given up, that she was finally safe.”
“Well, she's safe now,” James said from the doorway.
All heads turned in his direction “How do you know?” Christopher
demanded.
“After the drubbing you gave him? He's not stupid. I suggested he take the
next ship to America. I'll check in the morning to be sure he's on it.”
“What?” Christopher demanded, appalled. “You didn't call for the police?”
“Think, Christopher. You beat him to a bloody pulp. If the police came,
whom would they be arresting? Not only him. Don't call for them. I think he's going to respect you now, and just go away.”
“Or put a bullet in your back,” Colin commented darkly.
Christopher didn't say a word. He leaned over and pressed his lips to his wife's face. Her blood smeared on his lips.
If her nose isn't broken, it would be a miracle, James thought.
No one spoke. They just stood by, supporting the couple as best they could.
James put one hand on Christopher's shoulder. With the other, he pulled his wife
close. Eliza wept softly into his shirt.
About half an hour later the doctor arrived. Christopher could barely take in the
details of a small, dark-haired man in a black suit, but the white fingers compressing his wife's head remained emblazoned in his memory forever.
“Fractured skull,” he said at last, and Julia let out a low moan. The doctor sighed. “It's a significant break, but not necessarily fatal. The bone is cracked but not shattered and there's no depression.”
“Will she live?” Christopher demanded.
“It's possible,” the doctor allowed, “but I can't guarantee it. You see, it's not
so much the break that presents a danger. Her brain hit her skull, not once but twice, from what you've told me. It's sure to swell. If it swells a little and then
subsides, she'll live. If it swells more, she'll die.” Though the words might have
seemed brutal, he spoke them with sympathetic kindness.
Christopher ground his teeth.
“How much time has passed since the attack?” the doctor asked.
“About three-quarters of an hour,” Colonel Turner replied, surprising
Christopher. Between the battle rage and the utter fear, time had changed its course in Christopher's mind. I thought it was less… or more. I'm not sure.
Confused, he blinked as the men kept talking.
“Her best outcome will result from moving her as little as possible. The last
thing we want is to exacerbate the swelling,” the doctor informed them.
“Well, she can certainly stay here as long as she needs,” Julia volunteered, and her husband concurred with a nod.
The doctor acknowledged their offer with a dip of his chin. “Wait a while. At
least an hour. Then, if nothing has changed, move her slowly to the bedroom.
Can anyone assess her condition?”
“I can,” Colonel Turner replied. “I became a sort of a de facto medic when I
was in the infantry, though I certainly didn't expect to assess war wounds in London… on a woman.”
The comment incited grim silence. Christopher gulped. It was a war. I won,
but that doesn't matter. None of it matters if Katerina… his mind veered off, unwilling to finish the terrible thought.
“I'll come back tomorrow and check on her,” the doctor said. “If something
happens, call for me, though—I'm sorry to say this—if she takes a turn for the
