A HAZARD OF HEARTS (45 page)

‘Paul, you are positively magnificent – a pasha
upon his throne,’ Elly teased, laying her pelisse over the wing chair.

His smiling response did not quite mask his
wince as he sat up to greet her. ‘My best
deshabille
donned in your
honour, Elly. I knew you would call in, however late the hour. Does Hart know
you’re here?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s better not to tell
him. He’s so jealous of his status, unlike Doctor Cooper. How are you feeling,
Paul?’

‘Oh, tolerable. Better, in fact.’

‘I see. Perhaps I’d better inspect your leg.’

‘There’s no need, my dear. Hart dressed it this
morning, and he’ll call in again tomorrow.’

A new note in his voice set off an alarm in Elly’s
head. ‘What did he say?’ She settled herself on a stool beside the couch.

‘Why, the usual. It’s slow to heal, but there’s
no cause for worry.’

Elly leaned forward. ‘Oh, Paul, why won’t you
tell me the truth? Or, better still, let me see for myself.’ Before he could
protest she had twitched the rug onto the floor and pulled his nightshirt back
to the knee. A bandage bound his leg from ankle to above the knee-joint,
stained with the yellow salve smelling of comfrey which was favoured by Doctor
Hart.’

‘No, Elly!’ Paul grasped her hands hard enough
to hurt.

She held his gaze steadily. ‘Let me go. I will
examine your wound. It’s my duty and my right.’

For a long moment their wills locked. In the
silence Elly heard the mantel clock ticking, the fall of a piece of wood in the
grate. Paul’s eyes were hard as agate. Then he let go her hands.

‘Very well. Have it your way.’ He lay back to
demonstrate his lack of interest as Elly unwound the bandage and removed the
pad over the wound.

When a good two minutes had gone by without her
commenting he said, ‘Well?’

Elly kept her voice steady only with an immense
effort. ‘Paul, what did Doctor Hart really tell you?’

‘He said the wound was turning septic and
advised me to have my leg off.’ He gripped her hands again, this time in
support. ‘Don’t look like that, Elly. It’s better than dying. And with the new
anaesthetics I won’t suffer much.’

She laid her head down on the couch, battling
her emotions. Finally she started to rebind the festering sore that smelled and
looked what it was – the harbinger of death.

‘Paul, do you trust me?’

‘With my life.’

‘That’s what you would be doing, if you found
that you could bear my treatment. It could save your leg. But if it doesn’t,
the poison might have spread too far to save your life by amputating.’

He raised her head away from her task, forcing
her to meet his gaze. ‘What is this treatment? Why haven’t I heard of it
before?’

‘It’s seldom used these days. It’s also revolting,
and I only suggest it out of desperation.’

‘Go on.’

Elly swallowed. ‘It means allowing maggots to
eat away the dead flesh, as they would carrion.’

Paul released her and sank back. The silence
echoed with unspoken thoughts. Elly kept her head down and continued to
re-bandage the leg.

When she had finished she rose and half-turned
away. ‘I’m sorry. It was a stupid notion. Why should you take such a risk with your
life?’ She touched his leg gently, hesitating. ‘Oh, Paul, couldn’t you at least
try it? You might as easily die after surgery as from the septic wound.’

‘Where would you get the maggots?’

She whirled around. ‘I’ll get them! Paul… You
will really let me try?’

His lop-sided smile appeared. ‘I said I’d trust
you with my life, and so I will. Bring on your maggots. But for God’s sake keep
them out of sight. I’ll fob Hart off for a day or so until we see what results.’

Elly couldn’t find words. She picked up her
cloak, fastening it under her chin with shaking fingers. ‘I’ll leave right
away,’ was all she could manage.

Paul half rose. ‘Elly, the streets are dangerous
at night.’

‘Don’t worry. I thought I might miss the last
ferry, so I took a cab. It’s waiting, with the driver I use regularly for home
visits. He’ll see me safe.’ She forced a smile. ‘My dear Paul, if you could see
some of the places I go to attend patients you would be horrified. I’m
accustomed to caring for myself. Now, sleep if you can. I’ll be back tomorrow
with… with the treatment.’

