Hope's Betrayal (18 page)

But with each
dawn, so reason reasserted itself. Enough of this lying around, Huntley
decided, it was time to get back on his feet—but he needed help.  Dr. Lansbury
just made him angry, but as he thought about it, there was one man he could
trust. Doctor Joseph had brought George into the world, and had seen him
through many a childhood scrape. Huntley chewed it over. Joseph had been
retired for years, he must be quite elderly now, but even so, if anyone could
help, Joseph could.

*****

Two days later,
at a knock on the door, George felt unaccountably anxious.

"May I come
in?" A small man with an avuncular face peered around the door jamb.

"Of
course." George couldn’t help but smile as he recognised the elderly
doctor.

Joseph had less
hair than he remembered, but his hooded eyes were still bright behind his
spectacles. Indeed, the older man exuded rude good health, as typified by his
ruddy cheeks. "Doctor Joseph! Welcome. Would that we were meeting under
different circumstances."

"Indeed."

"You look
well."

"I am well,
thank you. Retirement agrees with me. I hadn’t realised what a drain patients
can be, until I stopped seeing them."

"Does that
include me?"

"Dear boy,
of course not. It is always a pleasure to see you—not to mention a
challenge."

"Then thank
you."

Joseph peered
over his spectacles, fixing his patient with a kindly, but intimidating,
stare.  "You mother is worried about you." His frankness was
disarming.

"Well she
needn’t be."

"Glad to
hear it.…" Joseph frowned and then pulled at his neck cloth. "Gosh,
it's hot in here. How do you bare it?"

"That fool
Lansbury insisted the room is kept warm."

"Hmm, warm
perhaps, but not like a tropical glasshouse. Let's open a window before we
suffocate."

George caught
the whiff of tobacco on Joseph's tweed jacket and grinned. Here was a man with
the proper priorities, so much more reassuring than the carbolic soap smell of
that London physician.

"Now then
my boy. Sounds like you've got yourself into quite a scrape this time."

"Worse than
when I broke my arm as a boy, I'm afraid."

Doctor Joseph
stroked his silver moustache.

"That was a
nasty fracture of the radius and ulna, if I remember correctly. You healed
miraculously well. Good strong bones."

"Exactly!
That's what that other damn physician didn’t understand. We're not dealing with
ordinary bones here but the Huntley variety."

"Hewn out
of rock." Joseph smiled and continued stroking his moustache. "Now
then boy, best let the hound see the rabbit. Roll over so I can take a look,
there's a good chap."

Joseph peeled
back the blankets. In an unflattering pose on his right side, George lay still,
biting his lip as Joseph removed the bandages. The doctor took his time before
speaking. "The skin wounds are knitting well. You will have quite a
collection of scars, but heal you will."

"And the
leg?" Huntley felt anxious to the point of nausea. "What about the
leg? Will I be able to walk again?"

"Before I
can give my opinion, I need to perform some tests. The splint must be removed
for a full examination. Is that alright?"

"Of
course." George found himself unexpectedly eager. It seemed Doctor Joseph
was not about to dismiss him out of hand.

A cage of wooden
slats was strapped around the injured leg. With painstaking care so as minimise
the discomfort, Doctor Joseph loosened the leather laces which held the
contraption together. The splint eased away and Joseph proceeded to unwind the
linen padding. He hummed as he worked.

"I'd quite
forgotten the satisfaction of doctoring."

"Glad to be
of service."

"Tell me
what you feel."

George stared at
the ceiling as Joseph proceeded to tickle his feet, stick pins in his toes and
tap his knee with a small hammer. After what seemed an eternity, Joseph seemed
satisfied and draped a sheet back over George's exposed flank.

"Well
then?" George said, impatiently, as he awaited the verdict.

"That naval
doctor did a first-rate job of removing the shot. The soft tissue wounds are
clean and healing well."

"So the
risk of infection is less?"

"I'd go so
far as to say unlikely, at this stage."

George let out
his breath. "Thank heavens. And the bones? How do they fare?"

"Therein
lies the thing."

"Speak
plainly, doctor. I trust you to tell me the truth." George braced himself.

Joseph eyed his
patient then nodded. "Very well. If you continue to rest and keep the
weight off the leg, it will be a long, slow process, but with luck on your
side, you may yet walk again."

"Thank
heavens." Huntley grinned. "So I can return to active duty!"

Doctor Joseph
narrowed his hooded eyes. "That isn’t what I said. If you are lucky, you
will walk on solid ground, but on a ship in a high sea, that's a different
matter."

Huntley felt as
if he'd been shot all over again. "There is no doubt?"

"Well,
there is always room for doubt, but given the balance of probabilities, I would
say not. I am sorry."

The remainder of
Doctor Joseph's consultation passed in a blur. George had the vague
recollection of exchanging pleasantries but his heart wasn’t in it. All he was
conscious of was the darkness of despondency closing over his head. He needed
the fresh air and open seas, he needed the thrill of the chase and the
knowledge of doing right—without the Navy his spirit would wither.

Huntley was so
distracted he didn’t remember Joseph leaving, because it coincided exactly with
a feeling of utter futility, of his life being over. He wallowed for an hour,
maybe more, until he stopped feeling sorry for himself and grew angry instead.
Damn it, this was his body. The doctors had one opinion, and he had another.
Who was to say which of them was right?

Thereafter,
Doctor Joseph called once a week. But as the days passed and Huntley's
superficial injuries healed, it seemed his temper deteriorated. Now able to sit
up in bed, he quickly lost patience with reading, playing backgammon with his
mother, or cards with his valet. The slightest thing irritated him, from
berating the maid for being noisy setting the fire, to meals being cold. It was
generally agreed among the servants, that while it was good their master was
out of danger, he made an intemperate invalid.

