Page 59 of The Swan Detective (The Swan Syndicate #2)

He stopped the bandaging long enough to look at her. His face was haggard, but his eyes were clear and focused. He’d be alright. Yet, something tugged at him, and she knew straight away that they’d lost someone.

She closed her eyes as her thoughts flashed to a grinning Fitz as he’d teased her before going into the warehouse. Hold yourself together. She shook the image out of her head and turned away.

There was one room where the staff continued to bring clean water in and bloody water out. The towels weren’t as red-stained as they’d been earlier.

“You don’t need to go in there.” Elizabeth stood in the same place, watching but not interfering with Eleanor’s commands.

“Yes, I do.”

No one stopped her as she sucked in a breath and followed a housemaid into the room. Her gaze immediately fell on the face of the dead man, and a whoosh of breath blew out.

It wasn’t Fitz. That didn’t mean he was okay, but for now, it wasn’t Fitz.

But this was someone she recognized. He was the man she’d been trying to keep alive, and all she could remember was her hands covered in his blood.

She laid down the first aid kit and blinked away tears as she stood over him.

His body was covered with a sheet, his face a deathly pallor, and his lips tinged blue.

There wasn’t a drop of blood on him. They’d washed him as well.

Warm hands caressed her arms before she was pulled against a firm body, and strong arms encircled her.

“This wasn’t your fault.” Beckworth’s words soothed her, and she clutched his arms briefly before running a hand over the dead man’s forehead and stubbly cheek.

He’d been an older man, though age was difficult to tell with what had once been a tanned face wrinkled by the sea and harsh sun.

“I feel bad that I don’t remember his name. I remember how helpful he’d been, how nice he’d been to me.”

“Tucker. He was a good man. One of Finn’s, who’d stayed on with Jamie.”

She turned and laid a cheek on Beckworth’s chest, but after a sniff, she pulled her head back. His shirt was bloody, and it wasn’t from dried blood. “You’re injured.”

“It’s nothing.”

She pushed him back. “Let me see.”

He shoved her hands away. “Jamie’s already taken a look. It’s only a flesh wound. Bart will take a look once he’s done working on Fitz.”

Her brain shifted gears. “He’s still alive?” Her gut wrenched when Beckworth’s gaze shifted away.

“For now.”

She gave a last look at Tucker, then grabbed the first aid kit and Beckworth’s hand, dragging him to where Lincoln was finishing up.

“I have a new patient for you.” She kept tugging Beckworth, who had slowed his walk. “He says it’s just a flesh wound, but it’s still bleeding.”

A footman came in with another bucket of water, and she stopped him from leaving.

“I want you to ignore any order coming out of this man’s mouth.” She pointed to Beckworth. “You only listen to this man.” She pointed to Lincoln. “This man—” she pointed back to Beckworth, “—requires medical treatment, and he’s not to leave this room without it.”

The footman shuffled his feet, looking from Beckworth, who was currently the lord of the manor, and Lincoln, who, until this evening, was a prospective student. She understood the footman’s dilemma and turned to Beckworth.

“You’re not going to be a problem, are you?” she asked.

Lincoln waved at a chair, and Beckworth glanced at the unconscious man still on the table. When he turned to Stella, a protest coming, he changed his mind.

He looked at the footman. “Tell Eleanor we have an injured man ready for a room.” He turned to Lincoln. “Let’s get this done. I have to get back to Hensley.” He tried to pull his shirt over his head but grimaced in pain.

Stella slapped his hands away and looked at the footman, who hadn’t been sure whether to follow her orders, but now looked at her for approval of Beckworth’s request. She held back a grin and nodded for him to go.

When she turned back to Beckworth, he grinned. “You’ve ruined the staff.”

She tsked. “All will be back to normal once I’m gone.

Can you lift your arm at all?” When he proved he could, she rolled his shirt up and pulled it over his head.

She took a quick glance at the wound and agreed it was most likely a flesh wound.

Then she remembered him losing his footing on their way out of the warehouse.

He must have caught a stray bullet. She shivered but gave him a quick kiss and grabbed her first aid kit.

“I’ll be with Bart and Fitz.” She rushed from the room, but instead of going directly to the staff’s dining room, she leaned against the wall and took several deep breaths.

“Are you alright?” Libby rubbed her arm.

“No. But I will be.” She looked toward the door to the dining room to see more towels being taken in. If Fitz wasn’t going to make it, wouldn’t it be better if he had friends by his side?

“Come on.” Libby took her hand, seeming to read her thoughts. “It’s a rather bloody scene, but Bart’s doing everything he can.”

Libby led her at a slow pace, and with each step they took, Stella’s resolve returned. This was Fitz, and he wouldn’t appreciate all the handwringing. She released Libby’s hand, stood straighter, and marched in to see what she could do to help.

