The Vengeful Bridegroom (17 page)

Madelene brushed a lock from her forehead and sighed. All she wanted was to know that Matthew had the dagger and could finally return it to its rightful owner. It would be a great burden lifted off her shoulders to know he was not in danger, and hopefully, out of trouble for a time.

A slight breeze tickled her nose as she gathered her shawl around her and continued up the path and through the notch of trees. She heard the bullfrogs in the lake, the comforting chirp of the summer crickets, and the leaves restless and rustling. The night wrapped her in its near stillness, and yet she shivered. It was a peaceful summer night, like any other night. But it wasn’t, and she couldn’t say why she felt differently.

The lake came into view, the water calm, the cattails on guard. It was their special place, and she felt welcome, like she belonged to this present moment. Fanciful thinking indeed.

The mirrored-moon lake tempted her to dip a foot in and test the waters, but she refrained. Safer to remain on the bank, admiring the view.

With little to do but wait and worry, Madelene held her lantern high and continued to stroll along the lake, wanting its peacefulness to steal over her and protect her from her cares.

Snap.

She whirled around, her heart in her throat, unable to breathe. Was someone nearby? Madelene stopped to listen.

Nothing.

“Is anyone there?” she called, not expecting an answer. She must have imagined she heard something. After all, who would be out this time of night, near the lake, following her? She certainly knew how to frighten herself.
Maybe it would be best to wait back at the house,
she thought.

Another sound right behind her. Before she could turn or scream, someone pushed her hard, right into the lake.

Warm water hit her face and arms, stunning her, before she realized it was deeper than before. Her shoes couldn’t touch the bottom. Quickly, she sank into the dark lake, swallowing mouthfuls of water, her arms ineffectively pushing the water aside and her gown pulling her farther down to the deepest end.

Madelene kicked hard to push herself to the water’s surface. Coughing and sputtering, she called out feebly, “Help, help,” before she went back under, swallowing more water.

Did she hear a dog barking?

Frantic, she pushed at the water, again breaking the surface. Flapping her arms on top of the water, she tried to keep her head from submerging.

And went back under a third time. Her strength began to fail her. If only she could move her legs to pull her closer to the edge of the lake, it might be shallower, and she could find purchase.

With one great kick, Madelene wrenched every part of her body above the water one last time to gain breath and scream for help. Then the water dragged her gown and her back under.

In a weakened state, but still flouncing in the water, she wouldn’t give up, although her mind began to dull. Her arms began to ache.

Strong hands wrapped under her arms and pulled her up against a hard chest, where a hand cupped her chin to hold her head out of the water. She snatched valuable deep breaths, her heart still frantic in its fear.

She gasped breath after breath as her rescuer swam toward the edge of the lake, which was closer than she realized. The water swirled and pulsed around them, as if wanting them to keep them, but the man who held her proved indefatigable. He grabbed her by the waist, lifted her out of the water, and pushed her onto the side of the bank before he dropped down beside her.

“Ruff, ruff.”
Falstaff? What was he doing here? And who had saved her?

Falstaff ran over to Madelene, who lay sopping wet with her hair hanging in drenched strands around her face, and eagerly licked her face, glad as she was that this stranger had happened by.

The stranger, when she swept the wet curtain of hair from her face and out of her eyes, was their neighbor, Mr. Bush. He lay beside her, breathing heavily, too. A few long minutes, neither could speak.

Madelene, still in shock, could not comprehend why one moment she stood by the lake waiting for Gabriel, and the next, she had been saved from certain death by Mr. Bush.

She bent over and coughed up more water before she reached over to shake Mr. Bush by the shoulder. “Mr. Bush, Mr. Bush, can you hear me?” She couldn’t bear to think anything terrible might have happened to him.

“Yes, Mrs. Westcott? Is that you? Are you, will you, how are you feeling? I’m terribly sorry I wasn’t here sooner.” His handsome face turned toward her, as if he could see her and assure himself she would be fine. He leaned on his side to catch his breath, wiping his face with his hand before sitting upright.

“What matters is that you were here soon enough,” she told him, before hiccupping. Then shivering. Then the tears fell, and she couldn’t prevent them.

Mr. Bush, sitting quite close, reached and gathered her in his arms as she sobbed on his shoulder. “My shoes, I lost my shoes,” she managed between tears.

“I don’t think it would be worth the effort to retrieve them,” he told her ruefully, while rubbing her back.

“I hated those shoes,” she told him, sniffing. “They were the wrong color of mauve.” Her weeping continued on Mr. Bush’s already wet shoulder, sending a thankful prayer to heaven that their neighbor took late-night walks past their lake. Falstaff sat next to Madelene and every now and then brushed his nose against her arm, reminding her of his presence.

