alone, in pain and calling for her, praying that a kind woman had stooped to comfort in him in his last hours. She could do at least as much for this man.
‘I am not sure that he is a stranger,’ Arabella said, still pensive. ‘I believe we may have met—at my wedding, if memory serves me right. I think he was a friend of Ben’s.’ She was certain of it in her own mind, even though he had not seemed to recognise her at the inn.
‘You did not say earlier.’ Tilda looked at her suspiciously.
‘No, for it was not important. We met only once—and I may be mistaken, but I am willing to take that chance. For Ben’s sake, I cannot abandon him.’ Tears stood in her eyes. ‘I have often prayed that there was someone to care for Ben…’ Her throat was tight and she shook her head. The thought that her husband might have died alone was too painful.
‘I see…’ Tilda did not understand such sentimentality. The expression on her face was plainly one of disbelief and disagreement, but there was really very little she could do to dissuade Arabella. ‘If you are set on this madness, I suppose you must do as you think fit.’
‘Oh, I do not think it so very foolish,’ Arabella reassured her. ‘It will only be for a day or so. Aunt Hester will be happy to see you, Tilda, and I shall join you both quite soon.’
Tilda’s mouth pursed, but she gave up her efforts to change Arabella’s mind. However, when she reached the house in Hanover Square, she would consider whether it was right to confide in Lady Tate.
Her silent disapproval became almost oppressive when Arabella left her three times during the evening to visit the patient’s bedchamber. Iris had taken it upon herself to sit with him at her mistress’s request, but to Tilda’s mind it seemed that nothing would do for Arabella but to sit with him herself while Iris ate her supper. Had Tilda known that Arabella crept out from the bedchamber they shared that night to relieve Iris from her vigil, she would have been most distressed. Fortunately, she was a heavy sleeper and remained in ignorance.
However, Iris looked relieved when her mistress entered the sick room. It was now the early hours of the morning and Iris had been finding it hard to keep awake.
‘Has there been any change, Iris?’
‘No, my lady,’ the maid replied, yawning. She was a plump girl, plain faced but agreeable and devoted to her mistress. ‘He muttered something a while ago—a girl’s name, I think—but he hasn’t woken.’
‘Go and rest now,’ Arabella told her. ‘We may have to nurse him for some days and nights. We shall both need our sleep.’
‘Are you sure, my lady? Mrs Blackstone said that she would help us and she seems a good woman.’
‘I imagine she has enough to do looking after her customers, Iris. I shall sit with the gentleman for the time being. You may return in the morning.’
‘Poor gentleman,’ Iris said. ‘He has a handsome face, my lady, but he looks gaunt, as though he has been ill—before this, I mean. When the doctor undressed him, he discovered that he had a wound to his thigh. It seemed to have recovered, but the scarring was fresh. There were other wounds on his body, and the doctor thought he might have been a soldier.’
‘Yes, I dare say he may have been. I thought that he had suffered recently,’ Arabella said. Her thoughtful eyes moved to the man in the bed. ‘I believe he may have suffered a great deal, Iris. I saw him briefly earlier today and remarked it. You see, I think I may know him. He was a friend of my husband’s.’
‘Did he come for your wedding, my lady? I did wonder if I had seen him before, though I do not know his name.’
‘Mr Charles Hunter, if I am right. For the moment it is best if we do not speak of him by his name. It will be easier if Mrs Blackstone continues to believe him my husband.’
‘Yes, my lady.’ Iris bobbed a curtsy and went out, leaving Arabella alone with her patient.
Arabella crossed to the bed, bending over him to lay a gentle hand on his brow. He seemed hot and his forehead was damp. Noticing that Iris had left a bowl of water and a cloth by the bed, she wrung the cloth out, laying it on his brow for a moment before gently wiping away the perspiration. However, in a moment or two he was sweating again, and Arabella thought that he seemed feverish.
‘Poor Charles,’ she murmured, feeling strangely drawn to him. She felt that he had experienced some terrible grief quite recently. She had seen it in his face earlier and it touched her, arousing her sympathy. ‘You have suffered much already and it is unkind of Fate to offer you this further blow,’ she said and stroked the damp hair back from his forehead. ‘Rest now, Charles. We shall take care of you.’
He was so hot! She must do something to cool him.
Arabella removed one of the heavy quilts, and then, on impulse, pulled back the sheets. His body was damp with sweat and she could feel the heat coming from him. She took the cloth Iris had been using to bathe his forehead, wringing it out in the water again and beginning to sponge his arms, chest and then his legs. She would have bathed his back, but was not sure she could turn him alone. But perhaps it would not be necessary, for at last he seemed easier. He sighed and murmured something that might have been a name, but too softly for her to hear.
For a while after she had bathed his heated body he seemed to rest more comfortably, but after an hour or so he became hot again, throwing his arms and legs about as if he were in distress. His head moved restlessly on the pillow and Arabella soothed him as best she could, whispering words of reassurance and stroking his hair. Pity wrenched at her heart, and she felt a flicker of tenderness stir inside her. He looked so vulnerable, so needy as he lay there tossing in his fever, that she longed to comfort him. Suddenly, his eyes opened wide and he stared at her.
‘Sarah,’ he croaked. ‘Thank God I have found you, my dear one. Forgive me, I beg you. Forgive me…’
‘Charles…’ Arabella said, but his eyes had closed and she knew that he had fallen back into the unconscious state in which she had found him. ‘Please do not die. I do not want you to die.’
Arabella did not know why his survival was so important to her. It could only be that she was transferring her longing to help Ben to his friend, almost as though by saving Charles Hunter she could atone for not being able to save her beloved husband.
‘You must get well,’ she whispered and stroked his forehead. ‘I shall stay with you until you are able to fend for yourself, Charles. I promise that I shall not desert you.’
‘Are you sure you will not give up this nonsense and come with me?’ Tilda asked the next morning. ‘I do not like to leave you here like this, Arabella—and without your carriage. I could travel in the baggage coach…’
‘No, indeed, I shall not put you to such torture,’ Arabella said, a smile on her lips. Her companion was not the best of travellers at any time. ‘Both vehicles may travel with you—I need only my small trunk here. My baggage may as well go with you, and the coachman will come back for me in a day or so after the horses are rested. There is no reason for you to worry at all, Tilda. I shall be quite comfortable.’
Tilda was doubtful and had to be coaxed into the carriage, but at last it was accomplished and Arabella sighed her relief.
