave a short laugh. “My sweet cousin there has dealt with more corpses than you’ve ever seen, and no, she isn’t a mortician.”

Hamish shot her a look and brought out a needle and silk thread from his bag. “Just a few stitches, sir. I’ll be quick as I can.”

“You’re finished,” Lord Richard announced decisively. His blue eyes regained their icy focus for a moment. “Apply pressure until the bleeding stops.”

“That won’t do, sir. Now lie still. I can give you some laudanum or-”

“Mrs. Woodwake, discourage this fellow from proceeding.”

Alex did not expect Woodwake to stand and draw a gun from her coat pocket, but that’s what happened. She had a revolver and a determined expression.

“Good God,” said Hamish. “No fainting and quite mad. I like your relatives, James.”

“Just one of them is a relation. I’ve no idea who the other two are. Alex does consort with some shady customers.”

Alex was horrified. “Lord Richard, stop this! We’re trying to help you!”

James snorted. “There’s gratitude for you. Madam, I’ll ask you to put away your pistol. I don’t want holes in Hamish. He is my guest, after all. Hamish, put away your darning needle. You’re outclassed for this bout.”

Young Dr. Hamish was reluctant to give up, and addressed Richard in a reasonable tone. “Sir, a wounded man is like a child. You may not like the nasty medicine, but it is for your own good.”

“Taught you that at Nemley?” Richard asked.

“Actually, my mother’s responsible-”

Alex put her hand on Hamish’s shoulder. “Doctor, if the patient is so reluctant then let him have his way. If he should pass out, you may reassess the situation.”

“You put forth a charming argument. Very well.”

Woodwake, at a nod from Richard, shoved her revolver into her coat pocket. Alex began breathing again.

Dr. Hamish checked Lord Richard’s wound. “Not wise, sir. Not wise. You’re still bleeding too much.” He gathered sheeting strips and made a pad, pressing it to the damage. “You should have something for the pain.”

Richard closed his eyes. “I’ve work to do. Miss Pendlebury, are the horses and coach in a condition to return us to our starting point?”

“Sir, you are in no condition to-”

“Yes or no?”

She couldn’t believe his folly, but answered in the affirmative. “It is bound to be too dangerous, sir.”

“I expect those who fired on us are gone by now, and my place is there sorting out the mess. We may require medical help if others were shot. Dr. Hamish, are you sober enough to come along?”

Hamish’s face went red.

“Yes or no?”

“Who the devil are you, sir, to ask such things?”

James chuckled. “Hamish keeps a bull pup and bad manners brings it out. You’re both well matched. Alex didn’t introduce us, but I like you two. Refreshingly direct. Mrs. Woodwake? I’m James Fonteyn, how do you do? Welcome to my home, at least until I’m thrown out of it. When the landlord sees the parlor floor he’ll bounce me quick enough. Alex, you’ll have to do the honors for the big fellow.”

Alex felt her face going as red as Hamish’s. Coming here no longer seemed such a good idea. Even the more stable Fonteyns-and James was in that number-were subject to raving lunacy when the mood was on them. She resorted to chill formality for her employer’s sake, well aware that it would only amuse her cousin. “Lord Richard Desmond, may I present my cousin on my mother’s side, James Fonteyn, and his friend, Dr. Hamish.”

“How do, your lordship?” James was unfazed, but then he never opened a newspaper unless it was a sporting journal.

Hamish’s eyes went wide. He clearly recognized the name. “You’re that Lord Richard? I do beg your pardon, sir.”

“Oh, Hamish, don’t be a bore. He’s just a peer. Haven’t you heard they’re going out of fashion? But this fellow seems to be going out, period. Best see to him.”