When longer moments of quiet occurred between her subsiding cries, Mr. Bush told her gently, “I think I should get you home. Rather, if you could help me, I could perhaps help you. Between the two of us, we can ensure no more baths in the lake tonight, hmmm?” His sense of humor went awry because Madelene started sniffling again. It was some time before they could stand, collect the lantern, and make their way back home.

Mrs. Lavishtock soon had Madelene and her savior, Mr. Bush, sitting by the hearth in the kitchen, enjoying a spot of brandy for what the housekeeper claimed was medicinal purposes. She bustled around them, moaning and gasping, as she heard their almost tragic tale.

Her face white, Mrs. Lavishtock was indeed worried, first over Madelene and Mr. Bush’s nearly drowned conditions, then the missing Mr. Westcott. She kept claiming her heart and her feet couldn’t take this shock. In her anxiety, the housekeeper would sit heavily at the table, then rise to waddle around the kitchen. She couldn’t find solace in either sitting or walking.

Falstaff, who had first raised the alarm to Mr. Bush, Madelene had learned, lay by her bare feet. From time to time, he would lift his head, to see if anyone had food to share.

Mr. Bush finished his brandy and stood, ready to take his departure. He insisted he needed no help returning home, a path he had taken many times before.

A sudden noise broke the quiet when the kitchen door swung open. All eyes turned to see Mr. Westcott’s grim face and a body slung over his shoulder.

“Matthew?” Madelene leapt from her chair by the hearth and ran to her husband, her heart in her throat.
Please, God, let it not be Matthew.
Eyes bright with unshed tears, she looked for comfort or answers or something from Gabriel, who shook his head.

Her husband walked slowly into the kitchen, a bit unsteady with his burden. “It’s Matthew. He’s lost a lot of blood.” Directing his attention to Mrs. Lavishtock, he told her, “I need a room nearby. Please send Cappie or one of the other groomsmen to fetch the surgeon. He needs immediate attention.”

Mrs. Lavishtock, fast on her feet despite her size, led the way. “Follow me, Mr. Westcott. We shall put him in the old butler’s room.”

Madelene felt overwhelmed and thankful her brother’s life might yet be spared. She hurried behind Gabriel, resolute to not be a burden of sorrow. Her husband, with the heavy weight of her brother, climbed up the short flight of stairs to the servants’ hall. Following her husband, she leaned on Mr. Bush, unaware of the tears slipping down her cheeks, her heart quite heavy with worry.

Gabriel hadn’t spoken a word to her since his arrival. Indeed, when she caught a glimpse of her husband, his visage appeared pinched and white. Madelene determined that as soon as her brother was seen to, she’d have the surgeon look at Mr. Westcott.

At the butler’s former rooms, Mrs. Lavishtock waited for them with the bed linen rolled back. “Easy now,” she instructed as Gabriel laid Matthew on the bed.

In the center of the narrow bed, Matthew, of average size, looked as if he was melting into white snow, his face pasty white, his breathing labored. Much blood painted his right chest and continued to seep out. Madelene dashed her tears, refusing to believe her brother could be beyond saving.

Fanny must have heard the news because she arrived soon after with a handful of white cloths, followed by Hazelby and Windthorp with pitchers of water. They all stared at the patient, not knowing how to minister to Matthew.

In the small, serviceable room, lit by only two candles, Madelene sat at the head of the bed and pressed cool compresses to her brother’s brow. She watched Mrs. Lavishtock and Mr. Westcott try to stanch the flow of blood from the wound to what looked like his upper right shoulder. Why was there so much blood?

The pale, sickly look on Matthew’s face frightened Madelene. She could only help in a limited capacity, and prayed with all she had Matthew would make it through this dreadful time. Perhaps if she promised to be a good and obedient wife, God would answer her prayers. She always kept her promises or tried to.

The surgeon Longhorn finally arrived to the relief of everyone crowded into the small room. Upon entering the room, he ushered everyone out except Madelene, Mrs. Lavishtock, and Mr. Westcott.

Longhorn worked competently and intently on the patient as the night turned into the wee hours of the morning. He was able to stop the bleeding and sew the wound with several stitches. Confident Matthew would pull through, he still kept vigil like Madelene until he rest assured nothing more needed to be done.

Wiping his brow and straightening his tall form from the bed, he turned to Madelene waiting by the window and gave her the good news. When they both turned to speak with Mr. Westcott, they found him slumped in a chair.

Eyes widened in horror, she rushed across the room to her husband. What was wrong? Had he fallen asleep from exhaustion or had he been hurt as well? Guilt welled up inside her; all this time worrying about her brother, she had forgotten about her husband.

