Page 52 of The Pursuit of Mrs. Pennyworth
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Charlotte fell to her knees alongside Elliot, whose face dripped sweat. He shook his head, as if he were about to pass out.
“Thomas, help me get him upstairs to one of the bedchambers and send for the doctor.”
Elliot grunted as Thomas lifted him, then they proceeded slowly up the stairs. Charlotte hurried ahead of them, calling for Bridget.
The girl appeared from Charlotte’s bedchamber, carrying a dressing gown over her arm. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Find Beatrice, as quickly as you can, and prepare the bedchamber across the hall from mine. Mr. Baker has been shot and will need care.”
Bridget blanched and her hand flew to her throat. “Oh, my.” She peeked around Charlotte as the two men made it to the top of the stairs.
“Bridget, quickly, please.”
Galvanized by her words, Bridget did a quick bob, then raced down the stairs, giving Elliot a quick glance. “Oh, my.”
“Put him on my bed for now. I will help him out of his jacket.”
Elliot groaned as Thomas laid him on the bed. “Assist me with his boots, and then have Bones send for the doctor.” Charlotte tugged on one boot, and Thomas took the other. Once they were both off, Thomas left the room.
“Elliot, you need to sit up so I can remove your jacket.” He was still quite pale, beads of perspiration on his face. He grimaced as he sat up. Charlotte tried to gently remove the jacket, where fortunately, the blood had not dried enough to keep her from having to tug the material over the wound.
Once the jacket had been removed, she got a better look at the injury. The bullet had entered the fleshy part of his upper arm, and had not exited, so it would require digging around in the bullet hole. As she was helping him off with his shirt, Thomas entered the room. “Please have one of the girls fetch a bowl of warm water and some clean cloths.”
The footman made an abrupt turn and went back out the door, almost colliding with Bridget rushing past him. “Beatrice is almost finished with changing the bed linens. Can I do something for you?”
“Yes, I asked Thomas to have one of you bring me some warm water and cloths. Mr. Baker’s shirt is stuck to the wound, and I will need to wet it to get his shirt off.” Bridget hurried off as Beatrice came into the room. “The bed is ready, Mrs. Pennyworth.”
“Thank you, Beatrice.” She looked down at Elliot and grimaced at his pale face. “We should probably move you now before the doctor comes. I’m afraid the bullet is still in your arm, and he will have to remove it. Once he does that, I’m sure he’ll give you something for the pain, so you are better off in the bed you will stay in.”
Despite his obvious pain, he grinned. “You mean I can’t stay in your bed? How I hate passing up this opportunity.”
She felt the heat rise to her cheeks at his words. “Certainly not.” She sniffed, and tried, unsuccessfully, to put aside the thoughts of Elliot in her bed—her lying right beside him. Based on his slight chuckle, he must have guessed her thoughts.
To cover her unease, she said, “Can you stand?”
“Yes. I was shot in my arm. There is nothing wrong with my legs.” He blanched as he sat up, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stopped for a minute and took a deep breath, some color returning to his face.
Charlotte moved to his uninjured side and tucked her arm under his shoulder. He started to rise, then landed back on the bed. She wrapped her arm around his body, avoiding his injury. “Let’s try again.”
Slowly, he stood and they made their way across the room and through the door. Bridget reached the top of the stairs as they left Charlotte’s bedroom. “Bridget, put the water and cloths on the table next to the bed.”
The next twenty minutes were taken up with helping Elliot to the bed, then patting his wound to release the blood encrusted bullet hole from his shirt. Once that was done, she helped him off with his waistcoat, necktie, and shirt.
“Did anyone go after the gunman?” Elliot’s words were clipped, telling her he was in quite a bit of pain after all the maneuvering they’d done.
“No. I never even thought of that. I was more interested in getting us both inside.”
A slight knock on the partially opened door drew their attention. Carrying his satchel, Dr. Sanford, followed by Thomas, entered the room.
The doctor had attended Charlotte since her arrival in London. He was also the man who had advised her of Gabriel’s death. They’d summoned him directly to the spot where the accident had taken place. The doctor had made his determination and then traveled to Charlotte’s home to give her the sad news.
He’d also attended her weeks after when she’d been so despondent about losing her husband so soon after their marriage.
A tall, slender man, Dr. Sanford possessed a soulful face, and radiated compassion and caring. He kept up with all the newest discoveries in medicine, and treatments for various illnesses.
“What have we here?” His low, melodious voice carried further into the room than one would have thought.