On Joseph's
third visit, Huntley's valet took him quietly aside and expanded on the extent
of his master's frustration. And so, after examining his patient, the doctor
grudgingly agreed that George could be moved to a chair by the window, provided
he used a crutch, didn’t put weight on the broken leg and had someone with him
at all times. Much to everyone's relief, the Captain accepted these conditions
with good grace.

However, behind
Huntley's acquiescence lay an ulterior motive. He was plotting. It made sense
to him that after weeks in bed, he would feel weak and it was therefore
sensible to have someone on hand. Therefore he would accept help, meek as a
lamb, and in so doing put everyone off guard.

 Indeed, that
first time out of bed, with his valet gripping his elbow—as Huntley stood, the
room swam. But as he grew used to being upright and the dizziness cleared, he
asked for the crutch.

"I'm fine.
I can do this. Don’t fuss."

But weakened by
bed rest, his good leg refused to move. Huntley scowled.

"Very well,
take my arm if you must."

Putting his
weight on Jenkin's shoulders, he hobbled to the chair. He slumped down.
"Well, it's a start."

Once he knew his
limits, then he'd exercise to build his muscles. Feeling certain that no one
would approve, Huntley decided to keep the plan to himself.

Huntley insisted
on moving to the chair at least twice a day and as the good leg grew stronger,
a plan took shape. For what he had in mind, he'd need to choose his time
carefully so as not to be interrupted. He decided on mid-afternoon, when Lady
Ryevale worked in the office and the servants thought him asleep. With an
actor's skill, when the maid collected his lunch tray he yawned and pretended
to be tired. Once her footsteps echoed away down the corridor, he grinned and
threw back the bed covers. The splinted leg was heavy and it took both arms to
manoeuvre it over the mattress edge. Grasping the crutch, he put his good foot
on the floor and stood without human assistance. He felt a little giddy but
waited for the sensation to pass. Encouraged by this small victory, he set off
across the room.

But after a few
steps he felt weak as a kitten. His leg shook beneath him, and for the
umpteenth time he cursed the weeks of inactivity. It took longer than he ever
imagined possible to cross those few feet to the desk. And just when he was
within touching distance, disaster struck. A ruckle in the rug caught his foot
and sent him sprawling. The crutch arced through the air. Luckily, the desk
broke his fall and saving himself on his arms and unspeakable pain gripped his
thigh and Huntley feared he might vomit. But slowly, nausea receded and the
walls came back into focus. He debated what to do next. It seemed a shame to
get this far only to admit defeat. What harm could a few pushups do?

Facing the
desktop, he shuffled back a few paces. Hands a shoulder-width apart, he leaned
forward, letting his biceps take the strain as he lowered his nose toward the
jotter. It felt good putting his muscles under strain. Heartened, Huntley
repeated the dip, his confidence growing by the second. Everything went well
until he forgot he couldn’t rely on his legs and shifted his weight. An agony
of blistering stars blinded his vision, his arms gave way and he crashed to the
floor.

Winded, he lay
on his side. He just about had enough breath for a colorful string of oaths
when the door flew open.

"I heard a
noise." Miss Tyler said, face pale with alarm. "Are you hurt?"
She knelt on the floor, her closeness adding to his discomfort.

"I'm quite
alright, thank you. Only my dignity dinted."

"Let me
help you up."

"No, thank
you. I can manage." But to his unending frustration, as he shifted from
his back to his bottom, the pain made him gasp. "I just need to catch my
breath."

As Huntley
gathered his composure, he saw roses blooming on her cheeks. She was staring at
him in a most peculiar way, her eyes warming his skin where they lingered. It
was then it occurred to him that he had risen from bed bare-chested, wearing
only his underclothes. He cleared his throat.

"I didn’t
dress for company." He was beginning to enjoy her fascination, as her eyes
grew even larger and rounder.

"My
apologies for the intrusion." She stuttered, tearing her eyes away.

Huntley
stretched his arms, broadening his chest and watched her color deepen.
"That's quite alright. I find your company, most stimulating."

"So…what
happened? Why are you alone?"

"This has
nothing to do with anyone else."

She pursed her
lips. "You got up by yourself?"

"I had some
crazy notion to exercise." He eyed her appreciatively. "And
incidentally, that rust color really suits you. It brings out the green in your
eyes."

The gown was
modestly cut, but as she leaned forward he had a full appreciation of her new,
fuller figure including the intriguing dark valley between her breasts. Hope
scowled, which had the effect of tilting her feline eyes even more fetchingly.

"Well,"
he continued, "now you're here you might as well help me."

"As you
wish."

She took his
arm, but he was woefully unprepared for the result. Her long fingers against
his bare biceps, sent raw longing cascading through his body. She felt it too
and trembled. And her smell of clean skin with a tang of salt; for a moment he
wondered if Hope bathed in seawater and was really a mermaid, at which point he
wondered if truly he was losing him mind.

"I'd be
grateful if you didn’t mention my fall to Mother. It would needlessly distress
her."

"Of
course." She said, clearly distracted.

With her help
Huntley sat up.

"Give me a
moment." He grunted, ashamed of his helplessness. "In fact, thank
you, I can manage from here."

But, Miss Tyler
didn’t move. That he cared for Miss Tyler was trial enough, but to have her see
him stranded like a turtle on its back, was more than his dignity could stand.

"Damn it,
go why don’t you?"

Miss Tyler
frowned. "It's just a well you are in pain, or I would be forced to tell
you how rude you are."  Then, to his utmost surprise, Miss Tyler sat down
beside him on the rug.