Kneeling beside his chair, she took his hand, looking into his face to see if she could discern his condition. “Mr. Westcott, Mr. Westcott.” She looked up at Longhorn standing nearby. “Doctor, please, my husband. You must do something.” Concern and fright weighted her words. As Longhorn went to the door to call for assistance, Madelene put her husband’s hand to her cheek. “Please wake up,” she whispered. “Please forgive me.”

The surgeon called urgently to Mrs. Lavishtock to find two footmen to help move Mr. Westcott in order that he could better examine him. They left Fanny to watch over Matthew sleeping soundly from the laudanum given him.

Because Longhorn didn’t want Mr. Westcott to endure the long climb to the first floor, the two footmen carried Mr. Westcott to the study on the ground floor. In the study, Madelene found Mr. Bush and Windthorp waiting for news of her brother, and quickly informed them of Matthew’s condition and of Mr. Westcott’s present state.

Windthorp waited in the corner of the study, constantly sending dark looks toward Madelene, who ignored him. Somehow she knew Gabriel’s man believed she had something to do with her husband’s injury, but she couldn’t fret about the valet’s feelings, so worried was she about her husband.

She stood next to Mr. Bush’s chair, waiting as Longhorn examined her unconscious husband. Madelene felt comforted by Mr. Bush holding her hand tight, not realizing how much she needed a friend.

Swallowing hard, Madelene had no tears left to shed, surprised by her sudden and fierce concern over this stranger who overnight had become her husband. With her jaw set, her sentimentalities set aside, she would do whatever it took to make her husband well.

After the examination, the surgeon relieved everyone’s worries. The footmen, Mrs. Lavishtock, Madelene, Windthorp, and even Falstaff waited in the study to learn of the diagnosis.

“It appears, Mrs. Westcott, that your husband received a hard blow to the back of his head, which must have knocked him unconscious. I felt a large lump on the back of his head, but no further injuries. I can only assume that when he awakened, he found your brother and carried him home. The ordeal exhausted him beyond measure, and Mr. Westcott simply collapsed. He needs his rest but will recover nicely in a day or two.”

The surgeon paused. “Since this looks to be attempted murder, I’ll need to contact the constable.”

Madelene’s eyes widened. “Not yet, Mr. Longhorn. Please wait until we can speak to my brother or my husband about what has happened this night. Then we’ll do what needs to be done.”

Longhorn nodded and leaned to pick up his bag. No matter what the surgeon’s news, he could not prevent Madelene from worrying. She walked over to sit near the settee where her husband lay and clasped his hand to her breast, willing him to awake. The surgeon must have realized she needed more convincing because he leaned over to pat her shoulder.

“Mrs. Westcott, your husband will wake up tomorrow with a pain at the back of his head, but otherwise, he shall suffer no ill effects from this evening.”

Madelene looked up at him and smiled faintly. “Doctor, how can I ever repay you for saving both the men I love tonight?”

Longhorn chuckled. “My repayment would be one of your lovely smiles.”

Madelene tried her best to do as he asked.

It must have worked because the surgeon nodded and told her, “I’ll look in on the patients tomorrow.” He shrugged on his coat Graham handed him and left the room.

Since the surgeon said it would be safe to move Gabriel to his bedchamber, the footmen once again picked him up and gently carried him to the first floor.

After she saw to her husband’s needs and comfort, persuaded she could help him no further, she returned to the ground floor to find Mr. Bush collecting his greatcoat and hat, prepared for his departure.

Given the lateness of the hour, Madelene convinced Mr. Bush to accept a ride home. They walked together, arm in arm, down to the hall, after she sent one of the footmen for Cappie and their carriage.

A warm breeze rustled her hair as they stood outside on the porch. A lone footman held a candle for light.

“Mr. Bush, I cannot begin to thank you for what you have done. Your heroism will long be known to me and my husband, realizing it is a debt we can never repay.”

Mr. Bush patted her hand. “I don’t think I’m much good for many things without my eyesight, but I’ve always been a good swimmer, which served me in good stead tonight. I can only thank God I was in the vicinity when I heard your little dog barking. He led me to you. I was glad I could reach you in time.”

“Your humility is all goodness, but we shall always know the right of it. Please come again and often. I believe my husband will want for company in the coming weeks and to speak to you of his own gratitude.”

Madelene kissed Mr. Bush on the cheek and pressed his hand. “Addle-pated that I am, I did not inquire after your health from an unsought bath earlier this night. I hope saving me from a watery grave has done you no lingering harm.”

