Part Three
Late evening
Major Peter Burke returned home and stood in the entrance beating the dust from his clothes with his hat, and then looked up and smiled as Elizabeth came down the stairs towards him. Suddenly he stopped what he was doing and focused his whole attention on her; he had seen this expression before, and it meant that she had done something she knew he wouldn't like, but done it all the same.
"I think there is something you should see, Peter."
"Elizabeth."
"I need you to see this first and then I will explain."
Peter took a breath, "El, am I going to regret this?"
"It depends, but I don't think you will."
Peter followed her into the second bedroom and ground to a halt as he stared in disbelief at the man lying there. The young highwayman's face was pale and his skin was touched with fever but there was no mistaking who it was: Neal Caffrey. Peter turned to look at his wife. "El, what's he doing here?"
"I know that you would make him gallows meat, Peter, but Mr. Caffrey saved us…." But before she could continue, Neal began to stir; his eyes opened and locked onto Peter.
Neal slowly opened his eyes and peered at the blurred red figure standing near the bed; his eyes focused and he couldn't help give a strangled gasp as he recognised Peter Burke. Mustering what strength he had, Neal tried to escape away from him.
In an instant Peter was on him, dragging him back onto the bed as he tried to shoot out the other side; pain ripped through his shoulder, but even so he tried to push the older man away. In desperation he lashed out, his fist catching Peter across the jaw, knocking him back, but then Peter was on top of him, pinning his thrashing body down. Suddenly Neal stilled as he felt Peter's hardness pressing against his thigh; the Major was aroused. Burke wouldn't have been the first man to want him to become his molly, and lift the linen for him. Now he was in no condition to run, so he let his body go limp; something of his fear must have shown in his eyes, because he saw concern on Peter's face as the older man said, "Damn it, Caffrey, I am not going to hurt you."
"Jjjusst hang me." Neal's voice was rough, and he was panting harshly, fast losing his fight to hold back the pain that was wracking his body, but he had to find the words to plead, "Don't take me.…"
He saw the moment that Peter realised what he was saying; Peter's hand went up, and Neal flinched, tensing for the blow he knew was coming. Instead Peter just shook his head and looked towards his wife, who laid a hand on his arm. Elizabeth, he saw, turned away and disappeared from his view. She returned with a cup; Peter leaned over him. "I am not going to hurt you, Neal." Sitting on the edge of the bed, the older man reached for him and propped Neal up against him; Peter waited for him to settle, and then taking the cup, coaxed him to drink from it. The cool water had an herbal taste to it that was pleasant, and Neal let his head loll back against Peter's chest. For a moment he felt Peter tense, and then the other man relaxed and the Major wrapped an arm round him.
"El, what the hell is going on here?"
"We were attacked by a highwayman, Peter." She added quickly, "It wasn't Mr. Caffrey; the other man had us at pistol point, and I feared that he was going to kill us, and I believe that he would have done if Mr. Caffrey hadn't arrived when he did."
"So he was shot helping you?"
El nodded her head. "He scared the other man off, and insisted on coming with us, escorting up home, and was shot when the other highwayman came after us again. Peter, please, can't this wait? The ball is still in his shoulder, and he has a fever brewing." El added, "Please, Peter, even if it's only because you believe that helping him will make sure that he doesn't cheat the hangman. Help us by getting the ball out of him."
"We will talk, Elizabeth," his tone making sure she knew that this conversation was not ended. "But first we will see to Neal."
Lightly he touched the highwayman's heavily-bandaged shoulder, frowning as he saw the fresh blood caused by their struggle.
"The ball took him high on his back; he was turning when it struck him," Elizabeth told him.
"Have Jones come up; we're going to need all the help we can get to do this."
Clinton Jones was in a heated argument with Diana when Elizabeth found him. The younger man threw his hands up in the air in despair as Diana just shrugged; it wasn't as if he hadn't know how independent she was. Quickly she helped gather up the supplies that Peter needed, while Jones went up to the room.
Together the two of them moved Neal onto his stomach. As Peter cut the soiled bandage from Neal's shoulder, Jones cleared the bed of blankets and sheets, only retaining one to fold and lay across his hips to cover Neal's naked body from waist to knees.
While Jones poured the water, Peter cleaned his hands with soap and water, just as one of the doctors has told him; only then with his fingers did he begin to probe the wound, giving a small cry of triumph when he felt the ball imbedded in young man's flesh. "You know, Jones, that other highwayman couldn't have been using a full charge of powder, otherwise this would have gone straight through his shoulder, and he would have bled out by now."
