A Lady for Lord Randall (Brides of Waterloo)

Helplessly Mary looked at Randall’s immobile figure lying in the bed. She glanced at Robbins. He was almost as pale as his master and he fixed her with troubled eyes, as if looking to her for a solution. She breathed in deeply and drew herself up.

‘Would you object, Lieutenant, if I called for another opinion?’

The officer looked almost relieved at the suggestion.

‘Not at all, miss, but I think the answer will be the same.’

‘We shall see. Robbins, you must go and find Dr Lebbeke for me.’

* * *

It seemed an eternity before Bertrand arrived, although the chiming of the church clock told Mary it had not been an hour. Lieutenant Foster had gone, declaring that he had many patients to visit that day and could not wait. However, he had written a note before he left and Mary thrust it into Bertrand’s hands as soon as he came through the door.

Bertrand read it in silence while Mary carefully removed the bandages from Randall’s body. The wound was nothing more than a small, dark hole and looked quite insignificant in the broad, powerful chest. Bertrand’s examination did not take long.

‘And what is it you expect me to do for him, Mary?’ He looked at her gravely. ‘The army surgeon explains the case most carefully.’

She fixed her eyes upon him.

‘If the ball stays in him he will die.’

‘I am afraid that is almost inevitable.’

‘But if the musket ball were removed?’

‘What you are asking, ma chère, is an operation of the most delicate.’

‘But could you do it?’

‘Bien sûr, but I cannot guarantee the colonel will survive.’

‘At least he would have a chance and that is more than he has at the moment.’

‘Perhaps.’ Bertrand waved towards the surgeon’s letter. ‘Lieutenant Foster has counselled against an operation.’

Mary fixed her eyes on the figure in the bed.

‘He has to live. He has to.’

‘Because you wish it?’ said Bertrand. ‘Because you love him?

She met his eyes.

‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘I cannot marry him, and once this is over I will never see him again, but...’ she blinked away the threatening tears ‘...I c-cannot bear the thought of a world without him.’

‘Then we must try to save him for you, Mary.’

* * *

Once the decision was made there was no time for regrets or second thoughts. The room was prepared, the bed stripped of blankets and a table placed beside it, upon which Bertrand spread a fearsome array of instruments. Mary fetched a clean sheet which they used to cover Randall from the waist down. As she straightened it carefully over his lower body she thought that it would very likely be his shroud, if things went wrong.

* * *

Outside the ordinary sounds of the city life continued. The cries of the street sellers, the barking dogs, the rattle of wagons all floated in through the window as Bertrand worked. Mary could only watch. When she saw the sweat gathering on his brow she wiped it away with a damp cloth, then she stood back again, watching silently as he slowly, delicately probed the wound.

Time lost its meaning. She did not hear the clock chime, did not notice the square of sunlight moving across the floor, her whole attention was fixed upon Randall. She felt quite helpless and she knew Robbins was outside the door, equally anxious, equally keen to go anywhere, do anything that might help the earl to live.

After what seemed like eternity Bertrand gave a little huff of satisfaction.