Mad Jack (Sherbrooke Brides 4)

“My lord,” said Mrs. Finch, “you and Winifrede were on your wedding trip? In Brighton?”

“A short wedding trip. Yes, we were in Brighton.”

The drawing room door burst open. Jack ran in, yelling, “Gray! Hurry—oh, God, hurry!”

He was on her heels in an instant. He shortened his step when they reached the upstairs corridor.

“She can’t breathe, Gray. She’s been coughing, her lungs seem filled with liquid, but she can’t spit it up. I don’t know what to do. Neither does Mrs. Smithers or Dolly.”

He was the last resort. He was terrified to his toes. He followed Jack into a large nursery at the end of the east corridor. There in the far corner of the room was a small bed. Standing by the bed was an older woman holding a small girl, shaking her, then pressing her against her bosom, crying, saying over and over, “You must spit it up, Georgie. Come, child, you must try.”

The little girl was wheezing and struggling. She wasn’t breathing well at all. Gray could hear the horrible liquid sounds with each breath she managed to suck out.

It was as if she were drowning. If she didn’t get her lungs clear, she would suffocate. Gray grabbed the little girl, slammed her against his shoulder, and pounded her back. The wheezing was deep and raw. He didn’t have much time.

He kept pounding that small back, saying over and over, “You can do it, Georgie, come on now, breathe. Breathe!”

He pounded her again, harder this time, then yet again, and a flood of dark gray liquid flew out of her mouth. He hit her back again, and more waste came out. Again and again, until finally the small body shuddered and collapsed. He felt her small chest expand, heard her suck in precious air, heard that her lungs were clear. Then she was still.

“Oh, God, Gray! No!”

“No, Jack, she’s all right. She threw up all the waste that was clogging her lungs, choking her.”

“We tried to get her to cough it all up, but she couldn’t.”

Mrs. Smithers was staring at the young man who’d just saved Georgina Wallace-Stanford. “Are you a doctor?”

Gray smiled. “No, ma’am. I’m just a very lucky man. She sounded just like a little boy I knew who almost drowned. I pulled him out of the pond and banged on his back until he vomited out all the water. Let’s pray she got everything up. Perhaps now she can recover. She’s sleeping. Come here, Jack, you can hear her breathing. Everything sounds clear, thank God.”

But Jack, his pillar of strength, had fainted quietly at his feet.

When Jack opened her eyes a few minutes later, she looked up to see Gray seated on Georgie’s bed, the little girl still in his arms.

“Hello. Georgie’s fine for the moment. What happened?”

“I don’t know. It’s strange. I fainted, didn’t I?”

“No wonder,” said Mrs. Smithers. “We both believed she was dying, my lord,” she added to Gray. “Here, lovey, drink some of this nice tea. Dolly just fetched it for you.”

“Is Georgie truly breathing easily now, Gray?”

“Yes, she truly is. Mrs. Smithers sent one of the footmen for Dr. Brace again. We’ll see what he has to say after he examines the mess that came out of her lungs. Now, drink the tea, Jack, then you can hold her and feel her lungs going in and out. That will convince you.”

Quiet, sloe-eyed Dolly, Georgie’s nanny, said, “It was just like his lordship said. Miss Georgie was drowning from the inside out.”

“Yes,” Gray said. “We can hope she vomited out all the liquid in her lungs.” He paused for a moment, his hand lightly stroking the little girl’s back. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

“I will give you anything you want, Gray,” Jack said, swung her legs over the side of the bed and leaned into him. He pulled her against him with his free arm. He kissed the top of her head, then kissed Georgie’s head. The little girl had black hair, just like her father. Her skin was as white as Jack’s.

He looked up to see Sir Henry standing in the nursery doorway, his mouth twisted in distaste, watching Dolly clean the mess off the floor. “Is she dead yet?”

“No,” Gray said. “She’s not going to die.”

Sir Henry grunted. “Waste of money, then, to bring Brace here again. If she’s going to live, why do we need him?” He turned on his heel and was gone.

It was at that precise moment that Gray decided how he would deal with Sir Henry Wallace-Stanford.

Jack was standing, her hand, now fisted tightly, on his shoulder. “I’m going to kill him.”