by Abby Ayles
He realised he had been staring absently at the fireplace for some time when he at last noticed that it was not only wood waiting to be burned there. He had not used it for some time, since the summer had set in, and he could not remember throwing anything in himself.
Yet there, scattered amongst the logs, were a few scraps of parchment.
Edmund roused himself and leaned over to pick them up, finding them scattered in a number of places as if they had been dropped in carelessly.
They were torn as well as scrunched up, and as he began to straighten them back out, he caught Miss Warrick’s hand.
How curious – it seemed to be an earlier draft of his letter. He laid them out on the desk, quickly fitting them together, and then –
Could it be?
I am not betrothed to Lieutenant Christopher, nor could I ever be, she had written. I am in love only with yo-
Could this truly be some form of confession?
Edmund stared at the words on the page, trying to find another way in which they fit together.
I am in love only with your family, perhaps, an expression of motherly affections rather than romantic ones.
Or, I am in love only with youth! An expression of vanity!
Tenuous, it seemed, and Edmund could not figure out what other meaning there could possibly be than an admission of affection for himself.
But he had jumped to conclusions about Miss Warrick’s affections before, and that had gone just about as badly as was possible.
No, he wouldn’t read anything into this. Not yet.
He carefully screwed up each piece of parchment again and placed them inside the fireplace, not truly sure of why he did it.
Even as he tried to hold it down, flames of a different kind were already taking over his heart – of hope, that perhaps his feelings might after all be reciprocated.
Edmund returned to Patience’s room with a renewed vigour and determination.
Whatever the case may be, one thing was certain: all was not lost. Not yet. Patience, Amy, and Miss Warrick might all still be saved.
And if she was, then she had no reason to leave them, given that she was not at all betrothed.
He paused at the doorway. “Cook, I’m to relieve you,” he said.
“Oh, my lord,” Cook said, scrambling to her feet from where she sat by the bed. “She improves. See how she improves. She is no longer so hot.”
“Truly?” Edmund asked.
He rushed forward and laid a hand on Patience’s forehead, feeling it considerably cooler than before. She did not groan or twitch at his touch, either.
“Do you think she is through the worst of it?” Edmund asked quickly.
“You are as good a judge as I, my lord. You remember the first time.”
“It was much like this,” Edmund said. His heart was hammering fast as he took the chair, grasping Patience’s hand. “Samuel recovered slowly, but he cooled after a week or so. This has only been a few days, no? She may recover completely.”
“Oh, I pray for it,” Cook said excitedly, clasping her hands tightly in front of her. “Please, God, let it be true! I will pray for it!”
“We’ll need provisions,” Edmund instructed her. “For the rest of the household as well as the girls, if they should wait. Perhaps a simple broth that they can try when they awake.”
“Yes, my lord, oh yes, I will make it at once,” Cook said, fair running out of the room in her haste to serve.
Chapter 36
She dreamed that she was on board a ship, in the sea.
When she turned to look at where they had come from, she realised it was only the lake at Hardwicke Hall.
Their ship was not a ship at all, but rather a small boat, and the sun was beating down mercilessly over everything.
“I am so hot,” she murmured crossly, tugging at the sleeve of her winter dress and wishing she had not worn quite so many petticoats.
“Take them off then,” Christopher said lazily, sunning himself on the deck.
Joanna tutted. “That would not be becoming of a lady,” she said.
“Suit yourself,” Christopher replied, and dived off the boat and into the lake in one smooth motion.
All at once, the sky darkened, and storm clouds began to gather above the lake.
A flash of lightning hit the surface of the water, and Joanna screamed.
The boat rocked from side to side in the onslaught of waves, pushing her around in the middle of the lake. She took up an oar and tried to row, but succeeded only in turning in a circle.
“I am lost!” she cried out, seeing the waves rising up to meet the boat. “Somebody, help me!”
“This way, Miss Warrick,” Edmund said, calling to her from the shore. He held a rope in his hand, and slowly pulled her in towards the shore. “Gently does it. That’s it.”
Joanna wept as the boat sunk into the soft sand at the shore, and she took Edmund’s hand as he helped her down. “I thought I was lost,” she said.
“You’re home now,” Edmund told her, his grip firm on her hand. “Don’t worry. We’re all here to look after you.”
Joanna looked up to a bright sky. The sunshine was bearing down on her again, and it was so hot, so hot.
“Drink some of this,” Edmund said, holding up a handful of stagnant water from the lake. “It will cool you down.”
