An Inconvenient Trilogy Part 48

Chapter 19.

Martha crawled across to Laura's slumped shape. She could feel the trickle of blood down her neck, but she disregarded it. "Laura?" she croaked.

Laura was still, but Martha could see that she was still breathing. She had to get her back into the cart. She turned her body over and gasped when she saw the wound. It was on the right of Laura's body and was oozing a lot of blood. Laura had groaned when she had been moved, so at least Martha knew she was conscious.

Martha ran to the cart and grabbed their shawls, she folded one and placed it over the wound. She reached for Laura's hand and placed it over the temporary bandage.

"Laura, can you hear me? I need you to press against this, with all your might. Do you understand?"

Laura pressed obediently, but did not respond. Martha gritted her teeth. She was determined to get Laura back to the house, where help was, but she was not sure if she was able to get her into the cart.

"I need to move you Laura," she said, her voice gentle. "Laura, this is going to hurt, but I need you to work with me."

Martha struggled with the young woman, more than once nearly sagging to the ground in defeat. All the time, she muttered words of comfort, to try and rea.s.sure Laura that they were achieving their aim.

After what seemed like hours, Martha slumped against the end of the cart. She had managed to bundle Laura into the back and had used the empty sacks to try and cus.h.i.+on her. She covered her with the spare shawl and ran to the front of the cart, quickly picking up the reins and starting the journey back to the estate.

Martha travelled as fast as she dared, all the time, shouting words of comfort or instruction over her shoulder. Very often she had to act like an angry school teacher, shouting commands, when it looked like the pressure of Laura's hand was easing from the shawl pressing on the wound.

The journey seemed to take an eternity, but eventually Martha turned onto the lane that led to the side of the house. She started to shout for help, while at the same time as sending rea.s.suring comments to Laura.

The noise that Martha made, caused staff and guests to come running to the front of the house. Lord Halkyn and Alfred were the first to react to Martha's words. She was shouting that Laura was injured, that she needed help. The pair ran to the back of the cart, their faces setting grimly at the scene that greeted them, and carried Laura inside.

Charles had stood transfixed at the sight before him. Martha had a cut of six inches across her throat, from which blood was dripping down onto the front of her dress. That would have been horrifying enough for the man, standing there watching the scene, but her skirts were covered in blood as well. He felt the bile rise in his throat as the reality of Martha being injured hit him.

"Charles! Here, now!" Lord Halkyn shouted. They were trying to carry Laura in without causing her any more pain than they had to and they needed a third a person to help.

Lord Halkyn's voice roused Charles and he ran across to the cart. The three men carried Laura into her bedchamber and laid her carefully in the bed. A doctor had already been sent for by Smithson, ever responsive to any situation.

"What happened?" Lord Halkyn asked Martha.

"The man who was following her in London, he found us," she replied, not able to take her eyes off Laura, her skin was ghostly white.

"Can you describe him?" Alfred asked, trying to remain focused, but deep down knowing what Laura's injury meant.

"He was covered," Martha frowned trying to remember, "But when I turned my head slightly, I saw he had a scar from his ear to his chin."

"Are you sure?" Alfred snapped, for the first time looking away from Laura.

"Yes, it was most peculiar, but I only saw it that once, as I said, he was covered up," Martha responded. "Laura said she had not recognised him immediately because the last time she had seen him, he had been standing in the shadows."

"d.a.m.n it!" Alfred muttered to himself, but Lord Halkyn raised his eyebrows at him.

"We shall discuss this when the Doctor arrives," Lord Halkyn said to Alfred.

The doctor arrived in record time and all left the room, apart from Martha and Charlotte. The gentlemen retired to the study, where Lord Halkyn poured three large brandies.

"You recognised the attacker from the description that Miss Fairfield gave you," Lord Halkyn said to Alfred. It was not a question, but a statement.

"Yes," Alfred said, drinking the brandy in one gulp.

"Is he a well known criminal?" Lord Halkyn asked.

"He's a Bow Street Officer," Alfred said quietly.

"What?" Charles exclaimed.

"Yes, one of the people who is meant to protect others, and instead he was apparently going around doing the killing. If he admitted he was the one Laura saw following her, he has killed at least one other and probably two other women," Alfred said, looking into his empty gla.s.s without really seeing. "And I brought him here."

"How did you do that?" Charles asked, not believing Alfred's words, he had never known such an upstanding man.

"I wrote to my senior, Mr Frost didn't I? Asking when I was expected to return to work. It wouldn't be very hard for someone working on the inside to access Mr Frost's office and access the information. No one would have suspected Corless."

