by Abby Ayles
He could not have imagined that the feeling of dread creeping across his scalp was real enough, or that it was inspired by a cause that should have had him flying through the night if he had known the truth of it.
“Ah! Lord Kelt,” Lord Haverham exclaimed the next morning, as Edmund tried to make quick his escape.
“Lord Haverham,” Edmund responded, turning on his heel ruefully to face his host. “What luck that we have stumbled on one another. I was just preparing myself to depart.”
“Oh, come, sit with me a while,” Lord Haverham said. “I wanted to go over a few things with you concerning the business.”
“Really, I wanted to return soon. My family must be worried about my whereabouts,” Edmund tried, giving the other man what he hoped was an apologetic smile.
“Nonsense, they can wait a few hours longer,” Lord Haverham insisted. “I have a proposal that I think you will be very interested in. What with my lady wife’s long walks, we have not had quite enough time yet to discuss deals which might benefit both of our families.”
Edmund hesitated.
Of course, he wanted to return home - that was completely true. But the other man might offer him something lucrative, particularly since he seemed interested in forging a deeper bond between their two households.
It wouldn’t make sense for him to argue a deal that might disadvantage his future daughter-in-law’s fortune, after all.
Edmund nodded at last, regretful that he could not slip away, but knowing an opportunity when he saw one.
“Alright. Lead on, Lord Haverham.”
What followed was a lengthy discussion on the merits of trade in the Indies, and of particular types of sailing vessel - and it bored Edmund thoroughly.
By the time that the man had finally got around to his point, the sun had risen almost to noon already.
“Now, then,” Lord Haverham said, expectantly, leaning forward in his chair. “What say you, Lord Kelt?”
Edmund blinked at him for a moment. He had quite drifted away during the last few minutes of his speech.
“Go through it for me again,” he said, trying to appear as though he was thinking the deal over rather than that he had missed it entirely.
Once repeated, the deal was incredibly fair – more than fair, in fact. It would allow Edmund to make a healthy profit, and would benefit him for some seasons to come.
“I think it sounds agreeable, Lord Haverham,” Edmund said, nodding his head. “I’ll ask the office to draw up a contract, to be signed by both of us anon. Then we shall begin shipping.”
“Then let us seal it with a handshake,” Lord Haverham said, holding out his arm.
He clasped Edmund’s elbow with his opposing hand when they shook, and gave him a sly wink. “And may this not be the last of the deals that links the Haverhams and the Hardwickes.”
“Indeed,” Edmund agreed, careful to say no more.
There was much to consider, and agreeing to a betrothal now – without Patience’s consideration – would be more than foolhardy. He knew the rages that his sister could exhibit and had no wish to be on the receiving end of one, particularly not after absenting himself from the house for several days.
It was late afternoon by the time he was finally in sight of Hardwicke Hall, nestled on top of the hill on the horizon.
He urged his stallion on at the sight of it, not fully realising until then how heartsick he had been at staying away from home.
When he reached the grounds and headed for the stables, he was more than surprised not to be met by his driver. Nor was there any sign of Jenkins to be had, though all the other horses were quietly stabled.
Where was everyone?
Edmund put the stallion away himself, and headed for the house, ready to give his servants a piece of his mind towards their dereliction of duty.
Chapter 35
“Hello?” Edmund called out, looking around the eerily quiet main hall of his home.
There was hardly a noise – it was as if the entire place had been deserted in his absence.
“Edmund?”
He turned to see Samuel standing at the far end of the corridor, looking anxiously towards him.
“Samuel, what is going on?” he asked.
He received no answer. Instead, Samuel charged right at him all of a sudden, running as fast as his thin legs could carry him.
He knocked Edmund’s wind out as he tackled him, throwing his arms around his waist and holding on tightly.
“What ever is the matter?” Edmund asked, completely bemused.
His arms encircled Samuel’s body by habit, and he was surprised to find that the boy was shaking.
“We thought you were dead,” Samuel said, and Edmund realised that the shaking came from sobs that wracked his body.
“Now then,” Edmund said gently, extracting himself from Samuel’s arms so that he could lift the boy’s chin and look him in the face. “I was only gone for a couple of days. What’s all this fuss about?”
“We thought you might have fallen from your horse,” Samuel said tearfully. “Christopher looked for you for two days. He couldn’t find any trace of you.”
“Christopher did?” Edmund said, raising his eyebrows. “But there was nothing to fear. I stayed with the Haverhams, that is all. They were most hospitable.”
“But we thought you were sick, too,” Samuel whimpered, drawing his sleeve across his face.
