‘Right, now let’s get you settled.’ She helped him lie down, then, still puffing from her exertions, undid his leather boots and with a thump dropped them to the wooden floor. She rushed to light the oil lamp and closed the curtains, shutting out the pale white moonlight that had streamed across the room.
They had made it. He was safe. Now she could relax. Her hands on the small of her back, she arched it to try to bring some relief from the strain. Closing her eyes, she rolled her aching shoulders and released a small moan of fatigue.
Her moans were drowned out by a loud groan of agony from the bed. Her eyes flew open and she rushed to his side. He was obviously in a great deal of pain. Her own sore back and shoulders were nothing compared to the injuries this poor man had suffered, all because she wanted to play a trick on him and make him feel like a fool. She was a terrible, terrible woman.
His hands gripping the edge of the bed, he attempted to sit up, but Nellie was not having that. He needed to rest. He needed to recover. She leant over the bed, put her hands on his shoulders and as gently as possible pushed him back down, her hands lingering for a moment more than necessary. He looked up at her through bloodshot eyes and she quickly stood up and brushed down the front of her already straight skirt.
‘Now, do as you’re told and stay where you are,’ she said. ‘Patrick Kelly and his gang have given you a fair old beating and you don’t know how bad your injuries are. Best if you stay where you are while I fetch the doctor.’
He tried to say something through his swollen lips, then gave up and closed his eyes.
‘And don’t fall asleep until the doctor’s had a chance to look at you. I’ll be back soon.’ Nellie bit her lower lip. She was reluctant to leave him. Should a man injured as badly as he be left alone? What if he fell asleep and never woke up? But she had no choice. He needed to be seen by a doctor.
She rushed out of the room, ran down the stairs and out on to the street.
Doctor Larkin lived in one room above the corner shop. Everyone in the neighbourhood still called him doctor, but, due to drink and indulging too much in other substances, he had lost his medical licence many years ago. However, he was a godsend for the local people who could never afford the services of a regular doctor.
She pounded on his door and he instantly appeared, looking as dishevelled as she expected, but thankfully he wasn’t yet the worse for drink, not completely. She told him her plight and promised him the price of a bottle of gin if he would come immediately.
They rushed back to her rooms and hurried up the stairs, only to find Mr Lockhart collapsed in a heap on the floor, his breathing laboured, his face contorted with pain, as he clutched at the side of his chest. The foolish man had obviously tried to leave while she was away. It was a blessing in disguise that he had only made it across the room—who knew what might have happened to him if he had gone out on to the street in this condition?
With the doctor’s help they returned him to Nellie’s bed.
‘You’ve been in the wars, haven’t you, my son?’ the doctor said as he opened Mr Lockhart’s jacket and shirt and pressed his palms on his chest and stomach.
‘I’m all right, I just need to—’ Mr Lockhart’s words were cut short. He grimaced as the doctor pressed his hand down on his ribs. Nellie winced along with him as she looked at his poor chest, covered in bruises, although that didn’t stop her eyes from running over the sculptured muscles, the firm stomach and his wide strong shoulders. Nellie swallowed and put her hand over her mouth. What a terrible lass she was. The man was in pain. He was bruised and battered, had taken a terrible beating. How could she possibly be thinking about how magnificent he’d look without his shirt on? How could she be looking at those dark hairs on his chest, or that line of hairs that ran down his stomach like an arrow and disappeared into his trousers? She was shameless, just shameless.
‘There doesn’t seem to be too much damage, although you might have broken a rib,’ the doctor said, still palpitating Dominic’s firm stomach.
Nellie flicked her gaze away from Mr Lockhart’s muscular body and looked at the doctor.
‘Unfortunately, there’s no way to see inside the human body, so we’ll just have to wait to find out what the damage is,’ the doctor said. He fixed his rheumy gaze on Nellie. ‘Don’t let him move for a day or so. If there’s a broken rib, there’s always the danger it could pierce a lung, then he’ll be in real trouble. If there’s no broken ribs, you should know after a few days, once he starts to mend. If there is a broken rib, he’ll have to stay where he is for four or five weeks.’
Four or five weeks.
Mr Lockhart opened his swollen eyes and stared at Nellie, no doubt thinking the same thing. He couldn’t possibly stay here for four or five weeks. But that was a problem for another day.
Nellie looked back at the doctor. ‘But can you do something for him, Doctor? Anything, so that he can—’
‘Not much you can do,’ the doctor interrupted. ‘Not if it’s a broken rib.’ He looked back down at his patient. ‘I’ll bind up your chest, but you’re not to move for a few days until we know for sure.’
He turned back to Nellie. ‘You make sure he stays perfectly still. Hopefully he’ll