"Corless? Do I know that name?" Lord Halkyn asked with a frown.

"Yes," Alfred said bitterly. "He was the one working on the outside, when I was on the inside at Baron Kersal's. Perfect really, he will have known exactly who was who, so when the time came to get rid of them, his job would have been even easier."

"Do you think Kersal knew beforehand what we were doing?" Lord Halkyn asked.

"Probably not," Alfred admitted. "But if you remember, I was kept well out of the way when the raid took place, and Corless led it. He would have had a lot of contact with the Baron, ample time for him to be persuaded to help the criminal, apparently."

"What a b.l.o.o.d.y disaster," Lord Halkyn said with a whoosh of breath.

"That, my Lord, is the understatement of the year," Alfred responded bitterly, before putting his head in his hands.

When the doctor returned downstairs, Alfred went out to meet him. Lord Halkyn let him go, he had a good idea of what Alfred and Laura felt about each other and was willing for Alfred to take charge of the care needed for Laura. He came back into the library and went to the brandy decanter, poured himself a large gla.s.s and for the second time that day, drank it in one gulp.

Lord Halkyn and Charles looked at each other, but Lord Halkyn broke the silence. "Alfred?" he asked.

Alfred did not turn to face them, maintaining his stance near the drinks cabinet. "There is no hope, it is just a matter of time," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry," Lord Halkyn said. "You had better go to her."

"Yes," Alfred agreed and left the room, leaving the two men to dwell on their own thoughts.

The bedchamber was still when Alfred entered, he did not knock and wait to be admitted, there was no longer time for formalities. He had known what the outcome would be as soon as he had seen Laura, he had seen knife wounds before. Once in a major organ, there was very little hope and Laura's wound was so deep and wide, it could not have missed something vital. Fool that he was, a tiny part of him had hoped, no, had prayed, that for once he would be proved wrong. That the doctor would come to him and say that in time she would recover.

He walked over to the bed and Martha moved to let him have access, it was obvious she had been crying, Alfred did not know how he was managing not to, but he just stood still, looking down at the love of his life. Charlotte was holding one of Laura's hands, quietly crying.

Laura's red hair was scattered across the pillow, as if she had just fallen backwards in laughter, but there were no smiles around her lips today. Her colouring was grey, that of death, rather than life. Her eyes normally so vibrant and expressive were closed, in pain, if the frown across her forehead was anything to go by. She still wore the dress she had been brought in with, there was hardly any indication of what colour it had been, there was so much blood and dirt intermingled in the material.

Alfred reached down and touched Laura's hand gently. "Now then woman, what's all this fuss you are creating?" he said, but his voice was husky with restrained tears.

Laura did not quite open her eyes, but they fluttered and her lips twitched. Alfred felt as if his heart was physically being ripped out, his chest hurt so much.

"If you'd have asked for me to stay a few extra days, I would have you know," he gently chided. "There was no need to make all this fuss."

Laura's lips twitched again, but this time she squeezed at his hand, as if she wanted him to come closer. Alfred put his face close to hers. Laura frowned deeper and gritted her teeth. "Frederica," she whispered. The word cost her a great deal, because she gasped in agony when she had uttered it.

Alfred, remained close to Laura's face and said quietly. "She is safe Laura, and always will be. I promise you, she will be well looked after and cared for. She will be loved like she deserves, I will care for her. Do you understand what I am saying Laura, do you understand?" he asked, his voice urgent, but clear.

Laura nodded her head slightly and once again the smile touched her lips.

The group stayed by the bedside, maintaining the bandage on the wound, but not able to do anything else to help their friend. As the minutes pa.s.sed it was obvious she was getting weaker, as her breath was becoming more shallow and laboured.

Alfred was surprised that she had survived so long, it just showed what a strong, determined woman she was. He tried to imprint her image into his mind, but in reality he knew that he would never forget, could never forget any detail of her.

She muttered something and he leaned closer to her. "What is it, Laura?" he asked.

Laura seemed to need a certain amount of air before she could speak and took some gasps that were deeper than the ones she had been previously taking. She turned to Alfred and opened her eyes slowly, looking at him through the curtain of pain that was enveloping her.

She took another breath and with a wistful smile said, "In another life....." before the effort became too much.

Alfred's eyes filled with tears that this time spilled onto his cheeks, but he smiled at the woman on the bed. "In another life....." he said and kissed her cheek.

Laura closed her eyes with a sigh and her breathing stopped.

Chapter 20.

Charles knocked on the door of Martha's bedchamber and entered when he heard her voice. Everyone had retired, to be alone with their thoughts and grief, but Charles had been unable to settle knowing that Martha was upset and injured.

