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

nursing…”
    “I do.”
    “Come along, then, and I’ll show you what must be done.”
    Relieved to be finished with questions, Margaret followed her up the stairs and back to Keighley’s bedchamber. He was lying on his back again, his shirt gone and his shoulder swathed in strips of linen. His breathing sounded ominously heavy to Margaret.
    But Mrs. Dowling ignored it, merely giving rapid instructions before packing up her bundle once again. “I’ll be by tomorrow,” she finished. “And I live just down the way. Send if he seems bad.”
    “Yes, thank you. Thank you very much, Mrs. Dowling. I don’t know what we should have done without you. Do we, er, owe you…”
    “Wait until he begins to mend, then we’ll talk of payment.”
    “Thank you.” Margaret was relieved at this.
    The old woman nodded and turned to go, hitching her bundle onto her hip. “You’d best send for someone,” she said over her shoulder. “Nursing’s no light task, and I have other calls.”
    “I’ll manage.”
    Mrs. Dowling shrugged unbelievingly and went out.
    Left alone with the unconscious Keighley, Margaret began to wonder what made her think she could manage. She had never managed anything without her mother in nineteen years. Perhaps she should send for help. But who? Not her parents. Margaret shuddered at the thought of telling them what had befallen her. If they had wished her to marry Sir Justin before , what must they say now? And they would never forgive her for shooting him, even by mistake.
    What of Sir Justin’s connections, though? Not his family—the mere thought of contacting any of them made Margaret cringe. She could not possibly explain what had occurred. But what of his servants? She could write to his house and ask someone to come. But then the neighborhood would know where he was, and the servant would recognize her and tell her parents. No, that would not do, either. It appeared things were up to her.
    Margaret drooped guiltily. The situation was very bad, and no doubt all her fault. She had certainly made a mull of it when she took her life into her own hands. How could she assume the responsibility for another’s? She looked again at Keighley. He still breathed stentoriously; his skin was deathly pale. She hadn’t killed him yet, but she might with her unskilled nursing. A wave of hopelessness washed over Margaret; she felt like giving up.
    But at that low moment, when all her resources seemed gone, some spark of obstinacy sprang to life, and Margaret raised her head. She had made a great many mistakes but, after all, she had no experience in managing. No one got a thing right all at once. If she persevered, would she not improve? And everything was not her fault. Sir Justin, at least, shared the guilt. She would show him—she would show them all—that she was not the little fool they thought her. She would nurse Justin Keighley back to health, and then she would go… Her plan did not extend further at the moment. She would think of something.
    With a new determination visible in the set of her shoulders and the expression on her face, Margaret rose and poured out a glass of barley water from the jug standing on the night table. She was supposed to get Keighley to drink as much of it as he would. She might as well start.

Five
    The terrible night that followed broke down Margaret’s resolution. Though she was shown another neat bedchamber by Mrs. Appleby and lent a crisp nightdress by one of her daughters, she made no use of either. For Keighley showed signs of increasing illness through the evening, and she was afraid to leave him after dinner. He did not regain consciousness, but he thrashed about in the bed muttering incoherent phrases, obviously in great pain. And his forehead, when she touched it, seemed on fire. Alone in the empty hours of early morning, while everyone in the village slept, Margaret concluded that she could not face another such time. She would have to find help. She knew