Some Enchanted Waltz (43 page)

Dan gasped and sputtered as the current carried him toward the bridge. His head was dragged below the surface, and he fought to gain control, to reach the life giving air above him. His boots were heavy, weighing him down. As he was about to lose consciousness, hands pulled him up onto the muddy banks.

He was cold, so cold. And tired. He wanted to sleep.

“Up with ye. Before they see us.” A terse voice prodded.

Opening one eye, Dan looked into the bedraggled face of Sam, the half-wit giant he’d met on the street a few days earlier. The strange man had pulled him from the river just as he felt he was about to be sucked under forever by the strong current.

Gagging, and choking, he rolled over on his stomach and tried to gain his knees. Sam took an arm, and together they staggered to the shelter beneath the bridge, out of sight from the roaming soldiers.

“We’ll be safe here, friend.” The half-wit boasted.

“Not for long.” Dan replied breathlessly. “They’ll be looking under every bridge and in every hole, I’ll wager.”

Sam nodded. He crouched against the stone wall of the bridge as soldiers voices could be heard above them. The echo of horses and heavily booted feet above them made both men become still in breathless terror.

The captain could be heard above their heads, issuing orders for the capture and arrest of certain known rebels. “Fitzgerald is still at large. We are to capture him at all costs. Along with MacCormack and Hardwicke. Spread out, take any man who appears suspicious, regardless of his station. We’ve lords enough joining the ranks of the rebels. Shoot them if they resist arrest and ask questions later.”

The garrison moved on, sweeping out both to the right and the left as they reached the other side of the bridge.  Dan was shivering, trying to keep his teeth from chattering and giving them both away as they stood eyeing each other like two rabbits caught in a hedge with the hounds sniffing about them. The sounds of horses’ hooves grew faint. Shots were heard in the distance and shouted orders to cease and desist.

Dan pulled Sam’s arm and whispered, “I have to get home. My daughter may need me. Can you tell me how to get back to Merrion Square without being noticed by the authorities?”

“That’s a nice piece of town.”

 “My son-in-law’s place. I was out trying to warn the others about the snitch. I found Bond House too late. The authorities were already there.”

“Reynolds sold us out, he did. Gave ‘em the password.” Sam spat.

“I hoped to make it there in time to warn them. Never been in Dublin. By the time I found where Bond lives, hailed a hack to take me there, they were all over the place.”

“Yep, they got most of ‘em that were there. Fitzgerald and MacCormack escaped, along with Sampson. I can take you to Thomas Street, from there, it’s a straight line due east to Trinity College, not far from Merrion Square.”

The feather merchant’s house on Thomas Street was silent. Deathly silent.

Dan waited in the pantry while Sam talked with a black servant he called Tony.

Tony smiled and slapped Sam on the back. Apparently they were fast friends. Tony excused himself. When he returned, he beckoned Dan to follow him.

Up the servant’s staircase they wound, through the dark corridor to a large bedchamber. Within was a harried looking Lord Edward Fitzgerald.

“I say, MacNeill, a sight for weary eyes you are.” The tall young man moved forward to clutch his shoulder, regardless of the fact that they had never met.

“Sir?” Dan queried with a frown. He wanted only to get back to Tara, to find Adrian safely detained at Merrion Square with her.

“You are Tara’s father. Adrian and I are long time companions. Tell me, sir, have you news?  Was Adrian captured? I saw him not at Bond’s House before we made our escape.”

“Tara was trying to keep him home while I went out to warn the rest of you.”

“Who told you we were to be found out?” The inquisitive eyes scrutinized Dan painfully.

“Tara had a dream,” Dan began, hoping to explain their foreknowledge in the most plausible way to a man of the eighteenth century. “A woman dressed in white appeared to her early this morning and warned her of the impending doom about to descend on Dublin. My poor child was so terrified by the aberration she woke the entire household with her screams.”

“The Banshee.” Lord Edward whispered. “She only appears to noble houses, mind you. Ah, Tara is an enchanting creature. It suits her that she should be so honored.”

Dan heaved a sigh of relief as the man accepted his convenient excuse without a flicker of disbelief.  Just try such a flimsy explanation on a 21st century man.