She whisked out the door and down the stairs to
lean against the wall and burst into heaving sobs.

Elly finally returned to Paul’s rooms late
the following afternoon, accompanied by Jo-Beth, who had discovered what was
going on and wanted to support her friends through the proposed ordeal. Elly
was glad of her distracting presence for Paul’s sake as well as her own. She
erected a rough screen across Paul’s body which would hide her actions from
him. Unfortunately, she could not disguise her movements, and she felt him
stiffen as she began to unwind the bandage on his leg. His fever had returned,
an indication that the infection had worsened.

‘Did Doctor Hart visit today?’ she asked him.

‘Yes, with a portentous frown and an offer to
operate this week. I told him I wanted to give the idea more thought while I
pursued another form of treatment privately. He went off in a huff. I don’t
think I’ll see him again.’

Although pale, Paul smiled easily at Elly then
began chatting to Jo-Beth, who handed him a large tumbler of whisky.

‘Start sipping, my lad. In no time at all you’ll
forget what’s happening down there and be merry as a cricket.’

Paul looked at the brimming tumbler then placed
it back on the table beside the couch. ‘Good God, do you want to knock me out
cold? My thanks, but I’d prefer not to embarrass myself before two ladies.’

Elly picked up the tumbler. ‘Paul, you should
drink it. Your pulse is thundering. There’s no shame to you in dreading this
procedure, so why not make it easier for yourself?’

‘No. I’ve never yet needed a crutch. I will not
start now.’ His face closed against her, and she turned away. What impetus
drove Paul? Surely not a need to prove himself a man. She’d never known anyone
less insecure.

She worked swiftly, having braced herself
mentally for what she must do. Today she was all nurse, her hands steady as she
picked the heaving mass of maggots from their box and laid them on the
suppurating wound, watching to see them begin their work. There was a line of
demarcation between the healthy tissue and the ulcerated mass, a red inflamed zone
running into black, and the maggots fastened upon the dying tissue.

This was not Paul’s body, Elly told herself, and
these were merely some of God’s little creatures doing what came naturally to
them. She even said a small prayer, before remembering that she no longer
believed in Him. How strange, she thought, recalling her father’s strictures. Had
he been mistaken? Was there a Divine Plan after all? If she had not been
victimised by The Settlement dwellers she would never have met Paul, and their
lives would have run in quite different paths.

Jo-Beth’s voice penetrated her thoughts, the
assumed Irish brogue exaggerated as she embroidered one of J.G’s tales in an
effort to distract Paul. ‘.... but Wentworth didn’t like me calling him a fool,
so he told me I was drunk. “Sir”, I said to him, “I may be drunk, but I’ll be sober
tomorrow, and you’ll still be a fool.”‘

Paul smiled dutifully, although his leg muscles
shivered uncontrollably under Elly’s touch.

‘Elly, I can feel them. I can.... God! It’s
horrible.’

She saw the sweat break out on his brow and
picked up the tumbler. ‘Please Paul, drink some whisky to relax your nerves.’

Jo-Beth said, ‘If J.G. were here he’d match you
and say, “Here’s mud in one eye, lad, and a glint in the other.”‘

With only a moment’s hesitation, Paul took the
whisky and gulped down half. He avoided Elly’s glance.

Was it so bad, she wondered? What had she let
Paul in for? Hiding her anxiety, she watched him surreptitiously, saw him grow
paler and more rigid by the moment. His jaw had clenched tight enough for the
cords to stand out in his neck. He tipped the glass, draining it. Jo-Beth
caught her glance, her startled brows raised, and refilled the tumbler.

Now Elly wished she’d given Paul laudanum,
although he would probably have indignantly refused it, neither of them having realised
how much mental strain would result from their experiment. However, with so
much alcohol in him, she daren’t add the opium - two full tumblers of whisky
and he remained sober. His eyes were too bright, but with the feverishness of
an almost intolerable restraint. Paul was screaming inwardly, she was sure.