Martha sat in front of her looking gla.s.s, trying to brush her hair out, but in reality, sitting and crying. She did not react when Charles entered the room, or when he closed the door behind him and turned the key in the lock. She just looked at him with eyes full of tears.

"Oh Martha, my love," Charles said, crossing the room in three strides, "Come here." He lifted her from the chair and wrapped her in his arms.

His words and actions were the catalyst that tipped Martha over the edge and she sobbed into his shoulder, while he stroked her back, not making any sounds, letting her grieve in her own way. They stood like that for some time, before Martha gathered herself enough to lean away slightly from Charles and dry her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Don't ever be sorry for caring for someone," Charles responded, slowly brus.h.i.+ng Martha's hair away from her shoulder. He had never seen it down, it fell below her shoulders, softening her face, making her seem younger and more vulnerable.

"I couldn't get her back any quicker," she said, hanging her head. "I didn't want to hurt her even more."

"You could have done no more," Charles said, rea.s.suringly, lifting her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "The wound was delivered to kill, Martha, and there was nothing any of us could have done to help her."

"I didn't want her to tell him which one he was looking for, I thought it may have given her more time to escape," Martha said, explaining some of the angst that she was feeling.

Charles went cold at her words. She had been willing to put herself at risk to try and help Laura. "He had seen her before," Charles said. "But you did get injured," he said noticing again the cut on her neck. It had not been cleaned up, Martha had been unable to let anyone touch her while her friend lay dying.

"Sit." Charles commanded, gently forcing Martha to sit on the dressing table stool. He walked over to the wash basin and poured some fresh water from the nearby jug, before carrying the basin over and placing it on the dressing table. Taking his handkerchief out of his pocket, he dipped it into the water.

"Raise your head, I want to clean the wound," he instructed, his voice firm, but kind.

"I can do it," Martha said, but lifted her head anyway.

"For once, let me look after you without an argument," Charles responded, but he smiled and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.

Martha closed her eyes and allowed Charles to minister to her. She felt so drained, while so many possibilities and questions went around and around in her mind until she felt that it might explode. The gentle movement made by Charles, soothed her thoughts, as well as cleaned her body.

When he had finished, the bowl was deep red and her dress front was wet. "I'm sorry about your dress, you need to change into your night things," Charles said.

"What?" Martha gasped, her eyes snapping open.

"Don't worry," Charles smiled in amus.e.m.e.nt. "You are safe, even I am not so base as to be anything other than a gentleman today. Go behind the screen and get changed."

Martha obeyed him, feeling shame that once again she had presumed his words had meant something which they did not. When she had secured her robe around her, she peeped around the edge of the room divider.

"What now?" she asked, her cheeks flushed.

"You come and sit at your dressing table and I will brush your hair," Charles instructed, indicating with his hand, where he wanted her.

"Charles, you really don't have to...." Martha started, but was quickly interrupted.

"If you say I don't have to once more, I will lay you over my knees and give you the tanning you are so obviously short of," he said, still trying to be gentle, but frustration getting the better of him.

Martha flushed deeper, but moved across to the dressing table chair. "I don't want you to feel obliged, that's all," she said a little defensively.

"I don't feel obliged," Charles said firmly. "I am here because I want to be, I don't need to repeat myself do I?"

"No," Martha said meekly, closing her eyes and allowing herself to relax.

Charles took hold of Martha's hair and forced himself not to bring it up to his face to feel the texture. He would be the type of person that Martha thought he was if he did anything inappropriate today, so he restrained himself and concentrated on slow, long brush strokes. He felt her tension easing away, as little by little the hair became a smooth curtain.

Eventually he placed the brush down on the dressing table and put his hands on Martha's shoulders, looking at her through the looking gla.s.s. "You need to rest now," he said gently.

"I feel exhausted, but I don't want to sleep," Martha admitted.

"You have had a shock, you need to rest. Come, to bed with you, young lady," Charles instructed.

Martha smiled a little at the term he used and allowed herself to be led by the hand to her bed. The whole situation was very strange, but somehow after the events of the day, it was comforting to be taken care of and not have to think. She climbed into bed and Charles pulled the covers over her.

Charles bent over and kissed Martha on the lips, it was a gentle, loving kiss that would not lead to anything more. "Get some rest. If you need me, just send for me, at any time," he said.

"Thank you," Martha said quietly, flus.h.i.+ng a little at his closeness and the feelings he stirred. She did not want to start a big conversation, but she could not help uttering, "I'm sorry," to him as he straightened.

"What for?" Charles asked with a frown.