Paxton and the Gypsy Blade (34 page)

As if in confirmation that this particular morning was unusual, breakfast arrived later than expected and Carlotta appeared pale and drawn. “Carlotta?” Adriana asked when the servant handed her the tray and turned to leave without speaking. “Are you ill? Is something wrong?”

Carlotta hesitated, tension apparent in her shoulders.

“Is it Ramon? If he's ill, perhaps I can—”

“The master burns with fever,” Carlotta said, distress in her voice. “His wound stinks of corruption.”

Adriana's mind raced.
An infection! Do you hear, Giuseppe? It's an ugly death. He'll pay! He'll pay dearly for taking your life
. “But you said yesterday that he was mending,” she said aloud, with no trace of the exultation she felt.

“As did the English doctor, but the master weakened during the night and now the doctor bleeds him. Fah! I fear that will not help.” She whirled on Adriana. “You take pleasure in this, eh, foolish one?”

“Why, no,” Adriana stammered. “Of course not. I—”

“Then know if our master dies he leaves orders for Ramon to kill you. My husband is devoted. He will obey.”

“Carlotta!” Ramon called impatiently from outside the door.

Panic rushed like ice water through Adriana's veins. She couldn't die. Not with Tom somewhere alive and coming for her and the boys. Bliss's death would have to wait: she had to live no matter what the cost. “Listen,” she blurted, stopping Carlotta at the door. “I've told you I have the gift of healing, and it's the truth. I know many secrets from the old times.”

“Ramon called. The doctor—”

“You said yourself the bleeding will not help,” Adriana rushed on. “I can cure him. I swear it!”

Carlotta frowned and shook Adriana's hand off her arm. “Do not say such things, girl. You are a prisoner here.”

“I know that, but I will take the pain from your master and save him from the death that waits for him—in exchange for my freedom. Go to him and tell him that.”

Fearful, Carlotta glanced over her shoulder at Ramon, who now stood in the doorway. “I cannot,” she whispered, backing away. “I cannot.”

“Carlotta!”

The door closed, the bar dropped. Alone, Adriana sat wearily on the edge of her bed and stared at the wall. There was nothing to do but wait. The seed was planted, and though there was no way of knowing what fruit would spring from it, at least there was hope …
if
Carlotta spoke, and if Bliss didn't wait too long to decide.

The results came sooner than Adriana had expected. Early in the afternoon, footsteps approached her door and stopped. An instant later, with an indecipherable look on his face, Ramon appeared in the doorway.

Adriana froze.
To my death, or to Bliss? Please, God
…

Ramon's hand rested lightly on the handle of his knife as he pushed the door wide open and stared at her. “You come,” he said, gesturing for Adriana to precede him. “See master.”

Adriana's knees felt like water and she had to hide her hands to conceal how they shook. Steering her with a series of grunts and prods, Ramon guided her down the hall and stairs, across the foyer, and to a door at the end of an undecorated whitewashed stucco corridor where Carlotta waited.

“Carlotta. Is he—”

“Worse.” Carlotta's eyes glittered with a ferocity that burned away all traces of softness. “If you lied,” she said, knocking on the door and stepping aside, “I swear I will help Ramon slit your throat. Do not fail.”

The door opened to reveal a portly silver-haired gentleman in a rumpled frock coat. “You're the Gypsy?” he asked, looking Adriana up and down disdainfully.

“Yes, sir.”

“I'm Dr. Fraser, and I don't like Gypsies.” He wiped the perspiration from his forehead and gestured curtly for her to enter. “But you're to come in anyway.”

The room was large, airy, and well lighted, with netting over the windows to keep out the flies and mosquitoes. A large dresser flanked by two wardrobes occupied most of one wall, bookcases another. A large desk with a Chippendale wing chair behind it and a pair of walnut captain's chairs flanking it sat in front of the windows. An extra table that held pitchers, basins, a mound of fresh bandages, and the doctor's surgical instruments sat at the end of an immense canopied bed.

“I believe,” Fraser said with sarcastic gentility, “that you're acquainted with Captain Trevor Bliss?”

