My Captive Duchess (The Reeves of Reeves Hall #1)

Chapter 14

Horis

“ T here, that should take care of it,” I tell Gav’ox as I close the final suture on his arm. Earlier today, he had slipped carelessly on the floor while drinking from a bottle of home-brewed krilk, a popular drink on Uvon made with a proprietary blend of spices and syrup. Gav’ox has spent years trying to recreate his own version of krilk with the spices we have here on Earth. He claims this latest brew is as close to the real thing as it is possible to be.

I cannot vouch for his claim, for I have not yet had a chance to sample it. It certainly seems to be a potent brew if it made Gav’ox lose his balance, smash the bottle to the floor and tumble over the shards. I have removed at least five small pieces of glass from his arm, but the worst damage was caused by a shard that cut a deep slash above his elbow. This is what I have just finished stitching up.

I usually treat my patients from the medical bay in the main house, but I was out walking my dog, an energetic and friendly border collie, when the call came from Gav’ox, and it was quicker to make my way to him than to have someone transport him to the house. Gav’ox had been on duty at the gate lodge when this incident happened, and really should not have been drinking anything potent at all. Broek will not be happy when he hears of this—not that Broek is ever happy, to my knowledge. Long gone is the smiling and joyous brother I knew on Uvon.

As Gav’ox eases his shirt back on, I tell him plain and simple, “Broek will not like to hear that you were drinking krilk while on duty at the lodge.”

He shrugs, acting unconcerned. “There is no law against it, and Horis, at no point was I intoxicated. I stepped on a slippery surface and fell. That is all there is to it.”

“He will find out, you know.”

“And I will tell him what I told you. It was an accident.”

I nod and begin putting away my instruments in the small medical bag I always carry with me. Outside the lodge door, I hear a loud bark. Shaffi must be growing impatient, waiting for me. A moment later comes the sound of the bell ringing. Someone is at the lodge gates. Gav’ox goes to check the visual on his console. “Damn!” he mutters. “It is that inquisitive female from Penhale Manor, the duchess. I thought she would be long gone by now.” He lumbers his massive frame out of the door, and I hear him call out, “Yes?”

Her voice reaches me, sounding steely. “I am come to call on Mr Brook Reeves. Please let the carriage through.”

I hear the gruff response from Gav’ox. “I am sorry, Your Grace, but I have strict orders from Mr Reeves not to let anyone inside without an invitation.”

“Quite clearly I am not anyone,” she says with a hint of impatience. “Now open up.”

I am already at the lodge door, drawing it open to the barks of my excitable dog. “Down, Shaffi,” I command. She does so with a little whine, but already, the duchess has seen me.

“Mr Harry Reeves,” she calls. “How fortuitous. Would you please speak with your gatekeeper and instruct him to open the gates.”

I walk towards her with a smile. “Your Grace, how good to see you,” I begin, my mind racing as to how I am going to keep her out. Broek was crystal clear on the matter. Nobody enters Reeves Hall without permission, especially not the duchess. “I understand you are leaving for Somerset,” I say to her now. “We shall be sad to see you go.”

“Yes,” she replies. “We are on our way, but I wanted to stop by and say a personal farewell. Would you be so kind as to let me in?”

I scratch my head in a quandary then hit on a bright idea. “I am afraid, Your Grace, that Brook is out at present. I will naturally let him know that you called.” Of course, that is not quite the truth. Brook is in the basement, busy with his work.

She lets out a frustrated breath. “Oh, that is a shame! I very much wanted to speak to him before I left.”

I wonder briefly what she can want to say to my surly brother but hold my counsel. “I am very sorry, Your Grace,” I say gently. “Is there anything I myself might help you with?”

Before she can answer, the carriage door opens, and her little girl jumps out with the help of her nursemaid. “Doggie!” she cries, looking at Shaffi who barks enthusiastically. The little girl, Chloe, runs up to us, crying, “I want to see doggie.”

I smile despite myself as she reaches out a little hand through the iron grille and attempts to pat my dog. Shaffi seems equally delighted, licking at her hand and jumping excitedly. “Chloe, no!” calls the duchess, pulling her daughter’s hand away.

“It is quite alright,” I say reassuringly. “Shaffi is very gentle and won’t harm her.” I make a quick decision. “In fact, how about I bring Shaffi out and you can meet each other properly?” I go to the small side gate and let myself out, holding firmly on to Shaffi’s collar. “Chloe,” I say. “Come meet Shaffi.”

The little girl approaches and puts her hand out to stroke the black topcoat of my dog. “Shaffi?” queries the duchess. “That is an unusual name.”

“It means companion in my language,” I reply, then quickly correct myself. “That is, in one of the dialects spoken in Brazil.” It is the back story we concocted to explain our sudden appearance in English society. According to this story, we are descended from an ancestor, a man by name of Phineas Reeves, who hailed from an obscure landed family in Cornwall. He travelled to South America some three generations ago and there, made his fortune. We figured that our being raised abroad would explain the hint of a foreign accent still in our speech, despite the many hours we spent practising English.