So, the rumours of the sickness had reached this far already?
Edmund wondered who could have brought the news. The driver, perhaps, or Christopher returning from a jaunt in town. “No one’s sick, Sammy. It’s just a rumour.”
“They are!” Samuel cried, his voice rising in pitch. “Patience and Amy and Miss Warrick – they are!”
Edmund stared at him, straightening his back. “What?”
“They’re sick, all of them. Like Mama and Papa all over again. They made me stay down here so I won’t catch it this time,” Samuel sniffed. His face was the picture of misery.
“Stay here, Samuel,” Edmund said, tearing away from him and starting towards the stairs at a run.
“But, Edmund!” Samuel called after him.
“Stay there!” Edmund repeated, shouting it over his shoulder as he took the stairs two at a time.
He burst into Patience’s room first, the first door he came to.
Cook was there with Jenkins, and both of them looked up wearily as he entered.
“My lord,” Jenkins gasped. “We had all but given up hope. We prayed for your return.”
Edmund took in their stricken faces, and then strode past them to sink to the floor at Patience’s side.
Her face was red and slick with sweat and water, and she moved slightly in her sleep, twitching and frowning.
“How long has it been?” Edmund asked, finding his voice suddenly raw.
“We found them the afternoon you left, my lord. Miss Amy fainted while playing a game with the children, and Miss Patience not long after. It was not until we went to fetch Miss Warrick for her aid that we discovered she, too, had fainted. She was lying on the floor of your study.”
Edmund covered his face for a moment, almost overcome.
It had been the very hour in which he left! He had turned and fled the house in the hour of his family’s need, and jollied along with the Haverhams while they lay here dying!
“There has been no change since then?” Edmund managed, reaching for Patience’s hand where it lay on the covers.
“No, my lord, the girls remain the same,” Jenkins said.
He sounded tired. The worry must have been driving him half out of his mind.
“Miss Warrick rallied admirably and helped us with their care. I fear she pushed herself too far, but she would not be dissuaded. It was not until this morning that she fell into a faint again.”
Edmund turned on him. “You let her tend them while she was herself sick?” he asked.
“My lord, she could not be stopped,”
Cook said, gently.
She tucked her chin down into her neck when Edmund looked in her direction. She was not used to speaking directly with him, and he had no doubt that his gaze was a terrifying one at that moment.
“She cares deeply for the children. She would not hear of any suggestion that she should leave them.”
“Where is she now?” Edmund asked.
“With Miss Amy,” Jenkins said, gesturing towards Amy’s chamber.
Edmund leaned over and kissed Patience’s forehead tenderly, stroking her hand before placing it back on the covers.
“Just as well,” he said. “I will visit them next.”
He stood and walked the short distance along the corridor, Jenkins trailing quietly at his heels.
In Amy’s room was a sight of fresh despair: the tiny, frail body looking apt to drown in a sea of blankets, still in much the same state as her sister.
Christopher sat in a chair beside the bed, sponging a wet cloth across her brow.
He wore dark circles under his eyes, and his uniform looked to have seen better days. He even had a few days’ growth of stubble on his chin, light as it was, and his hair was half pulled out of the low ponytail he kept it in customarily.
“Brother,” he said, with an expression of clear relief.
“I am sorry,” Edmund said immediately, quite overcome at the thought he had been absent for all of this trouble.
He could see that what Samuel had said was true: Christopher’s clothes looked travelled in, and he was obviously worse for wear.
“You are alive,” Christopher said, shaking his head as he got to his feet. “You don’t know how much of a gift that is.”
The two men embraced, without any of the awkwardness or bitterness that normally accompanied their exchanges.
Edmund felt the tight grip of a man who thought another family member lost, and experienced great shame.
How he had drunk and feasted and laughed with the Haverhams! How he had engaged in their trifling pastimes and pleasantries!
“I didn’t know,” he said, gruffly, and Christopher sat down again with a sad smile.
“It is forgotten,” he said. “I am truly happy to see you whole. If it were not for the fact that our sisters remain in danger, I would toast you with a drink.”
“I do not doubt that,” Edmund said wryly.
He leaned over to touch Amy’s forehead, feeling her hot to the touch.
He was already wracked with helplessness. He wanted so desperately to take some kind of decisive action that would keep his sisters safe, but he knew that there was none. It was only a matter of time, and waiting.
He turned, then, and allowed himself at last to observe Miss Warrick, laying on a cot by the door with more blankets piled around her.
