Mr. Blood recognized him
In that moment Mr. Blood recognized him for the young shipmaster, Jeremiah Pitt, the nephew of the maiden ladies opposite, one who had been drawn by the general enthusiasm into the vortex of that rebellion. The street was rousing, awakened by the sailor’s noisy advent; doors were opening, and lattices were being unlatched for the protrusion of anxious, inquisitive heads.
“Take your time, now,” said Mr. Blood. “I never knew speed made by overhaste.”
But the wild-eyed lad paid no heed to the admonition. He plunged, headlong, into speech, gasping, breathless.
“It is Lord Gildoy,” he panted. “He is sore wounded … at Oglethorpe’s Farm by the river. I bore him thither … and … and he sent me for you. Come away! Come away!”
He would have clutched the doctor, and haled him forth by force in bedgown and slippers as he was. But the doctor eluded that too eager hand.
“To be sure, I’ll come,” said he. He was distressed. Gildoy had been a very friendly, generous patron to him since his settling in these parts. And Mr. Blood was eager enough to do what he now could to discharge the debt, grieved that the occasion should have arisen, and in such a manner - for he knew quite well that the rash young nobleman had been an active agent of the Duke’s. “To be sure, I’ll come. But first give me leave to get some clothes and other things that I may need.”
“There’s no time to lose.”
“Be easy now. I’ll lose none. I tell ye again, ye’ll go quickest by going leisurely. Come in … take a chair…” He threw open the door of a parlour.
Young Pitt waved aside the invitation.
“I’ll wait here. Make haste, in God’s name.” Mr. Blood went off to dress and to fetch a case of instruments.
Questions concerning the precise nature of Lord Gildoy’s hurt could wait until they were on their way. Whilst he pulled on his boots, he gave Mrs. Barlow instructions for the day, which included the matter of a dinner he was not destined to eat.