The duchess kneels beside Shaffi and scratches the top of her head. “What a pretty thing you are,” she coos admiringly.

This appreciation of my dog make the duchess go up a notch in my estimation, although truth be told, I like her already a great deal. It is a shame she must leave so we can take over Penhale Manor, though I have been assured she has found a lovely cottage to buy with the proceeds from the sale.

Shaffi sniffs the ground, barking loudly. “What is it?” asks Chloe, a trifle nervously.

“She has sniffed something, a rabbit maybe,” I reply. An instant later, Shaffi shakes off my hand and bolts across to the other side of the road, chasing whatever creature she has just spied. I sigh and reproach myself for not having held firmly enough on to her collar.

Everything then happens very quickly. Chloe cries, “Shaffi!” and darts across the road after my dog. The duchess calls out in alarm, trying to catch her daughter, but the little dervish is too quick. And at the same time, the mail coach, which usually passes by at this time, comes hurtling down the road at speed, heading straight for the little girl.

“Chloe, no!” shrieks her mother, racing after her. The coach rushes by, clipping the child’s side and sending her flying into the air. A moment later, the speeding vehicle has disappeared, and I see little Chloe lying still on the ground. “No!” cries the duchess again, rushing towards her daughter, myself at her heels.

We reach her at the same time. The duchess touches her daughter’s face, calling out her name repeatedly. “Wake up, Chloe. Wake up!”

I feel for a pulse. It is weak, but there. I raise Chloe’s chin to free her airway, then look about me. It is not safe here on the road. I must move the girl and quickly, though I fear damaging her spine. I look across at Gav’ox, who is staring at us in horror. “We need something flat and hard to move her,” I call out to him. He nods and disappears inside the lodge.

The duchess looks to me now with tearful eyes. “Help her. Please,” she pleads.

“I shall try,” I say, then add, “She is alive,” as a way of reassurance. While I wait for Gav’ox to return, I check Chloe’s head and body for injuries. I feel swelling to the back of her skull, presumably where she hit the ground after her fall. There is a bleeding gash at the side of her body where the coach must have clipped her, but the cut, thankfully, is not too deep. The most worrisome injury is her head and the impact it must have received as it hit the ground. We urgently need to get Chloe to my medical bay and put her on the life support equipment there.

It seems a lifetime before Gav’ox returns bearing a thin wooden board. I do not have the capability to wonder where he obtained it from. Gently, I nudge the duchess. “We must get Chloe on this board,” I tell her, “but very carefully. I will hold Chloe’s head to keep it steady while Gav’ox slides the board under her body. Help us by steadying her legs.”

She nods in understanding, and I send a quick prayer of thanks to Yol that the duchess is not a woman prone to hysterics. I place my hands to each side of Chloe’s head, then look to Gav’ox. With agonising slowness, he pushes the board under the prone girl’s body, while her mother and I stabilise her head and legs. “Gently,” I warn a time or two. Finally, it is done. I take off my cravat and use it to tie Chloe securely to the board. Seeing my actions, the duchess retrieves a shawl from the carriage and uses it around Chloe’s legs.

I look now to the carriage, where the maid stands wringing her hands while the coachman calms the horses. “Come over,” I beckon, and the young maid is quick to do my bidding. Good . “Your name?”

“B-Betsy,” she mumbles.

“Betsy,” I say. “I would like you to get inside the carriage and hold Chloe steady on the board as we carry her in. Can you do that?” She nods. “Keep her very steady,” I repeat.

“Yes, sir.” Betsy quickly climbs into the carriage, then with Gav’ox assisting me, and the duchess hovering nervously by our side, we lift Chloe on the board and take her to the vehicle.

It is a tricky business, pushing the board inside while keeping it as steady as we can. Thankfully, the carriage is wide and spacious. As Betsy holds one end of the board, I climb into the carriage holding the other end. Once I am inside, I make sure Chloe is laid flat between me and Betsy. The duchess scrambles into the carriage after us and places a gentle hand to her daughter’s face. I check the little girl’s pulse again and look up at her mother. “She is still with us,” I say. Though there is no time to lose.

Outside, Shaffi’s barks hail her return. Through the still open door, I glance at Gav’ox, who has taken hold of my dog’s collar, and state decisively, “I am taking her to the medical bay.” He does not argue, but goes to open the gates wide. I shut the carriage door and tap the communicating device on my finger to call Krilea, uncaring of the other occupants with me. When she responds, I say in our language, “I need you in the medical bay now. Prepare life support.” If I have any thought about breaching the privacy of Reeves Hall and disobeying Broek’s orders, it is very fleeting. Saving Chloe is all that matters now.