The Blackest of Hearts by Emma V. Leech

Author:Emma V. Leech
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: 0
Published: 2018-12-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

“Wherein the past is a bleak place to visit.”

Luther scowled at the doctor. Though he was one of the best in London—he certainly charged like he was—Luther didn’t like him one bit. Especially the bit that suggested he’d be in bed for many weeks to come. No. That bit he hated.

He grimaced and struggled not to gnash his teeth as the man placed a wooden tube against his chest and lowered his ear to it. Apparently it was some new invention for listening to the heart and lungs, but Luther was not in the mood to be impressed by such quackery.

The doctor tsked and shook his head. “Your lungs are clear, which is something to be thankful for, but your heart is racing far too fast and your pulse is weak. Blood loss of this magnitude will take some considerable time to remedy, let alone the effects of the physical wound. No, Mr Blackehart, you will stay put or you may find yourself in a far worse state than you are now.”

Luther watched, indignant and scowling, as the doctor prattled on while packing away his tools.

“I may say you were very lucky you found me in the neighbourhood that day, for I dare say I’m the only man in London who could have stitched you up so nicely.”

Luther gritted his teeth against another remark about being stitched up, which wouldn’t have been half so complementary.

“Well, then, I prescribe complete bed rest, plenty of fluids, laudanum for the pain, and lots of beef tea.”

“Beef tea?” Luther objected, unable to hold his tongue a moment longer. “I need building up, for heaven’s sake. I’ll have a nice fat sirloin, thank you.”

“You’ll have what I prescribe and like it,” the doctor replied, his expression outraged and offended. “Good day to you, sir. I will return the day after tomorrow to see how you go on.”

“Dead from malnutrition, most likely,” Luther grumbled as the fellow shut the door on him.

Fed up and in pain, there was little else he could do than go back to sleep.

He awoke a little later to find Crump placing a cup and saucer on the bedside table.

“What’s that?” he demanded. “And what are you doing here?” he added, knowing he was being rude and not caring a damn.

“Beef tea, and Miss Dove engaged me as your valet for the duration of your recovery, Mr Blackehart.”

“Mr Blackehart?” Luther repeated, glaring at the man and wondering why he looked different. It occurred to him then. Crump was sober. Not only sober, he was shaved and neat as a pin. His suit was rather dated and a little worn in places, but still, he looked every inch the snotty valet Luther had always imagined him to be. “Hmph,” he said, at a loss for what else to say in the circumstances. “Take the blasted tea away. I don’t want it.”

Crump frowned at him. “But, sir, the doctor said—”

“To the devil with what the doctor said! I’m dying of starvation and you

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