at him.
‘Not if I was near enough to stop him,’ Henderson said and scowled. ‘You should tell the captain, Georgie. He wouldn’t stand for it.’
‘But I can’t impose on him,’ Georgie replied. ‘He has already helped me. I have to get to my great-aunt’s house. She lives in Yorkshire and is the only person I can trust.’
‘You talk to the captain. He will help you get where you need to go,’ Henderson said, looking doubtful. He came towards her, looking at her long hair and the scissors. ‘Are you sure you want to cut this?’
‘Yes—’ Georgie began, but her next words were lost as she heard shouting and then someone knocked frantically at her door. She sprang to open it and Mrs Jensen almost fell into the room. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘It’s the master,’ the housekeeper cried, clearly in a state of shock. ‘He has been badly hurt, miss, and not far from the house. He just staggered in, covered in blood. He’s soaked in it! I never saw the like in my life. He needs you, Henderson!’ Her hands were trembling. ‘Nothing like this ever happened when the old master was alive. I can’t abide the sight of blood. I never could.’
‘Where is he?’ Henderson barked at her. ‘Pull yourself together, woman! I am going to need help.’
Mrs Jensen was shaking and in terrible distress. ‘They carried him to his bedchamber. I can’t help you. I’m sorry, but I just can’t…’
‘I will,’ Georgie said at once. ‘I’m not afraid of a little blood. Go to him, Mr Henderson, and I’ll follow as soon as I am dressed.’
‘Oh, miss,’ the housekeeper said, forgetting discretion in her distress. ‘The poor master. We’ve sent for the doctor, but he looks in a bad way.’
Chapter Two
Henderson went off without another word or a look in her direction. Georgie scooped up the clothes he had left for her and turned her back on the housekeeper as she dressed hastily in breeches and shirt that were far too big for her. She rolled up the sleeves of the shirt and legs of the breeches, tying them round the middle to hold them in with a neckerchief the valet had brought, then scraped her hair up under the cap.
‘Show me where,’ she said and Mrs Jensen stared at her, clearly still in shock. Her wits had gone begging and she looked dazed. ‘Mr Henderson will need help if Captain Hernshaw has been badly hurt.’
‘Yes, come this way,’ Dora said, coming out of her trance. ‘I’ll show you, but don’t ask me to help, because I shall faint at the sight of it. I never could stand blood, and that’s a fact!’
‘We can manage,’ Georgie said, understanding that she felt bad because of the way she had reacted. ‘My aunt was just the same. When my uncle had a shooting accident, I was the one who patched him up until the doctor—’ She stopped abruptly, because she had already said too much. She hadn’t intended to mention her uncle at all!
‘I thought…’ Dora shook her head, because the sight of her master stumbling into the house in such a state had shattered her nerves and she did not know where she was. She had assumed Georgie was alone in the world but now it seemed she had an aunt and uncle. However, it wasn’t her business, and there was no time to think of anything but Captain Hernshaw for the moment. ‘You had better come at once.’
Georgie followed her swiftly along the hall to a set of double doors at the end, which led into the master suite. She went in, leaving Mrs Jensen to hover outside. The first room was a sitting room, which she noticed seemed less dark and dull than the rest of the house, and might have been refurbished recently, but there was no time to stare, for a voice summoned her from what was clearly the bedroom beyond.
‘In here!’
Hurrying to answer Henderson’s call, Georgie found him bending over the figure of his master. There was blood everywhere and he was frantically trying to press down on an open wound in Captain Hernshaw’s shoulder and directing the footman to do the same to another wound in the captain’s thigh.
‘What can I do?’ Georgie asked, going to the bed.
Henderson glanced up. ‘Not going to faint on me?’
‘No, I shan’t do that,’ she replied. ‘Can I do that while you attend to the wound in his thigh? It looks as if it is the worst. Shall you stitch it or apply a tourniquet until the doctor arrives?’
‘We don’t have time to wait,’ Henderson replied tersely. ‘Unless I can close that wound, he will bleed to death.’
‘You’d better do it, then,’ Georgie said. ‘I’ll apply the pad to his shoulder and the footman can hold him down for you. He will likely come to his senses and fight you when you start.’
‘You’ve had some experience of this,’ Henderson said, giving her a knowing glance. He moved the footman to one side and looked at the deep wound to his patient’s thigh. ‘I’ll sew it roughly for the moment to stop the blood. It won’t be pretty, but it may save him.’
‘Get on with it,’ Georgie said, pressing down as hard as she could on the secondary wound. ‘Otherwise he will certainly die. No one can lose this much blood and live.’
Almost an hour later, Georgie looked down at the man lying amongst the stained sheets. His face was very pale and she thought he was completely out of it now, for he had fought them so hard when the cauterising iron was applied to his thigh that Henderson had had to knock him out with a strong dose of laudanum, forcing it down his throat as he raged at them in his agony.
She shuddered, because she knew that he had come very close to death that night. The experience had been far worse than when her uncle was shot in an accident, and she was feeling weak after their efforts to save his life. Even now there was no guarantee that he would live. It was likely he would take a fever or his wound might turn bad, as wounds so often did, the poison going inward.
‘You look terrible,’ Henderson said, glancing at her in concern. ‘You should go to bed, Georgie. I can mange him now.’
‘He will take a lot of nursing,’ Georgie replied, frowning. She did not know why, but she was reluctant to leave the man lying there so still and pale. ‘I’ve seen something like this before. It wasn’t as bad as this, but bad enough. Your master could still die of a fever—and he has lost a lot of blood.’
‘Yes, I know. I’ll have the doctor to him, but I don’t see what else we could have done.’
‘You did everything any doctor would have,’ Georgie said. ‘Did you learn that in the army?’
‘My father was an army surgeon,’ Henderson said. ‘It was his wish that I should take it up, but I wanted to be a soldier. I soon learned that my father’s skills were necessary out there and I made it my business to learn all I could—from him and from books.’
‘You saved Captain Hernshaw’s life.’
‘If he lives.’
‘If he lives,’ Georgie agreed, because she knew the outcome was still in doubt. ‘I’ll go to bed now, but I’ll come back later so that you can rest.’
He nodded his head, not bothering to answer. Georgie left him to finish