Neal usually had excellent timing but this time it failed him; he came round to the pain hammering through his back. He flinched as Peter crouched down so that he was level with his face. "You're lucky, Caffrey, the ball took you high in the shoulder; it missed your vitals. I should be able to get it out. If the rope doesn't end you, you'll make a full recovery." He took a mug that Elizabeth had filled from the small bedside table and then offered it to him.
Neal croaked, "Water?"
"Brandy, Caffrey, the good stuff." Peter quirked an eyebrow at him and paused. "The ball is going to have to come out, and it's not going to be pleasant; you best get as much of this down you as you can." Peter's hand was warm and reassuring against his face as he eased him up enough so that he could drink it. Once he had finished the mug another one was at his lips; Neal tried to turn away, but Peter wouldn't let him. "It helps kill the pain; you will need it, I promise you that." Peter met his gaze levelly. "It's not as if you're in any position to run, so what can drinking it down do to you?"
Neal nodded slightly and then, opening his mouth, drank it down, Peter handed the mug back to Diana, and then patted his good shoulder. "Once we start, we're not going to be able to stop." Reaching over him he took something from Jones and folded it: a leather pad; Neal closed his eyes, because he knew what was going to happen next. Peter's voice floated over him. "Jones, I am going to need you to help restrain him once I start cutting."
Neal felt his good wrist being caught in a firm hand and then lifted up; something soft yet strong was wrapped round it and he knew without opening his eyes that his arm was being restrained. The bed dipped on one side, and he felt someone lean across his thighs, and knew that that person would keep his legs pinned once Peter started to cut. A smaller hand circled the wrist of his injured shoulder, and another his upper arm, keeping it flat to the bed.
Peter's voice was strangely reassuring as a light touch to his face made him open his eyes. "I am going to start now, Neal. I am sorry." Words that could have been empty were made more by the look in Peter's eyes as he dipped down so that Neal could see him. Peter took the leather pad and put it between Neal's teeth so that he wouldn't break them when the pain tore through his body. Taking a steadying breath, Peter straightened up and dipped the knife into the brandy that Elizabeth had poured into a small bowl, and then turning back to him, Peter leant over him, blotting out the light from the lamp, becoming cold and sinister in the dark shadow that he threw over him. It was then Peter's knife entered his flesh and the horror started.
Through the pain he heard Peter say, "EI, I need you to hold the wound open so I can get the ball out; it's split—I need to try and get it out in one piece. The more cloth or lead in the wound, the more likely it is to go bad; I can't risk that."
Working together, Peter finally managed to get the tip of the knife under it and got it out, tossing it into the bowl. Then taking the brandy, he poured it into the wound. It was then Neal screamed, his body trying to arch and pull free from the people holding him; a heartbeat later his body went limp. Peter bound the bandages quickly round Neal's chest before easing him down to lay on the bed.
El looked at her husband as he wiped the blood from his hands; he did it slowly as if he wanted to make sure that every speck of it was off his hands, but all the time his eyes were fixed on Neal Caffrey. With a shaking hand he reached out and brushed the sweat-damp hair back from Caffrey's closed eyes.
"You took a risk, both of you," Peter said, looking from Elizabeth to Diana and back again, then meeting Jones's eyes he just shook his head. It shouldn't have been a shock to them; the women in their lives were wayward and independent and they would have them no other way. "Next time be more careful." But he still favoured her with a look that told her they would talk later in private.
During the next three days, Peter remained at the house as much as his work would allow. Elizabeth and Diana, between them, nursed Neal. His fever had gotten worse and he was totally helpless; they had to do everything for him. Elizabeth folded linen into pads, placing one under his hip, another over his groin, changing them when he soiled himself. They washed his body of the sweat and his bodily discharges with sweet-smelling water, as if he was a baby. They fed him water and herbs that would draw the fever from him, and coaxed rich gruel down him when they were able. But as each day went by their worry grew; if the fever didn't break soon, Neal was going to die, as he became too weak to fight the fever.
Finally Peter turned to Elizabeth, real concern in his face that he was going to lose Neal Caffrey. "There is a way, El, but it might kill him; it is the soldier's way."
Elizabeth looked up; she was cradling Neal in her arms and spoon-feeding the delirious young man water. "If we don't break the fever soon, he will die anyway, so we must do something."
Peter went out and with Jones' help drew buckets of ice cold water from the deep well and carried them to the hayloft. El frowned as she watched him, but before she could speak he said, "Ideally it should be higher, but this might work. I pray it will."
Returning to the room he picked Neal up, carried him down and laid him onto the cobbles under the hayloft. He removed the blankets, leaving Neal laying naked and shivering on the ground, and signalled to Jones who emptied the buckets full of ice cold water one by one from the hayloft down onto Neal. The water flattened him, and he cried out and thrashed weakly in pain.
