A Radical Arrangement by Jane Ashford Read Free Book Online Page A

bit.
    But Mrs. Dowling’s attention was directed at Keighley. “Is he really shot?” she asked Appleby. He nodded, and she pursed her lips, setting a bundle on the small bedside table. “Let’s have a look, then.” Appleby slowly removed his hands and stepped back as Mrs. Dowling took his place. She peeled back the pad and gazed at the hole in Keighley’s shoulder. “Tch, tch, bullet still in, I suppose.”
    “Seems so,” agreed Appleby.
    Mrs. Dowling sighed and opened her bundle, taking out some implements, which filled Margaret with dread. “Who’s the young lady?” inquired the midwife.
    “Sister.”
    “Ah. You’d best go downstairs, dearie.”
    Margaret knew she should protest, should insist upon staying and helping with the operation. But she couldn’t bear the thought of watching Mrs. Dowling use those pinchers on Sir Justin. Mutely she nodded and turned to go.
    “I’ll speak to you after,” added the old woman. “We’ll need some boiling water, Flos.”
    “It’ll be on by now. I’ll fetch it up.”
    The two walked downstairs together. “You can sit in the front parlor, miss. There’s no one about this time of day.”
    “Thank you.” Margaret entered the indicated room and sat down on an old brown sofa. She clasped her hands in her lap and endeavored to wait calmly. But the awful scene in the road kept running through her mind, and she was oppressed with a dreadful sense of guilt. What if Sir Justin died? It would be she who had killed him. She had never meant to hurt him. And if he recovered, as she profoundly hoped he would, how angry he was going to be.
    These dismal thoughts led to others. If— when —he felt better, how were they to go on? It was obvious that he would not be traveling for a long while, and she could not, of course, abandon him here. But what were they to do for clothes or money? All her things were scattered on the road, and the small amount of money she had been able to scrape together, though safe in a packet in her reticule, would not last them long.
    Margaret put her forehead in her hand and fought tears once again. She had never felt so miserable. Her former placid existence seemed a vast distance away as well as incalculably desirable now that it was gone forever. For some time she lost herself in a self-pitying haze.
    A sound from the doorway brought her upright with a jerk. Mrs. Dowling stood there, gazing at her and looking even more disturbingly like a fairy-tale witch.
    “Is he all right?” asked Margaret.
    The old woman came farther into the parlor and shut the door. “I got the bullet,” she answered. “But he’s weak. Hasn’t come round yet. He’ll need nursing.” She surveyed Margaret skeptically.
    “I…I’ll nurse him, if you will tell me exactly what I must do.”
    Mrs. Dowling laughed shortly. “I can do that all right. But I doubt you’ll relish the job.”
    “I can do what I must,” answered Margaret, wondering as she said the words whether they were true.
    “Can ye, now?” The other seemed to weigh this statement. “What’s your name, girl?”
    “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s Margaret…Margaret, er, Camden.” She used the first name that came into her head as she suddenly realized that she did not wish to reveal her own.
    “And the gentleman?”
    “He’s my brother…Harry Camden.”
    “To be sure, they told me he was your brother.” Her sharp blue eyes bored into Margaret’s. “You’re not much alike.”
    “N-no. I resemble my mother and he our father.” She was amazed at her own inventiveness. Falsehoods seemed to flow from her tongue automatically.
    “Indeed? Well, it’s lucky for him he has a sister here, for he’s in a bad way, and no mistake. You’ll be sending to your parents, likely?”
    “Er, no. They’re…traveling abroad.”
    Mrs. Dowling folded her thin arms over her chest and gazed at Margaret. The girl moved uneasily. “Huh,” said the midwife finally. “Well, if you really mean to take on the