I hope this letter finds you in good health. I am writing to inform you that upon the untimely death of Sir Richard Forster, Baronet, you are now the sole heir to the Baronetcy of Forster. I have confirmed this through a thorough investigation. Your grandfather was the second son of the 5thBaron of Forster. Since the recently deceased 7thBaron had no male heirs, and the other branches of the family produced no males, you have inherited Stokesby Manor and all the lands encompassed within it.
At your earliest convenience, please contact me or call at the address listed below to go over the specifics of your inheritance.
Your servant,
Lionel Roberts, solicitor
Afaint ringing started in Heath’s ears. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the annoyance, but it intensified until he could bear it no longer. What was happening? Heath put his hands over his ears, hoping that would drown out the sound. That too, proved useless. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe, like a boulder sat on him. Heath tried to catch his breath, but it was impossible.
I must get out of here.
He tried to get up, but a pair of hands pushed him back onto the bed. Heath shook off the unwanted touch and tried to sit up, but once again, he was thwarted. Panic set in. Heath swung his arms, trying to push away whatever force was keeping him down. The buzzing in his ears drowned out any other noise. If anyone was speaking, he couldn’t hear. Darkness threatened the periphery of his vision. With the strength he had left, Heath thrashed his arms and legs about, gasping for air until a quick jab of pain broke through the haze. Then there was nothing but silence and oblivion.
“Foster, can you hear me?”
Someone was speaking. Were they talking to him? Damnation! His head throbbed almost as much as his leg. Gradually, the fog lifted from his brain, and Heath opened his eyes. It took a second for the world to come into focus. He was lying in bed. Bamford, Shaw, and even Lucien Adwell, covered in bandages, all surrounded his bed.
“Foster?” It was Shaw speaking.
“What happened?”
“I read you that letter, then you started shaking and thrashing about. The nurse gave you a sedative.” Bamford wrinkled his brow. “How are you feeling?”
How am I feeling?
“The news must have been too much of a shock,” Adwell stated.
Indeed, it was. He had inherited a baronetcy. What was that? Where was the estate located? Could he bring his family? Questions swarmed through Heath’s mind. It made him queasy, so he lay his head on the pillow.
“Do you want us to leave?” Bamford asked.
“No. I think I need my friends right now.” In a matter of minutes, his life had been turned upside down. “What am I going to do?”
Heath looked at each man.
Shaw sighed. “You’re going to see that solicitor and get the entire story. You can’t decide without all the facts.”
“He’s right,” Adwell added. “And don’t make any hasty decisions. Take some time to think about everything the solicitor tells you.”
Having the support of his friends made Heath feel a little better. Or perhaps it was just the remnants of the sedative still working. Whichever the case, Heath would respond to Mr. Roberts and tell him he would call in the next day or two. Now that he knew his mother was not coming, Heath could leave the hospital.
“I guess this means they can discharge me,” he said to no one in particular.
“Lucky bastard,” Shaw said.
Heath knew the man had been itching to get out of the hospital, but with the loss of his leg, the doctors were trying to persuade Shaw to get a prosthetic, but he would hear nothing of it. From the weeks Heath had become acquainted with Shaw, he knew the Army captain was stubborn as hell.
“Perhaps I can come with you, if you would like,” Bamford spoke up.
“Will the doctors let you leave?”
“Like Shaw, I have little love for these white coats. They are under the assumption I shall regain use of this arm.” He nodded to his limp right arm. “They need to admit defeat and let me go.”
Having a friend by his side would help. Besides, if there were a lot of documents to review, having someone like Bamford would help. He had been a ship’s accountant and would understand the financial end of things.
“I would be grateful.”
“Then I will ask to speak with the doctor.” Bamford headed towards the double doors at the end of the ward.