'Grenville?' I whispered, hoping to God I was wrong. 'Lie still. Bartholomew has gone for help.'
He coughed. 'Lacey?'
My heart turned over. It was Grenville. I felt the soft weave of his expensive coat beneath my fingers and the fine cloth of his cravat.
I loosened the cravat's knot and drew the folds from his throat. 'Grenville, old friend,' I whispered. 'Who did this?'
He took a long time to answer. 'Don't know. Too dark.'
Too much blood stained his chest. My hands were sticky with it.
I cursed. I was tired, and my hands shook. He must have come down to take a breath of air, or to follow someone, or… I didn't know, and I couldn't think.
His face was clammy and cold. I thanked God I did not hear the deadly bubbling sound that meant the knife had pierced his lung-I had heard that horrible sound often enough on the Peninsula. But I feared to withdraw the knife until I could see, lest I hurt him further.
'What happened?' I persisted. 'Why were you out here?'
Grenville drew several breaths, as though trying to speak, but he never answered.
My heart beat hard with fear. I found and grasped one of his hands. 'Don't try to talk. Squeeze my hand if I am right. Did you see someone down here?'
A faint pressure on my fingers answered me.
'Did you think you'd seen the prankster?' I asked.
Another answering pressure.
'Why the devil did you come down here alone? No, no, don't answer. You can tell me all later.' I peered into the darkness of the house. 'Damn it, Bartholomew, where are you?'
I heard Bartholomew just then through the open door. He trotted out swinging a lantern from his large fist. His brother, white and sleepy-eyed, came after him.
Bartholomew saw Grenville and gasped. The lantern swayed, and hot wax sprayed me.
'Hold it steady,' I snapped.
Grenville looked terrible. His face was paper white, his eyes half-closed. His ivory waistcoat was thick with blood. In the center of the circle of blood stood the unmoving hilt of a knife.
Bartholomew stood transfixed with shock. Matthias gave one horrified stare then bolted back into the house.
Grenville's lips quirked. 'I frightened him.'
I snarled, 'Don't you dare talk again unless I give you leave.'
He obediently fell silent. By the light of Bartholomew's swinging lantern, I saw Grenville's chest rise and fall, too rapidly, not deeply enough.
Matthias hurried out of the house again. He hadn't run away in fear, he'd gone to fetch a pile of towels.
'Good lad,' I said. I snatched the topmost towel and pressed it to Grenville's chest, below the protruding hilt. 'I must take out the knife. We cannot chance that his heart or lung will not be cut when we move him.'
Bartholomew bit his lip. Matthias crouched next to his master. 'What do I do, sir?'
'Hold his shoulders. He must not move.' I willed my hands to cease trembling. 'Do you hear me, Grenville? You must not move. Think of yourself as a boulder. Heavy. Strong. Immovable. Think on it.'
I did not give him time to prepare himself. I knew that men often flinched from anticipated pain, and I wanted it over with before he knew it had started. I simply grasped the knife and in one swift, silent pull, drew it out.
Grenville did move. He gasped and his body almost left the ground, but Matthias, big and strong, held him down. I clapped another towel straight over the wound and pressed down hard.
More hot wax sprayed my face. 'Damn it, Bartholomew.'
I heard footsteps, and then Didius Ramsay burst out of the house. He was in a dressing gown and slippers, and his eyes were wide. 'Good lord! Is it Mr. Grenville?'
'Ramsay, send someone for a surgeon,' I said. 'Quickly.'
Ramsay took a few gulps of air then started back inside and ran full tilt into the bulk of Rutledge.
Rutledge shoved Ramsay aside and came out, a candle in his hand. Several boys and tutors in dressing gowns followed him. Rutledge took in the scene, my bloody hands, and the knife. He bellowed, 'What the devil is going on?'
'Fetch a surgeon,' I repeated while Ramsay stood there in dismay. 'A good surgeon, not a quack of a doctor.'
Ramsay scampered away. Rutledge lifted his candle to study Grenville. Grenville screwed up his eyes at the light.
'What happened here?' Rutledge repeated. 'Lacey, what have you done?'
I ignored him. 'Matthias, is there any laudanum?'
'I can look, sir.'
'No,' Grenville's voice came feebly. 'Not laudanum.'
'It will take away the pain,' I said.
'There is no pain.' He drew a breath. 'Don't send me to sleep.'
'Damn you, will you stop talking?'
'Aye, sir,' he whispered.
'Matthias, can you carry him? I want him off this walk, out of the damp.'
Bartholomew rose, shoved the lantern at Matthias. 'I'll do it.'
'Matthias, run up to his chamber and make certain it's plenty warm. Stoke the fire high. And fetch water.'
Matthias pushed past Rutledge and the staring pupils, hurrying to do as I bid. Bartholomew leaned down. With gentleness I'd never seen in him before, he scooped Grenville into his arms.
I leveraged myself to a standing position, leaning heavily on my stick. My bad knee pounded with pain. I held the towel to Grenville's chest and walked with Bartholomew into the house. The crowd of curious lads and tutors opened before us.
Rutledge was still demanding to be told what had happened. The tutors and pupils pattered after us anxiously, watching, round-eyed.
Even in my worry, I noticed two absent-Sutcliff and Fletcher.
Once inside Grenville's chamber, Bartholomew laid Grenville carefully on the bed. Matthias had the fire stoked high. A basin of water already steamed before it.
Grenville's head lolled on the pillow. I saw the glimmer of his eyes, but his lids were heavy and waxen.
'Don't you die on me,' I told him. 'I'll not have it said that your death was my fault.'
' My fault, sir,' Bartholomew said. 'I should have been here to look after him.'
'No, mine,' Matthias put in. 'He told me not to wait up for him, and I went to bed.'
I broke in. 'Well, now that we have thoroughly flogged ourselves, shall we go about making certain he stays alive? Matthias, bring that basin.'
While Bartholomew and Matthias hovered like worried aunts, I opened Grenville's clothes and bathed the wound. The gash was small, but it was deep and had bled much. I could have no idea what the blade had cut going in.
'Bloody fool,' I said as I worked. 'What were you doing rushing about in the middle of the night? Going down to confront a villain alone? You should have taken Matthias. Or waited for me.'
If Grenville died, it truly would be my fault. Grenville would not have come here at all had he not taken interest in me and my adventures, as he called them. He would be safe and bored in London, busy making satirical comments about other people's clothes and manners.
'Lacey,' Rutledge said behind me. 'What is all this?'
'Where is the damned surgeon?' I demanded.
'How the devil should I know? And where have you been? You said you would take a day in London, and you wander back three days later in the small hours without a by-your-leave.'
I lost my patience. 'I was ill, and you have more things to worry about. Send someone to Fletcher's chamber and do not allow Fletcher to leave it.'
I felt Rutledge's stare on the back of my neck. 'You think Simon Fletcher did this?'