Once the last bucket had been emptied, Peter rushed forward, gathered Neal up and carried him back to bed, where he dried him off quickly and wrapped him in blankets. Neal's teeth were chattering from the cold; his breathing was hard and harsh and he was tossing and turning in bed. Early the next morning the fever finally broke.
Neal was as weak as a kitten from the fever; Elizabeth eased him up, pillowing him against her chest as she fed him a thick stew made from the best meat. He only took a little but Elizabeth smiled with tears rolling down her face as she looked across Neal at Peter. Exhaustion caught up with Neal and he fell asleep. Peter came over and sat by her side, his arms round them both; he looked into his wife's eyes and saw her smile and nod gently at Neal. Peter kissed her gently, before pressing his lips to Neal's forehead in a chaste kiss. For a long time they sat like that, Peter and Elizabeth with Neal nestling between them.
When Neal woke up, out of habit he kept his body perfectly still, as he tried to take in his surroundings. He tilted his head slightly; he was lying in the arms of a beautiful woman. Her dark hair was falling loose round her shoulders; for a heartbeat he thought it was his Kate, the raven-headed doxy that had stolen his heart. But it wasn't her; he wracked his brain and then remembered who she was: it was Elizabeth Burke, the wife of ... oh hell.
Neal tried to move, pushing himself up off her; Burke would kill him if he found him in bed with his wife. But his arms gave way, and he fell face first into her lush breasts. Neal tried to push himself off her as she woke, only to go face first again. She gave a surprised cry and then instead of pushing him away, she pulled him close. It was then the door open and Peter Burke came in. Neal struggled to free himself but she held him tightly, and in two strides Peter was there, and Neal felt himself being pulled up off her and into Peter's strong arms, holding him close. The pain radiating from his wound made it hard to breathe, let alone think.
"Easy Neal, breathe, you're safe, you're safe." The rich voice rolled over him, and Neal began to remember: the wound, the strong hands that held him and made him feel safe. Slowly, against his will, his body relaxed against Peter as the older man sat back against the headboard cradling him against him, even as Elizabeth leaned on her husband's shoulder, her arm wrapping round his waist, holding him firmly in place. Exhaustion overtook him, and Neal could do nothing to stop the heart-weary sigh that escaped him as he fell into a deep healing sleep.
During the long days it took Neal to heal, they had saw the longing looks that he tried to hide, when he looked at either of them. It had been exciting to receive those loving but confused looks. But neither of them had been under an illusion that it was going to be easy. Before they confronted Neal, Peter and Elizabeth talked long into the night, and the next morning they decided what they wanted, and that was for Neal to become one with them.
They understood that if it became known, every hand would be against them; fornication outside of marriage was considered a sin by the Church but it was unofficially accepted that a man had needs. But for a woman to covet another man was to brand her a harlot, an adulterer. For Peter to want Neal if he was caught he would be hanged as a sodomite next to him. They had to be sure it was what Neal wanted.
One thing Peter knew was that if he was to rescue Neal from the gallows that waited for him in his future, then he had to make a deal with his father-in-law, Sir Reese, one that would save Neal's life. That night when Neal was asleep, Peter sat down on the loveseat, reached out for Elizabeth's hands, and looked into her eyes as he kissed her fingers.
"You have thought of a way to save him." Elizabeth said happily.
"Neal has been a thorn in our flesh; he had stolen goods but not people's lives. The cost of the things he has taken would guarantee him the death penalty or at best transportation." Peter, seeing the look of dismay on Elizabeth's face, added, "But I think that I can sell your father on an idea. At the moment we are plagued with highwaymen and thieves of all kinds. If Neal were to be given into my care, in return for helping us to hunt the others down he would be eventually given his freedom; he could be a useful asset for us."
"But he is just a highwayman."
"That is what I thought, Neal became infamous through being a highwayman, but he was in Newgate prison for forging paintings, and for the theft of treasures from the houses of the rich and noble. He is so much more, Elizabeth, and I can use him to help destroy the canker of lawlessness that is rotting this country from the inside."
So each day, Elizabeth was sure that she began to see understanding in Neal's eyes, the way he leaned into their touch when they cared for him and held him, but so far he hadn't put what he needed into words, and they needed to hear them. So they told him of the plans to free him from the noose, and that it came with no strings attached to it. Neal had looked at them searchingly, as if by pure willpower he could look into their hearts and souls and divine the truth. But then doubt would appear in his eyes; Neal didn't believe them.
He believed he would be nothing more than a diversion for them ,and once he had satisfied their base needs he would be sent to the gallows. She was at a loss at what to do about it; Peter had to bring the papers soon, otherwise they would lose him.