In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) (31 page)

Amanda
had to stop and take an assessment of her body before she could
answer the question. “No, I don’t think so. My head hurts
abominably, though.”

As
Aunt Henry and the two maids unbuttoned and slipped off her gown, the
old lady asked her questions. “Are you able to tell me what
happened?”

“James
and I were set upon by two ruffians.”

All
three women stopped what they were doing to stare at her.

“Are
you serious?” Aunt Henry’s expression was horrified. “In
our own garden? How did they get in there?”

“Over
the wall, I assume. They hit me on the head. But James—”
Amanda’s voice broke on a sob. “They beat him terribly. I
feared he was dead. He still might—” She couldn’t
say it, she simply could
not
say it.

While
Amanda spoke Aunt Henry’s face turned ashen, drained of all
color. The older woman brought a shaky hand to her mouth. “Why
would anyone do such a thing? Were they robbers?”

Amanda’s
chin continued to tremble with emotion. “I think their sole
purpose was to hurt James.” She turned her attention to the
second maid. “Please, see if there’s any news on his
lordship.”

“Yes,
my lady.”

As
the door closed, Aunt Henry spoke. “I don’t think the
doctor has had enough time to arrive. There is probably little the
maid can discover yet.”

At
once Amanda struggled to sit up. “Get my wrapper. I have to see
if James is all right.”

Aunt
Henry pushed the younger woman’s shoulders back against the
mattress. “You can do nothing for him right now. We need to
take care of you.” She signaled to Betty. “Bring me a
basin with water and a cloth.”

“Please,
let me go!” Amanda began to weep in earnest. She ignored the
dizziness that assailed her as she tried to raise her head.

“You
have blood on your face, my dear. We can’t let James see you
this way.”

Amanda
went limp then grabbed the old woman’s hand, holding on for
dear life. “He mustn’t die, Aunt Henry. What will I do if
he dies?”

***

It
was more than two days before Amanda was allowed to see James. She
cajoled, threatened and finally begged to no avail. They would
not
let her see him, and it was driving her batty. Apparently the
consensus was that she would be unable to cope with his condition.
And knowing that that was the accepted opinion frightened her all the
more.

At
least she had been assured that he still lived. But in what state?
Aunt Henry’s eyes were perpetually red, her attitude kind but
evasive. “Don’t worry, dear. He’s coming along.”

“Is
he conscious?” Amanda asked.

“Well,
no…not exactly. He’s still sleeping. But that’s
probably for the best, as he is mending while he sleeps.”

That
evasion thing again. Amanda was so frustrated, she nearly yelled at
the older woman.

In
the meantime, she had done some mending of her own. Aside from a
large swelling on the side of her head over her ear, she had received
no injuries. She still had a dull headache and had developed a large
bruise—seeming to expand by the hour—that had migrated
from the swelling to her eye, forehead and cheek. Other than that,
according to the physician, she had escaped serious harm.

But
James…

On
the third morning after the attack, Amanda demanded that she be taken
to her husband. No longer would she tolerate being denied access to
him. She was strong enough now to force the issue, to make it clear
who was ultimately in charge. Amanda sent a message to Winston that
she was to be informed when the attending physician Dr. Chilcott
arrived that afternoon to check on the patient.

Perhaps
in retrospect she should have listened to wiser counsel.

James
had been placed in one of the large guest suites not far from her
chamber. Amanda made her way down the hall, wearing a silk wrapper
and slippers, Aunt Henry on one side of her, Betty on the other.
She’d thought she had her energy back, but her weak legs begged
to disagree. As she reached her husband’s threshold she grew
lightheaded. She honestly didn’t know if it was the weakness
she was feeling or the sudden fear that consumed her as she prepared
herself for what lay on the other side of that door.

The
room was dark and dreary. It brought back recent memories of her
father’s illness and with it a sickening dread. Amanda found
herself leaning heavily on Betty’s arm as the rest of what was
left of her strength seemed to ebb from her body. As she approached
the bed, the dread increased. She was aware of Nurse Bitters who had
been hired again—this time to care for James—and Dr.
Chilcott, who backed away from the bed as Amanda approached. But her
eyes were locked on the figure lying motionless on the mattress,
pillows under his shoulders and head. The gloom obscured her ability
to see him clearly.