The room was stiflingly hot, and there was a heavy, cloying smell over everything. She looked as though she could not possibly be in need of covers, but Edmund knew it was necessary to sweat out the fever.
“She fell, this morning,” Christopher said. “I tried to convince her to take some rest, but she would not. She has not woken since.”
Edmund knelt at her side on the wooden floor, and felt her temperature. “She’s so hot. You have been wetting her forehead?”
“Yes, brother,” Christopher sighed. “Both of them. It seems to make no difference. They still frown and struggle so.”
“What of Mary? And the driver? Do they assist?”
“Yes, both of them. They are sleeping now. We take shifts. We will be glad of your joining us. Someone must relieve Cook or we won’t eat.”
Edmund had not taken his eyes off Miss Warrick.
Even flushed, and with her hair pressed tightly onto her head with sweat, she was a beauty. The fact she had cared so for the children only increased her charm.
“I must go for a moment,” he said, getting up abruptly. He could not bear to look at her anymore. “I have something to do. When I return, I will relieve Cook. I trust I can leave them in your capable hands.”
“And mine, my lord,” Jenkins murmured, stepping out of his way with a reassuring nod as he headed for the door.
Edmund clutched at the bannister above the hall, gasping for breath.
How could this have taken place? The sickness, come to Hardwicke Hall again!
He closed his eyes to prevent the tears from squeezing through them.
To see Patience and Amy laid low was terrible, an agony that he never thought he would have to endure. And to see Miss Warrick struck similarly, and be unable to reach out and hold her as he longed to…
It was beyond his grasp, however. Christopher was there, and he would look after his betrothed, as was his duty. Why he still did not admit to it and end the silly charade, Edmund could not say, but it was undoubtedly a time of suffering.
Perhaps he did not want to bring false happy news, given that the outcome was far from assured.
Edmund tried to get control of his emotions, fighting a mighty battle within himself to remain composed.
At last he struck the balustrade with an open hand and marched away to his study, thinking that he might find some quiet there away from the smell of sickness and the crackling of the fires.
The room was cold, and a fine layer of dust was illuminated on the sill by the window. He supposed that not a single person had stepped inside since Miss Warrick was discovered there.
Damn it all! Why had it not happened a day later? She might have been far from here, and safe, when the sickness struck!
What was this, on his desk?
Edmund saw his own name scrawled on a piece of folded parchment and reached for it, puzzled. How long had that lain there…?
He opened it, and saw his own name written again in Miss Warrick’s hand like a bolt through the chest.
What message had she left for him, before swooning into what could possibly now be her deathbed?
Though he read it through five times, he could barely make sense of it. The words towards the bottom were scrawled in an increasingly untidy hand, as though Miss Warrick had been unable to control her pen, but he could read them clearly all the same.
It was their meaning that was alien to him.
He had got it all wrong. All of it.
Edmund rushed along the corridor then, and back into the room where Christopher still watched anxiously over Amy’s laboured breathing.
“You are not betrothed?” Edmund demanded.
“What?”
Christopher looked as if he might have asked him whether he was a purple pig, or if the sky were made of bread.
“You!” Edmund said exasperatedly, pointing first at Christopher and then at Miss Warrick with exaggerated movements. “You are not betrothed?”
Christopher looked at him blankly for a moment before an understanding cleared his face. “I am not, brother,” he said. “Please, allow me to explain.”
“I thought you were betrothed,” Edmund breathed.
“I see that. It must have been a misunderstanding. In fact, I did make an ill-timed and ill-considered proposal to Miss Warrick. She had the far better sense to turn me down. It was a rather embarrassing incident, Edmund, and one I did not wish to share.”
“I sent her away,” Edmund said, dimly.
“Pardon?”
“I thought you were betrothed, so I sent her away,” he said, feeling an utter misery at what a cad he had been. “I told her to leave us and then I rode away.”
“Oh, Edmund,” Christopher said, giving him a look of disapproval that he had never before had reason to wear. “You could have asked me. There was nothing between us. Not even for that moment. It was a silly mistake.”
Edmund stared at him, and at the prone Miss Warrick again, and then left the room as sharply as he had entered it.
He returned to his study and placed the letter on his desk, pacing around it as if it were able to give him the resolution he required.
Damn it all, he had endangered the poor woman’s life. She had clearly
been distressed when she wrote the letter, and wanted so desperately to prove her value to the family that she had ignored her own health in favour of the children.
What kind of a monster was he, to make such an accusation without proving it first?
Edmund sunk into his chair, holding his head in his hands.
This was all a giant mess, and he was a giant fool. There was no other way of looking at it.