He turned his handsome visage toward her voice. “You certainly have been through quite a lot this night.
You
need to rest. As for me, have no fears. Other than no eyesight, everything else seems to be in good and working order.”

“I am quite relieved to hear this. You know, Mr. Bush, you are indeed an amazing man. I doubt there would be many men with sight who would have jumped in the lake to save me.”

Mr. Bush allowed himself to be helped into the carriage by Cappie. “Ah, Mrs. Westcott, there are many good men like your husband. I choose to believe that there is more kindness to be had in the world than naught.”

“Mr. Bush, you are too generous and a philosopher at heart. Safe journeys.”

The coach jerked off down the lane, and Madelene smiled in the dark, yet on the verge of tears from exhaustion, worry, fright, and especially kindness from a man she knew too little.

Collecting herself, she returned to the house. After seeing her brother slept undisturbed and receiving Fanny’s assurances she would awaken her should any change occur in his condition, Madelene headed to the first floor. She had another patient to see.

Inside their bedchamber, Gabriel slept soundly, and although Madelene wanted to crawl into bed with her husband, she needed to change from her damp clothes. She returned to his room to watch over him after acquiring dry nightclothes.

Afraid to disturb him, she chose a large, soft chair for a bed and fell asleep with Falstaff at her feet, dreaming of her husband, sitting in a tree. Had she really spoken the word “love” in referring to her husband? This thought scared her. What was to become of them?

“Sleeping Beauty, awake, fair maiden,” the voice called softly to her.

“Ruff, ruff, ruff.”

Madelene blinked awake and saw Falstaff on his hind legs, trying to climb onto the bed with Gabriel. As Gabriel leaned over to pick up Falstaff and plunk him on the bed, his flexing muscles distracted her. She remembered those strong arms holding her and wanted to crawl back into them and feel safe again.

The events of the previous night came whirling back to her, and she wondered if she would ever again know well-being. First, someone tried to kill her brother, then someone else or the same person pushed her into the lake. She wasn’t exactly confident of the order of the catastrophes.

What did it all mean? She didn’t know whom to suspect, but it couldn’t be her husband. She wanted to tell him what happened at the lake, but thought it best to wait until he was on the mend.

Falstaff distracted her thoughts with his movements, as he had to circle several times before settling down at the edge of the bed.

She turned her attention to Gabriel. “Good morning. How are you feeling today?” She hoped her tone sounded more cheerful than she felt, pushing her reluctant body into a sitting position. Her neck pained her from using the chair as a bed, but she cared more about Gabriel’s condition.

He appeared pale and winced when rubbing the back of his head. She frowned, distracted when noting he laid on his side, facing her, with a simple sheet covering the lower half of his body. Sometime in the night, he must have arisen and discarded his clothing, because they had definitely put him to bed still dressed in his outer clothes.

It would not do, it simply would not do to consider what he wore underneath the sheet, which in all probability was nothing.

Perhaps he sensed the direction of her thoughts, because he held out his hand to her. “Why don’t you join me? I can assure you this bed is more comfortable than the chair.” His warm brown gaze put her mind at peace. He seemed like the Gabriel from before last night’s near tragedy.

She hesitated, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “I’m terribly glad to see you are feeling better, however, I should check on the other patient, Matthew. Everyone was very worried about both of you last night, causing such a fright. I still cannot fathom what actually occurred. Do you remember what happened?”

Gabriel winced again, then rolled over on his back, looking at the ceiling. “I don’t remember very much. Matthew and I had a conversation about the dagger. I had the dagger in my hand, and then I felt a sharp blow to the back of my head. I awoke and found Matthew unconscious and bleeding. I patched him up as best I could, placed him on my horse, and walked him home.”

Madelene shook her head. “Did you see or hear anyone? Can you think of anyone who might have known of the meeting and wanted the dagger?”

Gabriel closed his eyes. “Perhaps. But I didn’t see or hear anyone.”

She could hardly believe his words. “Who do you think hurt Matthew and you? You know of someone?”

He turned his head to look at her. “I believe your brother wanted the dagger for Count Taglioni. If you had gone last night to meet your brother instead of me, I don’t want to think what might have happened.” His words were soft and low, his steady look unmistakable in his conclusion.

Madelene swallowed and nodded. The count wanted her
and
the dagger. “But if the count has the dagger, perhaps he’ll return to wherever he came from, and we’ll hear no more from him.”

On his side again, facing her, he shook his head. “We can’t assume he won’t return. For you.”

Her eyes widened at the threat, then she smiled, ready to toss off the darkness of last night. “I have no fear of the count because I know you’ll protect me.” Madelene rose from the chair and walked to the bed. “And my prayers were answered last night that you and Matthew are safe. That is all that matters.”