My God! This is impossible!
Bliss looked more dead than alive. Already weakened by the infection, he had been bled only moments earlier, to judge by the bloodstained basin of water that sat on the bedside table. He was naked from the waist up; a blanket covered him from the waist down. A thick bandage swathed his chest, and a smaller one covered the wound on his forearm where he'd been bled. His face was flushed with fever and drawn with pain. His eyes were closed and his head moved slowly from side to side as his fingers clawed weakly at the sheets. “You … you've bled him,” Adriana said inanely, shocked by Bliss's condition.

Dr. Fraser considered himself a man of science and had no use for the charlatan practices of the Gypsies, practices that he knew were based on nothing more than superstition and witchcraft. “Of course,” he said, his contempt evident. He turned and walked to Bliss's side. “The girl is here as you ordered, Captain,” he announced stiffly.

Bliss opened his eyes and looked around as if in a daze. “Girl,” he croaked. “Come here.”

Adriana approached the bed, stood silently, and waited for him to speak again.

“You told … Carlotta that you … can cure me,” he gasped. After a moment, he added, “Accomplish that, and you shall go free.”

Impossible though the odds might be, it was no time to appear indecisive. “I can cure you,” Adriana said simply. “My grandmother and my mother schooled me in the old ways. You will live.”

“The old ways?” Fraser exploded. “This is idiocy!”

“Bleeding is new?” Adriana retorted angrily. She pointed to the open astrology book lying on the table. “Astrology is new?”

Fraser's face turned purple with rage, but he spoke with exaggerated patience. “Every reputable physician in the world knows—”

“Quiet!” Bliss's voice was barely audible, but it rang with authority. “I have seen … the Gypsy cures,” he rasped. “They work.” His hand shaking with the effort, he pointed at Adriana. “I … I do not trust you, though, girl.” His hand fell to the bed and he was forced to rest before continuing. “Everything you do … will be watched. And remember …” A death's-head grimace was intended as a smile, but there was nothing amusing about it. “Remember. If I die … you follow me … on the instant.”

Adriana's journey to his side had spanned years and oceans. How ironic that, when she had at last been presented with a perfect chance to kill him, a twist of fate had placed him at her mercy. She would cure him. To live, she had to heal her brother's murderer. She would kill him when he was once again fit. Bliss would die knowing she was responsible not from the wounds of battle. “I'm not ready to die yet,” Adriana said without emotion. “I won't forget.”

“Good,” Bliss whispered. “Then begin.”

“Just what do you intend to do?” Fraser demanded.

“I won't know that until I see the wound, will I?”

There wasn't a moment to lose. Action freed her from indecision. Working quickly but gently, she untied the outer bandage and began to remove the inner compresses. Bliss winced, and groaned in pain when the last one stuck. “I'll try not to hurt you any more than necessary,” Adriana promised, looking under the bandage and wincing herself, “but there will be pain.”

“Well?” Fraser asked.

“Is there laudanum?”

“I gave him a dram an hour ago,” Fraser said with a smirk. “I shouldn't give him any more, if I were you.”

He was right. Bliss was on a tightrope strung across the chasm of death. The shock resulting from too much pain could kill him; any more laudanum, in his debilitated state, could have equally disastrous results. Her only chance was to take a chance; her only consolation, that Bliss would surely die soon under Fraser's care. “Carlotta,” she called, ignoring Fraser and crossing the room to talk to the woman, “I'll need your help, and I'll need Ramon, too.”

The master had spoken, and Carlotta dipped her head in deference to Adriana's newly acquired authority.

Adriana's list of supplies was short, but required time to fill. “Water that's been boiled, and a box of salt. Fresh linen for bandages, and you must boil them, too. Is there a cook available?”

“Yes.”

“Put him to work making a clear broth from fresh beef, and make sure there's hot sweetened tea ready at all times. And lastly, you must send someone to find a good-sized piece of spoiled meat or a dead animal infested with maggots.”

“Maggots!” Fraser exploded.

“His flesh is putrefying,” Adriana said. “So long as that flesh remains in his body, he cannot be healed.”

“But my God, woman!” Fraser protested. “They'll eat him alive!”

“Maggots eat only dead flesh,” Adriana explained curtly. “There's little time to spare, Carlotta. The water and salt first, and quickly.”

Fraser, his eyes narrowed dangerously, interposed himself between Adriana and Bliss. “You're mad, girl. Get out of here before I have you flogged.”