“Open
the drapes,” she snapped. “It’s like a morgue in
here.” Not the best choice of words, Amanda realized. She
sounded impatient and knew it was fueled by the distress she was
feeling.

Betty
looked to the doctor, who nodded, then slipped quickly across to the
window. Light flowed into the room.

Amanda’s
indrawn breath was harsh, filled with shock. “Oh, James,”
she whispered brokenly. Now her legs trembled—from anguish not
weakness—as she moved to the side of the bed. Betty quickly
placed a chair where Amanda could sit down. For long moments Amanda
simply stared at the mangled man who was her husband.

His
handsome face was bruised and swollen. There was a cut over his left
eye, covered in dried blood, that had to be sewn, most likely leaving
a scar. One of his arms wore a plaster cast to the elbow. Both of his
hands looked injured as well as though he had used them for
protection.

Amanda
glanced over her shoulder at Dr. Chilcott who stood behind her. “Do
I see the extent of his injuries, or is there more?”

The
doctor cleared his throat. “No, my lady. Your husband was
beaten severely. He has two broken ribs, along with the broken arm,”
he motioned to the cast, “and bruising everywhere. I’m
worried that his kidneys…ah, other organs may have sustained
some damage—”

She
winced.

“He’s
fortunate to be alive.”

She
glanced up at the physician, holding his gaze. “Is he?
Fortunate?”

He
frowned. “Beg pardon?”

She
huffed an impatient breath. “Is he going to wake up?”

The
silence was deafening, the occupants of the room neither moving nor
speaking as everyone waited for the doctor’s edict. She was
conscious of the others waiting as she waited, but Dr. Chilcott had
her full attention. He appeared disconcerted by her direct question,
and for a moment he hesitated.

Amanda
spoke again. “I want you to tell me what you really believe,
not what you think I want to hear.”

He
nodded, moving closer to the bed. “Fair enough. Truth is I
don’t know, my lady. I’ve seen it happen both ways. My
instincts tell me that he should recover. But truthfully, I have no
way of knowing for certain. The longer he remains unconscious, the
less his chances of making a full recovery.”

Well,
she had asked for plain speaking. But now that he had been fully
honest, she wanted him to take back those frightening words. Perhaps
she
did
want him to lie, to pretend so she could feel better.
She was aware of her facial muscles beginning to quiver as she tried
to control her emotions. But there were too many people in
attendance, and it was her duty to present the ever-expected stoical
facade, a custom that seemed patently unfair when one was on the
verge of having an emotional breakdown.

Amanda
pulled a calming breath to steady herself before speaking. “Do
you suppose it would be all right if I spent a little time alone with
my husband? I’ll call if any problems arise.”

“Yes,
of course,” Dr. Chilcott replied.

Everyone
turned to file outside the room.

“Not
you, Aunt Henry,” Amanda said. “Please stay.”

“Yes,
of course.” The old lady returned to stand by the bed.

Once
they were alone, Amanda said, “What am I to do?” She
reached for James’s hand then pulled back, afraid to touch him.

“Take
his hand, dear.”

She
looked up at Aunt Henry with eyes that swam with tears. “I’ll
hurt him…he’s…been pummeled over and over.
There’s not a place on his body that hasn’t sustained
damage.”

“You
won’t hurt him. He’s beyond pain right now. But he’s
not beyond the love he’ll sense through you holding on to him.
Never underestimate the power of love to heal. There are stories of
those who have been brought back from the very brink because someone
cared too much to let them go.”

She
wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe there was something, even
something as seemingly inconsequential as a caring touch, which could
make a difference. Amanda slid her hand across the coverlet and
gingerly laid it on her husband’s.

“How
could anyone do such a thing?” Amanda asked.

“I
don’t know. Truly, it’s a mystery. You have no sense of
what they wanted? Did they try to steal anything?”