She stumbled a bit at the state of the room.

How anyone would be able to eat here again was beyond her.

There was blood everywhere. Or there had been.

The maids were still scrubbing the floors, trying to stay out of the way.

The buckets of water had to be refreshed often, but the stream of footmen had slowed.

The coppery smell of blood and stringent antiseptic was overpowering. An enormous amount of herbs would need to be burned if they ever had hope of clearing out the scent of blood and who knew what else.

She lifted her gaze to the table where Fitz lay. Bart leaned over him, his hands stained red, and carefully stitched the skin closed. He wouldn’t be so meticulous if Fitz were dead, right?

Without another thought, she stepped up to the table and stood next to one of the kitchen staff.

She thought the woman’s name was Helen, and if memory served, Eleanor had mentioned she was also a midwife.

It made sense that she would be the best person to assist Bart while Lincoln had been working his own magic.

Not wanting to get in the way, she moved around Helen to be close to Fitz’s head.

He was still unconscious and was most likely given some type of sedative.

His face didn’t appear as gray as it had, but that might be the lighting.

Even simple lanterns provided more light than the darkness of the coach. She brushed the hair off his forehead.

“If you insist on being here, then move back to the other side of Helen,” Bart scowled. “I don’t believe in such nonsense, but it couldn’t hurt to hold his hand. Give him some encouragement to live. I can’t be expected to be his only salvation.”

Stella did as he asked, not concerned with his abrupt tone. He might say he didn’t believe in the healing comfort of touch, but she remembered him saying something distinctly different when Beckworth had been badly injured.

“Was he shot?” she asked, squeezing Fitz’s hand while she stroked his arm.

“Twice.” Bart pointed to his legs, which were covered with a sheet.

“One in the thigh. Missed his femoral vein by an inch, but it’s stitched up now.

This one in his belly is more worrisome.

I got the ball, and he’s not bleeding anymore, but I’m worried about infection.

” He was still stitching as he spoke, but he lifted his eyes to her.

“I was hoping we might have something more than what I have on hand to combat that possibility.”

“We do.” She continued stroking Fitz’s arm and gave his hand a tight squeeze. “Are you listening, my friend. There will be no dying on my watch.”

A moment later, a hand rested on her shoulder, and at first, she thought it was Beckworth.

“Thank you, lass, for watching over him.” Jamie stayed behind her as they watched Bart finish his work.

“I’m sorry about Tucker.” Tears overwhelmed her, but she refused to release Fitz’s hands to stop them from overflowing. “There was just too much blood.”

Jamie rubbed her shoulders. “There wasn’t anything to be done. He died in service to the Crown, and it might not mean a lot to some, but it meant everything to him.”

Stella understood. Tucker was an Englishman, serving on the Daphne that had an equal number of Irishmen on board.

She doubted the Irish would be the first to step up to die in service to the Crown, but an Englishman would.

Fitz was an Irishman, as was Jamie. They and everyone onboard the Daphne did the Crown’s bidding while working for Hensley, but it typically wasn’t the Crown they felt beholden to.

Not unless it was as good for Ireland as it was England, which she thought rarely coincided.

Jamie, Fitz, and the crew of the Daphne fought for what was right. Sometimes, that meant that the Crown. And the Irishmen fought for the same cause.

When Bart stepped away from the table, everyone looked to him, but all he did was shrug. “I’ve stitched him back together. Now it’s up to the medicine and his will to survive.”

“Can he be moved?” Stella asked.

“Best to do it now before he wakes. I don’t want to have to redo his stitches.”

Within seconds, several men stormed the room. Sailors, not footmen.

“I have a room ready on the second floor.” Eleanor scurried in and started moving maids, buckets, and chairs out of the way. “Let’s use the board to carry him up.”

The men picked up the makeshift stretcher and, with the barest of jostling, positioned Fitz on the board, then moved him out of the room. When Stella made to follow, Bart stopped her.

“Let him get settled. We’ll start the medication when he wakes.”

She planted her hands on her hips, readying for an argument. “Then let’s get you cleaned up and find you some food and whiskey.”

“Whiskey first.”

Libby was there in a heartbeat, handing him a glass that he swallowed in one gulp.

“Where’s Lincoln?” Bart asked.

“He’s cleaning up.” Libby refilled the glass, and Bart swallowed that one too.

“Alright. Let’s get this blood off me.”

Stella followed Libby as Bart was led to the kitchen.

She spotted Beckworth whispering to Jamie by an outer door.

He gave her a worried glance, but it disappeared when she gave him a weak smile and a wave.

She refocused her attention on Bart. The health of the healers was just as important as that of the injured.

Once Bart and Lincoln were settled, then she’d find out what the hell had happened.