Page 33 of Infamous Relations

“I did,” Elizabeth nodded. “Those sound very soothing and healing.”

“Lozenges made with horehound and oil of oranges are very beneficial too, I have found.” Trent was talking for the sake of making conversation, he know, but he couldn’t seem to stop, his eyes on Charlotte’s face, on the slow rise and fall of her chest. “We must keep the bruising down, as much as possible, or her breathing will become very difficult.”

Elizabeth hesitated before asking nervously “Have you cared for someone who has been strangled, before?”

Trent’s head snapped around, and she came a little closer.

“You recognise the marks?” he asked quietly.

She licked at her lips nervously. “My father’s library contains some works written by medical men. I confess I did not understand everything in them, but… the pattern of the bruising does seem to be consistent with the description. I cannot think of an alternative explanation for such marks as that, in any case.”

He wasn’t sure what to say. She looked at him with wise, knowing eyes, and said “Do you think it was the same man who attacked me, whoever that was, Doctor Trent?”

“You… know?”

“It seems fairly evident, considering the marks I myself bear.” She raised a hand to her breast. “Jane is clearly terrified that I will one day remember, and I am not entirely sure if I wish to myself, so I must throw myself on your mercy and ask if I was violated?”

“Your courage humbles me,” Trent managed to get out through the lump in his throat, “but no. Mrs. Collins examined you under my direction, and we were able to determine that you apparently fought off and escaped from your attacker before - before he did any more than rip your dress.”

Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully, kneeling down beside Charlotte and taking her friend’s limp hand in her own. “Whoever he was, he did not seem to attack Charlotte in the same way.”

“No.”

“He only tried to kill her. Did she suspect who he was, do you think? Or perhaps she discovered him lurking about the place…”

“I have your bag, Doctor!” Jane came hurrying in just then, cutting off Elizabeth’s musings, for which Trent could only be thankful. He beckoned Jane over quickly, took the bag from her and dug through it briefly before finding a vial, carefully parting Charlotte’s lips with his finger and lightly tapping a single drop onto her tongue. Sitting back on his heels, he watched her face anxiously.

It was only a few moments later that Charlotte’s eyelids fluttered, her eyes opening slowly before fixing on Trent’s face.

“Daniel,” Charlotte whispered faintly.

“You must not try to talk, dear Charlotte,” he answered with her name instinctively, before realising what he had just done - what she had just done. Neither Jane nor Elizabeth looked remotely concerned, though, both only leaning closer to assure their friend that they were there for her, that she was safe.

“’Twas William,” Charlotte waved aside their concern, her eyes fixed on Trent’s face. “My own husband - I am so ashamed…”

“Sh,” Trent touched her hand gently. “How could it be any fault of yours?”

“You knew.” It was not a question. Tears trembled on her lashes.

“The Colonel and I deduced it, just a little while ago. I came straight here, hoping to protect… all of you. I was too late, though, Charlotte, and I will regret to my dying day that I did not drive my horse harder coming here.”

She smiled, a twisted, mirthless little tug at her lips. “My own fault. I found the spencer. Confronted him.”

Jane suddenly realised just what Charlotte was saying; gasped aloud. “No. No, it cannot be.”

Charlotte looked up at Trent with a desperate, weary appeal. Lightly, he touched her lips with his finger.

“Do not try to talk any more, Charlotte. Not right now. Your throat is terribly bruised and you may find that breathing becomes difficult; I will not leave you until I am sure you are out of danger.”

Elizabeth was standing close beside the fireplace, her own hand pressed to her throat, staring at Charlotte. Her face was quite white.

“I remember,” she whispered, causing Jane to turn to her. “Oh God, Jane, I remember - he said such terrible things - tried to - oh Jane!” Tears began to trickle down her cheeks and Jane instinctively opened her arms to her sister, held her close to comfort her.

“Our own cousin,” Jane murmured, shaking her head, utterly confounded. She did not want to believe it, indeed could hardly conceive that it was a possibility, but Charlotte and Trent’s words seemed to constitute incontrovertible proof.

A sudden loud sound in the hallway inside made Jane look up; Trent was wrapped up in caring for Charlotte and Elizabeth was crying and shaking in Jane’s arms, so it was she who faced the four men who came barging into the room.

Chapter Twenty-Three