Free The Makeshift Marriage by Sandra Heath Page B

present here would deny Sir Nicholas his chance of survival.” Again a disdainful look at the unfortunate Major Bergmann.
    “Doctor,” she said, “can you tell me exactly what the chance is?”
    “He has lost a great deal of blood, far too much. I am afraid that the ball lodged in his arm will make the flesh putrid and that that will in turn lead to a terrible death. Therefore it is my opinion that such a possibility must be avoided by the removal of the arm.”
    “But the flesh may not become putrid.”
    “There is that possibility.”
    “And it is certain that the shock of such an amputation may prove too much for him in his present condition.”
    “I know my profession, Fraulein,” snapped the doctor, “And I most certainly pride myself on my speed in such matters. Sir Nicholas would suffer the minimum of pain. I cannot emphasize strongly enough the necessity for the arm’s removal.”
    She hesitated. But what right had she to go against Nicholas’s own expressed wish? She found herself looking into the hostile eyes of the valet. You are to blame, said those eyes, but for you Sir Nicholas would not be lying at death’s door. You are the cause of it all…. And he’s right, he’s right! She forced herself to meet the valet’s gaze, however. “Do you know why Sir Nicholas was so particular with his instructions about amputation?”
    “Yes. I do.”
    “Tell me.”
    “Because he believes in the work of his close friend, Dr. Daniel Tregarron of Langford. Dr. Tregarron believes that sometimes a bullet can be left in a wound without causing the patient any harm, and he’s proved it on King’s Cliff by tending a gamekeeper who got shot in the leg. The bullet is still in that leg and the gamekeeper as hale as the next man.”
    Dr. Meyer snorted disparagingly, “This man Tregarron is a charlatan, and a lucky one at that. Centuries of medicine have proved that leaving wounds only results in putrefaction. I am the surgeon-doctor here, not this Tregarron, and I warn you all that unless I remove that arm swiftly, then Sir Nicholas Grenville will most certainly die.”
    Everyone looked at Laura now. They forced the unwelcome decision upon her. She looked down at Nicholas. How dark his lashes were against his pale skin. Even now he was so very handsome, so beautiful, almost… . She raised her eyes to the doctor. “I’m sorry, but if will not be party to any amputation.”
    “Then, Fräulein, on your head be it.”
    “I did not seek this responsibility, sir, but as it has been thrust upon me, I will act accordingly to my conscience.”
    He nodded. “Very well. I will do what I can for him within the limits placed upon me. I can only bind the wounds and make him as comfortable as possible.”
    “Thank you, Doctor.”
    He worked as swiftly as possible, applying fresh dressings, and fifteen minutes later he prepared to take his leave. “If, and it is unlikely, he survives to this evening, then I am to be sent for again.”
    “Very well. Doctor.”
    He and the major left then, and Laura was alone with Nicholas and the valet, whose hostility was still very much in evidence. With a heavy heart she sat down on a chair beside the bed, thereby signifying that she had every intention of remaining in the room, whether the possessive valet liked it or not.
    The room was very hot, for the doctor had ordered the kindling of several of the terracotta charcoal stoves and the closing of the windows against the ill humors present in the fresh air outside. She could hear the whine of mosquitoes in the stuffy atmosphere. She looked at the valet then. “Would Dr. Tregarron have closed the windows and had stoves lit?”
    “No, ma’am.”
    “Then, as we are following the gospel according to him, we will open the windows and extinguish the stoves.”
    He smiled a little reluctantly. “Yes, ma’am.”
    The cool Venetian breeze whispered pleasingly and refreshingly over the room, moving the hangings of the ornate bed where