She leaned over him, screening him from Jo-Beth’s
view.

‘Shall I take them off?’ she whispered.

His eyes pleaded with her. However, his lips
formed the word, ‘No.’

Elly’s own nerves had tightened painfully. Paul’s
intolerable tension reached out to her, goading her to do something. What could
she do to help? He was a proud man. His self-esteem might be wounded beyond
bearing if he were driven to break in front of others. It would be better if
only she bore the brunt of it. On the pretence of wanting better light to check
her work, she got Jo-Beth to set the large oil lamp on the floor below the
screen, keeping Paul’s face in shadow, and indicated with a meaning glance that
her friend should leave.

Jo-Beth shook her head, careful not to look
beyond the screen, but evidently determined to stay. Then someone banged on the
door and she went to it, holding it open only a few inches.

‘Lucy! You can’t come in. Paul is having a
treatment –’

‘I must see him.’ Lucy’s voice sounded high and
strained. ‘I’ve been terrible to him and I want to say I’m sorry and I’ll do
anything I can to help.’

‘Not now. Paul wouldn’t be able to talk to you.
He’s not well enough.’

‘No. Let me in. I must see him.’ Lucy pushed the
door suddenly, violently, sending Jo-Beth reeling back. She ran across to the
couch and, brushing Elly aside, knelt to snatch Paul’s hands against her
breast. ‘Dearest Cousin Paul, I had to see you, to tell you how much I’ve
missed you.’

Elly grasped her shoulder, but she twisted
aside, saying sharply, ‘Why are you here? I’d have thought you’d be needed at
the hospital. Paul’s doctor is caring for him perfectly well, I’m sure.’

Paul managed to produce a few, half-strangled
words, ‘For the love of Heaven, get her out of here.’

Jo-Beth had her by the waist, lifting her away
from the couch. Then as she struggled her arm caught Elly’s makeshift screen,
knocking it down. Lucy stared at Paul’s leg, at the box with its writhing
contents. Her scream was shattering. Elly made a grab for Lucy’s free arm then
helped hustle her to the door.

‘Take her home, Jo-Beth, and stay with her if
Mrs Brockenhurst isn’t there. I’ll call in later.’

Lucy had gone from white to red. She dragged her
arm free and hit out at Elly. ‘Don’t touch me. What are you doing to him, you
fiends?’

‘We’re helping him, Lucy. I’ll explain it all –’

‘No. You’re lying. What you’re doing is vile. I’ll
get the police... the Governor...’

Jo-Beth slapped her cheek, lightly, stingingly. ‘Shut
up, my lass, and pay attention to your elders. Paul has asked for this
treatment. He’s not drugged or restrained in any way, as you can see. But it’s
taking all his strength to withstand it, and the last thing he needs is
interruption from a spoilt, hysterical brat who thinks the universe revolves
around her precious self. Now, you come with me, and no more argument.’

Elly stared at the closed door, listened to the
receding footsteps and the sound of Lucy’s angry sobbing. She went back to
Paul.

Sweat streamed down his forehead and his hands
were locked, white-knuckled. Elly wiped his face as she sat down.

‘Paul, it will help if your attention is
distracted. Talk to me. Tell me about your childhood in Yorkshire. Was it on a
farm?’

With an obvious effort he focussed his mind,
saying through clenched teeth, ‘Yes, not far from Great Ayton. Good... land, it
was, and we... made a good living.’

‘You told me you went to school, so your father
would have been prosperous if he could spare you from the farm. Did you have
only the one sister?’

For an instant, the half-smile appeared. ‘Jessie.
She had... hair like spun straw and a merry nature that could charm birds into
the kitchen to feed from her fingertips.’ The light in his face died, and Elly
quickly asked another question.

‘Were you happy at school? Were you a studious
little boy?’

‘When it suited me.’

She heard the breath hiss between his teeth, and
knew she must goad him into an emotional response if he was to forget his
present torment. She had to tap into the very private well of anger she knew
existed beneath the surface. ‘So how did it happen? What took you out of school
into the mills?’