Jane Davitt Spoken from the Heart

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bled no more, the skin around it dark with crusted blood.
Julian went to the window and stared out, willing the
physician to appear. He felt helpless, his bright day
ruined. He loved first night, for all that he usually spent
it in a fret of nerves, sometimes throwing up before he
went on stage. The play was fresh and the actors
enthusiastic. A long run could leave even the most
professional actor jaded, repeating words and actions by
rote, the role so familiar it was easier to play it exactly
the same than to seek to improve on it.
He flexed his wrist as if he held a sword and sketched
out the opening moves from his swordfight with the
king. The scuff of his boots on the floor seemed over-
loud, and he stopped, guilt filling him at his momentary
distraction, and turned to the bed.
There was no change. With a sigh, he went to fill a
basin with water, anticipating the physician's needs as
best he could and adding a soft cloth and a bottle of
astringent liquid said to aid healing. He had a small
bottle of smelling salts, too, one whiff of which could
rouse the dead, in his opinion, but he didn't uncork it,
just set it beside the bed on the small table there.
By the time Master Philps arrived, Julian's nails were
chewed ragged and he was pacing the room, hemmed in,
confined, pausing now and then to talk to Alex or bathe
his face as best he could.
Spoken from the Heart - 211
"It's a most serious injury," Philps said, disapproval
souring his voice. He'd wanted to chat with Julian, sip a
glass of wine perhaps and reminisce about the time
Julian had fallen ill with the red spots. Julian had cut
short his pleasantries and hustled him upstairs with scant
ceremony. The list of people he'd annoyed this day was
growing longer with every moment. "He should have
roused by now."
At least Philps had dismissed the threat of the fever
with a scornful grunt. "A cold," he said loftily. "I have
no doubt about it. The swoon was caused by tiredness
and lack of food. You say he'd not eaten?"
"His throat was too sore, he said. He did drink some
tea."
Philps, whose stomach entered a room before him,
looked horrified. "The day should always begin with a
large meal to sustain the body for the rigors of the day."
"Indeed." Julian strove for a flattering tone in an
attempt to mend the bridges he'd burned. "You're so
right."
He was given a shrewd glance. "Humph. Yes, well,
that explains that." He bent over the bed, exploring the
wound with deft, sure fingers and not a hint of
squeamishness. "I can feel a depression. It may be the
bone is pushing against his brain and suspending his
natural functions."
That sounded ghastly enough that Julian could only
gape at him. "What -- what can you do if that is the
case?"
"I could operate. Cut into his head and try to relieve--
"
"No!" Julian startled himself with the vehemence he
showed. "I've heard of such operations. My friend -- a
sailor on his ship fell from the rigging. The man lived,
Spoken from the Heart - 212
but he was mindless, a drooling hulk of a man. I'll not
have that. Not for Alex. Not him."
"My dear Julian," Philps said testily. "I'm no
sawbones, and I don't propose to cut into him this
moment, but in due time if he doesn't waken. Please
realize what your sailor underwent was some primitive
form of what I would do, performed by a butcher who
didn't deserve to call himself a physician."
"You can't know that. Some of the physicians aboard
ships are skilled enough. They have plenty of patients
upon which to hone their skills, after all." Julian shook
his head, dismissing the subject before Philps could
continue their argument. "No. He's under my care and
that -- no. It's too early to even think of it. We need to
give him time to wake on his own." He picked up the
smelling salts and thrust them at the physician. "Try
these."
Philps eyed them dubiously. "If he were a lady in a
swoon after seeing a mouse run by, maybe," he muttered,
but he uncorked the bottle and waved it under Alex's
nose.
Julian waited anxiously, but although Alex wrinkled
his nose, it seemed more of a reflex action than a sign he
was rousing.
"Well, he needs nursing," Philps said. "His linen will
require changing when he soils himself, and he has to be
fed, too. Water, broth, milk& nothing solid, and all will
need to be spooned into him carefully so that he doesn't
choke."
"I can do that," Julian said slowly, though in truth the
prospect was daunting, "but I'm needed at the theater
soon. Is there a nurse you know of who could sit with
him when I leave? I'll pay generously."
Spoken from the Heart - 213
Philps pursed his lips. "I could send for Mistress
Paterson. She's a most estimable woman and has my full
confidence. With the fever, though, so many calls on all
the nurses and physicians in the city& I'm not sure if
she's available. Hmm. I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you," Julian said, and made it as warm as his
anxiety would allow.
When the physician left, he realized how much he'd
hoped Alex would be restored to him as if by magic. To
have the man Julian had thought infallible as a child be
revealed as limited in his ability to heal was a shock, but
it was lost in the dull worry filling him. He stayed by
Alex's side, attempting to spoon some milk between his
lips but succeeding only in soaking Alex's hair and the
pillow.
Time passed and he found himself pacing again,
wanting to remain with Alex, but conscious of the draw
of the theater. He was wound up tightly, vibrating with
the need to leave, but unable to abandon his post by
Alex's bed. He forced himself to eat, preparing a hasty
meal and hurrying back upstairs to eat it by Alex's side,
but the bath would have to be forgone.
When the sun was dipping low in the sky and tinting
the clouds apricot and pink, there came a knock at the
door.
Julian hurried to answer it and almost wept with
relief when he saw a small, elderly lady wearing the
traditional white cap of a nurse and carrying a large
basket covered over with a snowy cloth.
"Good evening, sir. Master Philps sent me. I'm
Mistress Paterson."
"Oh, thank the Lady!" Julian opened the door wide.
"He's upstairs, but he's not roused and I can't get him to
swallow anything."
Spoken from the Heart - 214
"Never you mind about that, sir." Her voice was thin
with age, but there was a bell-like sweetness to it that
Julian would have appreciated under different
circumstances. "Just show me where your kitchen is and
I'll see to the young man, poor dear." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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