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and the clothes everyone had been
wearing.

 
    Chapter Four
     
    Catherine must have dozed, because the
next thing she knew, she was awoken by the sound of whispering outside her open
window. Her bedroom was at the back of the house, above the kitchens. She crept
out of bed carefully, so as not to wake Alyssa, who had decided not to go back
to her own room because she wanted to talk a little more. She looked out to see
two men, one of whom seemed to be supporting the other.
     
    “Wait a moment, Xander, whilst I open
the door,” she heard Mr. Harrington’s voice say. It was then she realized that
the stricken man was Mr. Oakley. Gasping in horror, and without thinking what
she was doing, Catherine threw on her dressing gown and almost flew down the
back staircase, reaching the back door just as Mr. Harrington helped Mr. Oakley
through it.
     
    “Miss Willoughby,” said Mr. Oakley, “go
back to bed this instance.” His face was pale, and she saw a patch of blood
spreading over his white shirt.
     
    She ignored him, and went to his other
side, to help Mr. Harrington, who led them to a small room at the back of the
house which had a single bed, and what appeared to be a medicine chest. Almost
as if it was ready for this very purpose.  “What happened?” she said. “Who has
hurt you?”
     
    “A duel,” said Mr. Oakley, as they
helped him onto the bed.  His breathing was labored.
     
    “Now go back to bed.”
     
    Mr. Harrington lit a candle, casting
more light into the room.
     
    “No, I want to help. I sometimes helped
Jimmy when…” she paused.
     
    “You can speak in front of Andrew. He
knows about Jimmy’s association with the Captain.”
     
    “Yes, when he helped the Captain. A few
times he came back injured and I nursed him. Why were you fighting a duel?”
     
    “Some young fool made an offensive comment
about Mrs. Somerson,” said Mr. Oakley, appearing to choose his words carefully.
“So, of course I had to defend her honour.”
     
    “Of course,” said Catherine, her heart
dropping. “Who was it? All the young men here tonight seemed very polite.”
     
    “Anyone of them can turn when he’s had
too much wine,” said Mr. Harrington. Catherine noticed that neither of them
answered her question. She opened the medicine chest and took out some bandages
and a bottle of medicinal alcohol.
     
    “Let me see,” she said. Forgetting for a
moment who she was dealing with she pulled up Mr. Oakley’s shirt, to see that
he had a deep cut in his side.  Mr. Harrington then helped him remove the shirt
completely, so that it didn’t get in the way. “You were sword fencing?”
     
    “Yes. I’m very impressed you can tell a
sword wound when you see one.”
     
    “I’ve told you. I used to help Jimmy a
lot. I thought the usual way to duel was with pistols.”
     
    “It’s up to the duelists which weapons
they use. Ouch.”  Oakley winced as Catherine cleaned the wound with the
alcohol.
     
    “Don’t be such a baby,” she admonished.
“If you can’t stand pain, you shouldn’t be fighting duels.” She concentrated on
making sure there was no dirt in the wound. “I think I may have to put some sutures
in this.”
     
    “You can do that?”
     
    “Jimmy taught me.”
     
    “He obviously relied on you a lot.”
     
    “Yes.”
     
    “Most women would be fainting about
now,” said Mr. Harrington with a note of admiration in his voice.
     
    “I’m not the swooning kind,” said
Catherine, smiling.
     
    “That much is certain,” said Mr. Oakley.
“Dear Lord, woman, do you have to be so brutal?”
    Catherine had started putting the first
suture in without warning him. “I always found it best not to warn Jimmy when I
was about to start. He’d make such a fuss about it otherwise.” She did wonder
if she’d been a bit too rough with Mr. Oakley. She just couldn’t get it out of
her mind that he could have died, defending Phoebe Somerson’s honour. He was
not an old man, but he was