Widow in White

Chapter Twenty-Two: Allies

At first, Neil had thought he was alone in the room, but slowly he became aware of someone's presence near him, of soft breathing, of the movement of fabric. He reached out and groped across the bedsheets for Verity's hand, his muscles aching with the effort.

"Are you awake? Do you need something?"

It was not the voice he expected. He opened his eyes and groaned.

"Oh God, it's you."

"Yes. It's me." Irritation crossed Richard's face. "No, for God's sake, don't sit up."

He pressed Neil's shoulders firmly down as he tried to move.

"You're not to sit up."

Neil couldn't sit anyway. His muscles quivered with the effort. He sighed and let himself fall back on the pillow.

"Where's Verity? She was here before, wasn't she?" He vaguely remembered her whispered prayers between kisses. "Is she alright?"

"Cavendish sent her to bed at dawn. Should I wake her? Do you need her?"

"I don't know. Am I dying?"

Richard looked pained. "No," he said. "You're not going to die. But you need to rest. And so does Verity. She was up with you all night, and later today she'll have to watch Podge through his surgery."

Neil swore.

"Charming," Richard said drily. "When I see her, I'll tell her you're doing well."

"No. I mean it's not fair. Podge being sick, and now me, and her having to worry about us both." Neil hesitated. "I'm really not dying, am I?"

"There was a lot of blood, but the wound wasn't deep. The only danger now is infection, which is why you're not to move."

"Right." Neil sighed and slumped back further back on his pillow. Memories of last night returned to him, in the reverse order, and rather hazily. Verity crying into his shoulder while the surgeons stitched him up. The long, painful journey home carried on a plank of wood. Richard trying to talk cheerfully to him while he tried to stem the flow of blood, waiting for the others to come for them. Crawling up the cellar stairs on his hands and knees, coughing in the smoke. Fordham begging for help behind him, unable to crawl. Laura, standing at the top of the stairs, a feather of pistol smoke dissipating in front of her, then turning and running away.

"How's Laura? Was she hurt?"

For a moment, Richard was silent. Neil felt a flicker of alarm.

"How is she?" he repeated, trying to get up on his elbows.

"No, stay down!" Richard pushed him down again. "You'll open the wound again, you fool! She's... well, you saved her life." Richard gave a funny sort of dry hiccup and got up abruptly, going to the window and looking out. "You saved her life," he repeated more steadily. "Fordham was going to kill her."

"I think she saved mine too." Neil rested his hand on the aching spot by his waist. "How is she now? She was in pain, I could tell yesterday."

"Cavendish has put her on bed rest and told her she's not allowed to talk unless absolutely necessary. He's mostly worried she's damaged her voice permanently. But all her other wounds are minor, and she seems to have recovered from the shock."

"She's in bed, and you're with me?"

Richard turned back with a soft laugh. "She sent me out an hour ago in a fit of bad temper. She does not like bed rest, and she does not like being told to keep quiet."