The Dowager Countess (The Saga of Wolfbridge Manor Book 2) by Sahara Kelly (classic children's novels txt) 📕

skipped a beat at the thought of having to tell anyone, let alone her people, that Evan was no more.

The faces that watched were full of poorly-concealed fear, and Gwyneth felt a sudden bond with them all. They were looking to her, the Lady of Wolfbridge, for guidance.

“Once the rain lets up, and I hope it will be soon, we must go and rescue whatever we can from our fête. There is food in the ballroom, and I’m hoping you will be able to divide it equally amongst you when we leave.” She saw several younger faces peering up at her from between their mother’s skirts. “I believe there are still lots cakes and tarts as well. So I’m going to ask every mother to make sure she has at least one for each of her children.”

There was a much more positive sound at that announcement. “Remember, mothers. Good boys and girls, those who are always helpful and obedient—they may choose their cakes.” She dredged up a smile. “And I’m sure all the boys and girls here today qualify as good children.”

A lot of grins met that proclamation.

“I am relying on you to make those decisions, of course. And I want to thank you all for making this Whitsunday Fête such a delightful afternoon. I only wish the weather had held off until tomorrow, but I think we managed quite well, all things considered.” She looked around. “I have to single out Mrs B and Mrs Jane Jones for their invaluable assistance, along with Vicar Thomas and his wife. So many people helped make this a success. I know, if he were able, Evan would be at my side endorsing these comments. At the moment, Giles is with your men and they are arranging all sorts of manly things.” She leaned forward, a smile on her face. “Things which we women aren’t supposed to be able to handle.”

“Like most of life,” mumbled one wife.

“Or children,” muttered another.

“They’re only int’rested in the gettin’ of ‘em,” chuckled a third.

“You are so right,” laughed Gwyneth, noting the smiles and shrugs spreading around the room as the worry dissipated. She’d done the right thing. They felt that matters were now under control. It was what she’d hoped to achieve…to set their minds at ease.

“Now then. I would suggest that this hall is perfect for some hobby horse races. Mrs B, can I leave that in your capable hands?”

“Yer can, dearie.” Mrs B crossed to the bottom of the stairs. Under cover of the general chatter, she looked at Gwyneth. “‘Ow is ‘e?”

“I don’t know,” said Gwyneth, trying to keep her worries out of her voice.

“Then git yersel’ up there and find out,” ordered Mrs B. “I’ll take care ‘o things down ‘ere, don’t you worry none.”

“Bless you. Thank you,” she answered, only too ready to rush upstairs to Evan.

“Yer’ll let me know, right?”

“Of course,” answered Gwyneth. “Of course.”

*~~*~~*

She went upstairs, her heart in her mouth, terrified of what she’d find when she reached Evan’s room.

Opening the door, she peered around it, seeing Royce and Gabriel busy with basin and cloths, many of which bore stains she knew came from Evan’s blood.

She gulped down a threat of nausea and entered, closing the door behind her.

Gabriel glanced up as she neared the bed. “He’s doing well, Gwyneth. Royce is just removing the ball now.”

“Oh.” She swallowed again, but walked closer. Giles was sitting on the other side of the bed, his hand over Evan’s outstretched arm. She’d never imagined the look of distress that Giles wore; it scared her more than the sight of Royce with a pair of long tweezers in his hand, leaning over an ugly gash in Evan’s shoulder.

An empty brandy bottle stood testament to why Evan was barely moving. They must have poured it down his throat, but whatever they had done, it worked.

His head moved a little from time to time, and he muttered something as Royce sought his target, but overall he was semi-conscious at best.

“This takes me back a few years,” Royce muttered. “Hoped I’d never have to do this again.”

“You know what you’re doing, then…” Gabriel passed him another cloth.

“Yes. And I hate to say that.” He froze, then let out a sigh. “Aha. Got you, you bugger.” He pulled the tweezers away from Evan, proudly holding a small and messy ball between their tips. “Rifle shot.” He dropped it into the bowl holding the bloody towels, and it clinked as it hit porcelain.

“But it’s clean. Didn’t shatter. So all we have to do now is make sure the wound is also clean, and then stitch him up.”

Gabriel, surprisingly practical, was turning out to be a splendid nurse. Gwyneth watched as he poured hot water into a fresh bowl, put some basilicum powder on the bedside table and produced a needle and thread from God knows where.

“He’ll be well?” Giles’s voice was calm but even so, Gwyneth could hear the worry.

“Of course,” Royce glanced at him. “I haven’t lost a patient yet.”

“You learned this as a soldier, I’m guessing,” she eyed him, wondering at his confidence and steady hands.

“I did. This makes the…hmm…” He sprinkled the powder around the cleaned wound.  “Maybe the sixth or seventh time I’ve removed lead from a grown man. I devoutly hope it’s the last.”

“They must be grateful you were there,” she said, her eyes on his fingers as he deftly began to stitch the skin and close the gash.

“I hope so. There were too many others I couldn’t help…”

She caught the one slight tremble of his fingers before he finished his task with a tiny knot.

“There. That’ll do it.” He handed Gabriel the needle and thread, and took one more damp cloth to finish cleaning everything. “He’ll have a scar, of course, and snipping those