Page 16 of The Captain’s Valentine (The “Other” Trents #3)

Had he not been watching out the window of the hackney, he may not have seen Perdita or the woman attack her. Why had nobody else stopped?

Harrison’s stomach tightened as he recalled how that woman cut Perdita’s arm and then drew back to next try and stab her in the stomach. It was in that instant he knew his decision. He did not need months. He wanted Perdita even if it meant that he would sail only one more time.

Love, deep and raw rushed to the surface when he saw her in such danger. Protection followed quickly and if he hadn’t needed to restrain that mad woman, he would have had Perdita in his arms, confessing his heart and begging her to marry him.

He had been such a fool to think that he needed more time.

He knew. He was simply too cautious…afraid, and he had almost lost her today.

“Is that your hackney?”

the investigator asked.

“Yes,”

Harrison answered absently.

“Get her inside.”

Harrison had to practically wrestle the woman who was deceptively strong for being so slight.

He set her on the bench beside him, but when she raised her hands, fingers bent in a manner to claw his face with her nails, he grabbed both wrists and pinned them between his hands. This should have calmed her, but then the woman started kicking out at Strotham and he was forced to restrain her ankles until they arrived at No. 4 Bow Street, where together they were able to get her inside, into shackles and then into a cell. Only then did Harrison relax.

“I am going to question her to see what I can learn, though it is likely she is insane.”

Harrison stepped out of the building and drew in a deep breath, shaken by what he had witnessed—the knife ready to plunge into Perdita’s stomach and then the senseless screams of the woman.

To think he feared that Perdita had been imagining the woman and hadn’t been concerned.

“Where is the woman and why did she try to kill my sister?”

Benedick Valentine demanded as he approached.

“How did you learn so quickly?”

“I was to visit with Felding when someone recognized me and told me a tale of how a woman tried to stab Perdita and was brought here.”

Harrison quickly explained as Valentine stormed into Bow Street, ready to demand answers.

Strotham met him just outside the jail cell.

“Who is she?”

“She has not told me,”

Strotham answered. “Only repeats the same thing, over and over.

She reared up as far as the shackles would allow. “Second born is evil and bringer of bad luck. Her and the boy should have died.”

She then shook her head. “I should have done it before now. When I first seen her. All is lost. All will suffer. She and the boy must die.”

“By she does she mean Perdita?”

Benedick asked.

“From what I have gathered, she has mistaken your sister for a second born twin, which is impossible.”

Strotham frowned. “There were no twins in your family, were there?”

“There were no twins born to us,”

he answered absently while he stared at the woman.

“How old do you think she is?”

“Thirty, maybe,”

Strotham answered.

“And she has not answered any of your questions?”

“No. She only repeats the same thing over and over.”

“Bedlam?”

Harrison asked.

“Not until we know more. We will send for Dr. Sinclair later. He took your sister to have her arm attended to.”

Valentine straightened. “What do you mean, her arm attended to?”

“The woman managed to cut her arm. It’s a deep gash requiring medical attention but not life threatening.”

“Orlando is probably seeing to her care,”

Benedick decided before looking at the woman again. “Send word if you learn anything else.”

Perdita gritted her teeth and tried not to cry out as Orlando examined the gash in her arm.

At least if she fainted, she was already lying down on a table.

“I need to make certain there is nothing inside the wound.”

Perdita gritted her teeth as he examined the inside of the cut and not her arm. “What could have possibly gotten inside?”

“A knife did, which is now gone,”

he reminded her. “It could have had dirt or anything else on it.”

She wanted to tell them that there was no dirt but really could not be certain.

“Please hurry.”

Her stomach was about to revolt and she really did not want to toss up her accounts on Orlando’s office floor.

An instant later he poured liquid onto her arm but before she could look to see what he was doing, burning, as if he had lit a fire in her wound, brought a rush of tears to her eyes.

“What is that?”

“Brandy!”

“Why?”

She cried. “Most people drink it.”

“I am not at all certain, but I noted in battle, when I had a supply, and washed a wound with it, soldiers were less likely to develop an infection. Another doctor shared the advice with me, but I have not taken time to thoroughly study why it works. However, it does and I am taking all precautions with you.”

Perdita closed her eyes and took deep breaths so that she did not faint then reconsidered. Maybe she shouldn’t fight unconsciousness, then she wouldn’t have to be aware of or endure everything her brother was doing to her.