Amanda
shook her head. “I don’t think so. I was unconscious
briefly so I can’t say absolutely.” She was unable to
admit that they may have wanted to despoil her person. The very
thought caused her skin to creep with revulsion.

Aunt
Henry patted her on her shoulder. “He’s going to be all
right, dear. I feel it in my heart.”

“When
Papa died I thought I understood what it meant to lose everything.”
She looked up at James’s aunt, letting the old woman see the
pain in her eyes. “But now I realize that no matter how
terrible you believe things to be, something worse can happen. I
loved Papa. But his life came to a natural conclusion, and because of
that his death was easier to accept. God’s will and all that.
James, however, did not deserve this evil that was set upon him.”
Her voice broke. “If he dies, I don’t know if I’ll
be able to go on.”

***

Is
this what dead felt like?

No,
surely dead was pain-free—at least physically. If one were in
trouble with the Almighty due to bad behavior in the corporeal realm,
well…that was a different kind of pain altogether.

James
wasn’t certain when he felt his mind engage. One moment there
was nothing, the next he was enduring a level of discomfort that
could only be described as excruciating. A deep breath sent a sharp
stab of agony through his chest.

He
lay on his back, feeling as though he had not moved for a very long
time. More than anything he wanted to roll onto his side, to adjust
his position. His thoughts sent the command, his body…well…refused
to cooperate. However, he managed to shift a little—very
little. Even that small movement forced from him a groan of agonizing
misery.

Where
was he, and why did he feel as if he had spent a lengthy amount of
time under a dancing horse? He made an effort to lift his arm and
realized it was encased in something hard and unyielding. And it was
heavy, too heavy to raise in his weakened state.

James
lay there for quite some time—on a mattress it felt like—eyes
closed as he tried to gather his bearings. Perhaps he was still
asleep and dreaming his current situation. But the pain that consumed
him denied that possibility.

Someone
moved next to him on his right.

James
cracked open his eyes, but he had to concentrate to do so as if the
simple act of opening and closing his eyes was no longer an automatic
one. Would he forget to blink? His confined world now included a
blurry view of an expanse of canopy over his head. He felt movement
again. With careful deliberation he turned his head, his neck and
shoulders screaming in protest. He squinted in an effort to clear his
vision.

Amanda
lay alongside him, sleeping soundly. She was facing him, and there
was a purple bruise on one side of her forehead and cheek that
immediately angered him.
What had happened to them?
His memory
was as blank as a new slate blackboard.

He
heard the chamber door open. With as much effort as it took him to
turn toward his wife, he turned back to see who was now coming into
the room.

At
once the canopy was replaced, in his line of sight, by an aging
female visage. She wore a mob cap and a stunned expression. Nurse
Bitters? Why was she here?

“Lord
Lonsdale! Are you awake?”

He
might be incapacitated, but he understood irony when speaking to the
obvious. He raised his brows at the woman. “So it would seem,”
he croaked. James was surprised by how difficult it was to actually
speak. And it was then he realized just how thirsty he was. “Drink?”

However,
Nurse Bitters was already racing back out the door. Why was she in
such a hurry?

The
mattress shifted wildly and now Amanda loomed over him. “James?
Oh, dear Lord in heaven! I’ve missed you—”

She
leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on a mouth he realized was
extremely sore. As sweet as that kiss was, he was unable to stifle
the groan of pain that slipped passed his lips.

“I’ve
hurt you!” she exclaimed, stricken.

“No,
no.” He tried to comfort her, but truth be told, he was too
weak and disoriented to be of much help.

The
door burst open again, and every close relation James had poured into
the room, including his Great-Uncle Simon Fitzgerald and Simon’s
wife Cassandra. The twins were there and so was Huey, along with Aunt
Henry. It was chaotic, everyone talking at once. Very quickly it
became clear to him that he had been hurt and apparently unconscious.
Else why was his entire family hovering over him?

James
spent the next ten minutes reassuring everyone that he was doing
better, not by saying anything but by merely lying there and
looking
somewhat alert. This, apparently, was a significant improvement on
what he had been doing for the last several days. Then the nurse
evicted everybody except Amanda.