 “Tony.” The genteel man summoned his servant. “See Lord Dillon’s father-in-law safely home.” The black servant nodded. Lord Edward offered Dan his hand, and asked that he give Tony news of Adrian’s well being when they reached Merrion Square.

Half an hour later, the coal wagon drew up in the back of Adrian’s town house.

Dan was helped out of the dusty smuggler’s compartment beneath the wagon by a stranger who gestured to the opened coal bin a mere two feet from them, beside the back kitchen steps. With a groan of disgust, Dan crawled through the rectangular opening. He waved at the coal driver as he closed the iron chute. Dan was in the basement, soaked to the bone, black from coal dust, cold, tired, yet safe.

A flurry of footsteps above his head distracted him. The household was bustling with activity. There were shouts and strange voices. Insistent, interrogative voices.

Had Dillon’s enemies obtained proof of his subversive activities, tracking him down without him even being present at Oliver Bond’s house?

Dan tiptoed up the creaky stairs. He stood on the top stair, his ear pressed to the thin wood door, listening.

“Did you see the man’s face, girl.” A terse male voice barked on the other side.

The maid was sobbing, and whoever was questioning her was not the least bit compassionate. “Is ‘e dead?” Dan held his breath, trying not to give any sign of his presence as the tension mounted.

“He might well be, if ye don’t buck up and tell us what the bla’guard looked like what shot him.”

“I only saw his back . . . as he was running’ . . . and my lady screaming’ like the Banshee herself.” The girl sobbed.

“Enough.” Another harsh voice chided. “The girl’s upset, we’ll get nothin’ from that one just yet. Constable O’Rourke wants us to search the alleys. The Butler gave us a brief description of Lord Dillon’s assailant. We’ll have the bastard hung up by nightfall.”

Lord Dillon’s assailant
?  Dan’s heart went as cold as his wet clothing.

Heavy footsteps moved away from the kitchens and Dan could hear the serving maid weeping in the pantry beyond the basement door.

“There now.” It was the voice of Mrs. Chatham. Obviously she was none the worse from her little drug induced nap. “We’ve got to be strong, Maura, for Lady Tara. She’ll be needed us to help her in the days ahead. None of yer tears. He’s not dead yet.”

The women drew back with great gasps as Dan flung the door open at the housekeeper’s last words. “What is going on?”

“Mr. MacNeill.” Mrs. Chatham clutched her chest with fright. “Mercy, you’re as black as the devil himself.”

The bleeding would not stop. The cloth Tara had pressed against Adrian’s side was saturated, just like the growing pile on the floor at her feet. Adrian was unconscious, unaware of her desperate attempt to save his life. Dr. Kehoe stood opposite her, arguing the merits of his methods while Adrian’s wound continued to bleed out.

The man scowled at her from the other side of the bed, disapproving of a noble lady sullying her hands and expensive gowns with the blood of her husband when a perfectly good doctor was in residence. He was a snob, the doctor of snobs and backward, superstitious fools.

“I must examine him, Madame, stand aside or I shall have the servants take you away.”

Chatham sent for the neighborhood doctor thinking he was doing the best for his lord, not realizing the man was no better than a witch doctor with his cobwebs and bleeding pans.

“Where did you get your medical degree, on a back of the box of Wheaties? Cobwebs do not bind wounds or stop bleeding. Their dusty and dirty and you’ll not put them anywhere near him. Now get out.” Tara growled. Her throat felt raw from the rough response but she was ready to do battle with the man if need be to protect Adrian.

It was at that precise moment when Dan’s impressive frame filled the doorway.

“I say, remove yourself, Lady Dillon, or I shall have you removed physically.”

“You’ll be taking me out first.” The giant growled as he advanced to the bed.

“What happened to you?” Tara gazed at him incredulously. His fine clothes were coated in black soot. Aside from his grime, Dan appeared to be soaked to the skin.

“Who is this?” Dr. Kehoe sneered, taking in Dan’s beggarly appearance and his black, sooty face.

Dan puffed himself up as he stood behind Tara. “I’m a paramedic on the Marinette County Rescue Squad. I’ll be the one taking over here, not you.”

