Matilda controlled her revulsion at the sight and concentrated on helping the captain breathe easier. “Get those bandages away from his face now. Cut them off if necessary. Bring fresh linen and warm water to clean him with.”
It shocked her that these medical men were so slow to act. Had they no idea how to treat the captain properly?
“You’ll need to bring in bricks from the yard,” Dawson advised the idle footmen who’d reappeared at the door at the commotion. “Bring a dozen or so to support the weight.”
The doctor leaned over the captain holding a pair of scissors and carefully cut through the remaining layers of bandages, freeing a corner of his mouth and nose. Captain Ford drew in a huge breath and closed his eyes as the doctor recommenced peeling the bandages away from the wound one layer at a time.
The bed rocked a little when the bricks were brought in and set in place. The fellows who had been holding the bed up flexed their shoulders b
ut did not move to hold the captain down again. They stepped back and then silently filed out of the room.
The captain caught her eye and stared at her. He was breathing easier, and he did not fight his treatment anymore.
“You’ll be all right now,” she whispered.
His left hand slipped over hers, and his fingers tightened around her wrist in viselike grip. The captain’s eyes darted left and right, examining those around him. When he did it again before meeting her gaze, she understood.
“Your family are all in the country.” She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. He hated strangers in his home, but she could imagine he’d want those he loved at his bedside at a time like this. “I’m sure they will be here soon.”
She shifted a little as her knees cramped.
When Mr. Simmons removed the final strip of bandage covering the wound, the captain spluttered out a garbled curse. He squeezed her thigh painfully and then fainted dead away.
Matilda stared at the angry wound that stretched over what had once been the captain’s perfect left cheek. “Oh, no.”
He had once been very handsome, and her eyes stung at the horror she faced now.
The injury gaped, a jagged and deep cut.
Mr. Fellows rushed outside. The sound of his retching in the hall soon followed.
Mr. Simmons turned his face away for a long moment. “It’s a miracle he’s survived this long. We’ll make him comfortable, but we must prepare for the worst.”
“No!” The defeat in the surgeon’s tone angered Matilda on the captain’s behalf. “If William Ford has lived this long, he undoubtedly intends to recover. Fords never quit nor do they ever give up, sir. It isn’t in his nature nor should it be in yours. Fix him.”
Matilda looked to Dawson for support, expecting the valet to agree with her and remind the doctor of whom he was dealing with. Captain Ford was the most stubborn, taciturn man she had ever met. He would fight for life surely.
Dawson met her gaze sadly though. He bowed his head and covered his eyes as if overset by a grief he wanted no one to see.
“No,” she whispered in shock. She turned on Simmons, who as the elder surgeon should be the most skilled and the one to convince. “He can survive this if you’re the surgeon I think you are. You know what needs to be done to aid his recovery.”
The housekeeper gained her feet and approached the bed. Matilda flinched as the older woman placed a hand to her shoulder. “This may be more than he can bear. We must pray together.”
“He wants to live,” Matilda insisted before grabbing a wad of fresh clothes with which to catch the ooze from his mouth and dabbed at his unmarked cheek. “He will.”
Mr. Simmons sighed. “To have any chance, the wound will need to be cleaned and stitched again. It will be painful for him. He is already weak. He may not survive the attempt, and there is no guarantee it will heal properly. He may be horribly disfigured.”
“Better disfigured than dead.” The room fell deathly silent at her remark. There likely hadn’t been an ugly Ford in history, and if the captain survived to see that day come, he might not thank her but he would have his life to live.
She’d been around those next to die thanks to her father’s profession, and she couldn’t imagine Captain Ford succumbing. He might be in pain, but he was too lucid to have given up yet. His recovery truly only depended on whether Mr. Simmons was as clever as he was purported to be.
“Come away, Miss Winslow,” Mr. Dawson murmured. “I can’t let you watch him suffer under the butcher’s hand.”
“No, I will stay right where I am.” The captain stirred beneath her, and she rose up on her knees until her face hovered over his. “You will get better.”
He tried to speak, but no words came out that made any sense.
Matilda smiled tightly and then leaned toward his ear. “If you die, your sisters will look through your things, touch your precious belongings. Do you want them to know what you really keep in this room?”