“Dr. Fraser.” Bliss's voice was weak, but the words cut through the doctor's protests and silenced him. “I am still in command of my own house, sir, and of my own body. The girl will … proceed with her treatment, whatever it may be.”

Fraser drew himself up to his full height. “As you command, Captain. But I shall not remain to witness such mummery. Good day, sir!”

“Carlotta. Ramon. Come here,” Bliss ordered in the silence that followed the slamming of the door.

Obediently, the two servants approached and stood at his side.

“One time,” Bliss began haltingly, “my father owned a mastiff that was tusked by a boar. When the wound became infected, the houndsman treated it with maggots. The dog lived to hunt again.” He lay quietly, collecting his strength before he could go on. “Do as the girl says. But if I die … remember. She must die, too.”

“The water and salt, Carlotta,” Adriana said, moving back to the bed. “Hurry.”

Bliss opened his eyes and focused with difficulty on Adriana. “So you think a trick that worked on a dog will cure a man, eh?”

“If it's not too late, yes.”

“Too late …” What started as a feeble attempt at laughter ended in a cough. Perspiring profusely and racked with pain, Bliss lay silently for a long moment. “Tell me. Is it too late to apologize for killing your brother?”

“It isn't a question of too late,” Adriana said, wondering, but not really caring, if he was serious.

Bliss sighed. “I was afraid that might be the case. Well, what … are you going to do?”

“The wound must be opened first, and then cleansed. It will be very painful, but once it's done, you'll be past the first hard part.” She took a deep breath. “Then I shall place maggots in the wound and hope that we can arrest the infection. From then on, it's a question of time and your constitution. I'll be asking you to drink a great deal of broth to fortify your blood. You must cooperate if you want to live.”

“I'll cooperate.” He closed his eyes, and a shudder racked his fevered body. “Ramon, see that I do as she says. And see that you or Carlotta are always close by.”

“Yes, master,” Ramon replied, his face hard and watchful as he looked at Adriana.

Another half-hour was spent in preparation. Buckets of fresh water and piles of bandages arrived. An extra bed and clean linens were sent for. Bliss drank a cup of tea laced with honey, plus as much beef broth as he could hold, and was transferred to the new bed. Finally, when all was ready, all the servants except Carlotta and Ramon were sent out of the room, and Adriana, a sharpened knife in her hand, stood over Bliss. “I'm ready,” she announced grimly. “Are you?”

“Begin,” Bliss said, and gritted his teeth against the pain that he knew would follow.

Time hung suspended as Adriana ministered to the limp form in the bed. Bliss gave one short scream when she opened the festering wound, and then fainted from agony. The stench was almost overwhelming and threatened to gag her, but Adriana swallowed the sour taste in her throat and called for water. Working quickly, she laved the wound with dipperful after dipperful of salted water and, as gently as possible, removed the last pieces of splinter. At last, the wound thoroughly cleansed, she took a bundle from Carlotta and unwrapped it, reavealing a chunk of decayed meat wriggling with maggots. With teeth clenched, she scraped the larvae into the open gash on Bliss's chest, then quickly covered the wound with a light layer of dampened linen and bound it loosely. As a final step, Ramon transferred the unconscious Bliss back to his own bed.

“He will live?” Ramon asked as he stepped back.

“I don't know,” Adriana admitted, feeling completely drained. “Have someone clean up that mess and bring more fresh clean water. He must have cool baths. I don't want the fever to climb too high before it breaks.”

Carlotta nodded and disappeared. Moments later, with Ramon standing guard at the door, the room was filled again with bustling servants. Adriana pulled a chair close to the bed, sank wearily into it, and studied her patient. Bliss hadn't regained consciousness during the procedure, an occurrence for which he might have been devoutly thankful. But then, he might never regain consciousness.

Day turned into night and night again to day, and the grueling work continued without pause. Hourly, the bandages were changed. Whenever Bliss roused, Adriana and either Ramon or Carlotta fed him spoonfuls of beef broth. He was bathed regularly with cool water, and his bedding was changed every four hours. Sometime during the following morning, Carlotta entered with a basketful of leaves that a native
curandera
, or witch doctor, had told her would lower a fever. Grasping at straws, Adriana prepared an infusion, gave some to Bliss to drink, and saturated his bandages with the rest.