“Not until you get cleaned up.” Tara interjected, startled by the harshness of her voice. “I can’t stop the bleeding, Dan.” She was almost crying, desperate with fear that their arguing would waste precious time

“Are you implying that you have medical training?”  Kehoe asked with the imprecation that he doubted the fact.

“Yes, Dammit. I’m a trained surgical nurse, I served in the First Gulf—“

“I’m his wife.” Tara screamed at them with shrewish tones. “Stop arguing about who is better qualified and do something before he’s dead.” Her voice echoed with the strings of hysteria in the deep chamber.

“The water is ready, my lady.” Mrs. Chatham and Maura entered the room bearing the needles, scissors and boiling water Tara had ordered.

“Let me take over.” Dan placed his hand over Tara’s to remove the cloth she was holding. The blue eyes above hers were insistent. Tara lifted her chin in defiance. She didn’t want to let go. Adrian was her life. Her own blood might as well be spilling on the sheets.

“I know what needs to be done and how to do it.” Dan insisted in an even tone, his eyes boring into hers. 

 “I know enough not to bleed him or put filthy cobwebs in an open wound. I love him, and I’ll not let someone else kill him.”

 “So you intend to do the honors yourself?  I don’t love him. That is precisely why I’m ordering
you
to step away and let me handle it. I know this, I can do this, I know what to look for, now step back.”

Tara nodded. She took in deep gulps of air and tried to choke back the fear threatening to claim her senses. 

“Prepare a washbasin for Mr. MacNeill.” Tara commanded, wiping a stray curl from her forehead with her wrist and gesturing for the maid to put the sterilized utensils on the stand near the bed.

“Keep the pressure firm while I get scrubbed. Could be a punctured Femoral artery. Good girl.” Dan eyed the doctor’s bag on the floor near the bed. He stepped closer to it.

“And just what do you intend to do with my tools.” The angry exclamation echoed from across the room. Dr. Kehoe’s face flushed.

Ignoring the doctor’s outburst, Dan bent down and lifted the bag from the floor. “Maura, take the instruments out of this to the kitchen and hard boil them in water on the hearth. Heaven knows what diseases he’s passed from patient to patient.”

 “No one touches my instruments.”

 “Or what, you’ll sue me?” Dan snarled. The dangerous look in his cool blue eyes brooked no interference. “Get in my way and I’ll throw you out the window

The doctor glowered at him, yet didn’t stop Maura from grabbing his surgical instruments from his case, placing them in her apron, and hurrying from the room.

“Hurry, girl. We’ve no time to waste. Mrs. Chatham, I will need more towels to soak up the blood, and some strong lads to hold him down.”

Tara had all she could do not to collapse from raw nerves and fear. Dan took the boiling water from the housekeeper, pouring some into the washbasin in the corner along with cool water from the pitcher. He gestured to the footman to take the bucket back to the bed. He removed his soiled shirt. Tara watched him out of the corner of her eye as she continued to put pressure on Adrian’s wound. The water in the basin was steaming. Dan lathered up his arms, washed his face, and took the clean shirt offered him by the second footman while the doctor leaned over the bed to examine Adrian.

Eighteenth Century medicine had not been part of her research. Tara knew only that they put a great stock in bleeding patients and the use of leeches. She knew George Washington had died from too many bleedings attempted too close together when he suffered pneumonia.

“Get over there and wash up.” She heard Dan’s gruff baritone as he rounded on the doctor from behind. “Scrub those hands, Mister; Rule Number One. Mrs. Chatham, you as well, if you intend to touch Dillon at all. Tara, let me see his wound.” Dan’s hand replaced hers on the pressure cloth. He gently pushed her back. “My God, girl, you’re a bloody mess. Go stand over there, by the window.”

Now that Dan was in charge, Tara felt the strains of panic and nausea welling up. There was so much blood. She shook her head as the pile of bloody linens grew on the floor. Adrian was as pale as death, so still on the bed. Her dress was stained with crimson, from her wrists up to the elbows, and the skirt was a sorry mess. She moved to the window, opening it to fill her lungs with fresh air in the claustrophobic room.