“All that I have left to do is stitch you up and bandage the wound.”

She’d suffered through stitches once and it was nearly as painful as the brandy in her wound. Perdita gritted her teeth, then winced each time the needle pierced her skin. As tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes, she finally asked. “Did you sew this slowly on the battlefield?”

“No,”

he answered. “There was not time to use care as the purpose was to close the wound, bandage and move on to the next patient.”

“Yet, you are not as efficient with me.”

“I am trying to be more delicate so that if you do scar, it will be minor compared to some of the butchery that I was forced to practice saving a life.”

Orlando did not often talk about being a doctor during the war on the Continent, but Isabella had shared some stories of how he had to go from one soldier to the next, working as quickly as possible to save a life—from removing a bullet, to stitching a stomach from a saber, to removing a limb. Given the horrors he must have seen, she was grateful her brother was taking his time and decided to quit complaining.

However, that didn’t stop her from wincing or her eyes from watering each time he pinched her skin together and the needle pricked her again.

“All done,”

he finally said after what had seemed like an eternity.

“I will wash your arm, then bandage it.”

She had thought he meant water but couldn’t hold back the cry when it was brandy being wiped across her stitches.

“I thought that went on the inside.”

“It does, but it just occurred to me to see if it would not also help over fresh wounds made with my stitching.”

“Are you done?”

“Only the bandages are left,”

he promised, and Perdita laid there as he wrapped her arm.

“Let me help you sit.”

She reached out with her uninjured arm and Orlando clasped her hand, then used his other arm at her back to assist her into a seated position, her legs dangling from the side of his table, except… “Perhaps this was a mistake.”

Darkness started to invade her peripheral vision.

“Deep breaths.”

She did as instructed, and slowly everything began to lighten again.

“I feel so foolish. It was a cut to my arm.”

“It was an attack, knife gash to your arm, a tremendous amount of blood loss, then treating of your wound, which required twelve stitches.”

She lifted her head to find Dr. Sinclair seated in a chair by Orlando’s desk. In the other was Lady Sinclair.

Perdita nearly groaned. Had she known they were in the room, she might not have complained so much, but truthfully, after Dr. Sinclair had carried her into the building and placed her on Orlando’s table, she forgot about them.

“Come, sit. I am certain you could use some tea.”

Tea, sleep, something for the pain in her arm…

Orlando assisted her from the table, then guided her to a chair and did not let go of her arm or remove his hand from the small of her back until she was comfortably situated on the settee.

Perdita blew out a sigh and glanced down at her bandaged arm. It was pristine white, whereas the dress her arm rested on was stained with blood and likely ruined.

Lady Sinclair poured a cup of tea, added two sugars, then handed it to Perdita.

“If you feel well enough, please tell us what happened and what the woman said to you?”

Dr. Sinclair asked.

Perdita did not have the energy to relive that horror but knew that she must. Her brother needed to know and maybe Dr. Sinclair could explain that woman’s madness. She had to have been mad to have attacked her for no reason, or to have followed her for weeks.

Therefore, as Perdita sipped her tea, she repeated everything that had been said to her.

“Is this the same woman you told me about?”

Sinclair asked.

“Yes.”

He then stood and lifted his hat from the desk. “I am off to Bow Street to question her.”

“Will not the Bow Street investigators?”

Perdita asked.

“If she were a common criminal, yes, but I suspect that she suffers from some delusion of the mind, and I would like to confirm that fact for myself.”

He turned to his wife. “I will walk. It is not far and leave the carriage for you.”

“I will see that Perdita is delivered home safely,”

she answered.

“She will remain safe because I am going with her,”

Orlando insisted.

Perdita was completely worn out by the time they returned to Felding’s home, and her arm pained her greatly. Instead of going into the parlor to explain to her family, Orlando ordered a maid to take her directly up to her sleeping chamber and put her to bed. While she normally did not like her brothers ordering her about, in this case, Perdita was grateful and was soon in her nightrail and tucked away in bed and hoped that sleep would claim her soon. Except, her arm still pained her and she was afraid that she might tear her stitches in her sleep and that Orlando would need to torture her all over again. It was only when Orlando came to check on her that he instructed the maid on the amount of laudanum Perdita could receive for her pain.

Her last thoughts were wondering who that woman was and why she had been attacked.