“I can’t drink that,” Joanna balked, stepping backwards.
“But it’s needed for the baby,” Edmund insisted, pouring it down her throat and spilling it down her neck.
Joanna looked down to see her belly rising round and swollen, and felt the kick from inside. “I must protect the baby,” she said.
“He is coming early,” Edmund told her, squeezing her hand again. “You must come home to us now.”
“But how should I get there?” Joanna asked desperately, looking back at the house.
It was so far away, and all the distance between here and there was scorched and dry under the burning sun.
Something was wrong. There was such a delay in each answer that she sought. It was as though she were trapped in one space, and they in another. Though they touched her, she knew somehow that they must be far apart.
“Run!” Christopher shouted, coming up on her left side, and Edmund held her fast on her right, and they all ran together with as much speed as they could muster, until everything around was only a blur and in the distance there was only one tiny speck of light.
Chapter 37
“That’s it, dear girl,” Edmund murmured quietly. “Drink up. We’ll get you out of this room in a moment and downstairs. You could do with some fresh air.”
“I can’t bear to be here a moment longer,” Patience said, her voice dry and brittle from her sickness. “Where is Samuel? Was he affected?”
“No, we bade him wait downstairs,” Edmund said. “I couldn’t risk him catching it again. He’s been beside himself. He’ll be very pleased to see you up and about again.”
“Don’t push yourself too far, Miss Patience,” Cook clucked disapprovingly. “We don’t want you falling ill again. Just take your time.”
“She’s right,” Edmund smiled. He never thought that Cook could be so forthright, but she was a fierce mother bear when it came to the welfare of the children.
“I’ll be careful,” Patience said. “I’d like to bathe, at least.”
“We can arrange that,” Cook said. “If Lord Kelt leaves us be for a while.”
Edmund took the hint and stood up. “I’ll check in on you later,” he promised.
“Don’t look for me here,” Patience said. “I’ll be down with Samuel.”
“Edmund?” A breathless Christopher appeared in the doorway. “Come, quickly. I think Amy is starting to wake.”
Edmund hurried after him.
In Amy’s room, Jenkins was hovering anxiously over the bed, while Mary watched from Miss Warrick’s side.
“Does she stir?” Edmund demanded, moving closer.
; “Little by little,” Jenkins said, not taking his eyes from Amy’s face.
Christopher and Edmund joined him on either side of the bed, kneeling down and each taking one of her little hands in their own.
Amy made a face, and stirred a little. She made a dry, croaking noise in the back of her throat. She was no longer hot to the touch.
“Papa?” she said, her voice cracking and breaking off into a whine.
Edmund and Christopher exchanged a glance. “I’m here, sweetling,” he said. “It’s me, your brother Edmund.”
“And Christopher, too,” Christopher put in, not to be outdone.
Amy’s eyes slowly fluttered open. “My throat hurts,” she said.
Jenkins rushed her a cup of water, and quickly held it to her lips so that she could drink.
“Good girl, that’s it,” Edmund said, supporting the back of her neck so that she would not choke.
“Can you sit up?” Christopher asked.
Amy groaned a couple of times in the back of her throat, but she did it, shuffling herself back so that she could rest against the pillows.
“Well done, brave girl,” Edmund breathed. “You’re doing so well.”
“It’s too hot in here,” Amy complained groggily, pushing the blankets away from her.
Edmund hesitated, and glanced at Miss Warrick. She was still insensible. In Patience’s room they had extinguished the fire completely, but it was not possible while one still lingered in the grasp of the sickness.
“Would you like to go downstairs?” Edmund asked.
Amy nodded silently, pushing the back of her hands across her face to clear the sticky hair away where it had become plastered down over her forehead.
Christopher reached out his hands, and to Edmund’s surprise, Amy climbed into them without a moment’s thought.
She allowed him to lead her from the room with her small hand clasped in his, and Edmund was left alone with Jenkins and Miss Warrick.
“Do you think she would be more comfortable in her own chamber, Jenkins?” Edmund asked. “Now that Amy is awake, we’ve no reason to keep her in here.”
“Forgive me, my lord, but the servants’ quarters are more… sparsely furnished,” Jenkins said, dipping his head. “Not that we make any kind of complaint, of course. That is as it should be.”
Edmund grimaced. “You’re right. I suppose, though it may be her chamber, it is not really her home. She would be more comforted to wake up on her own estate, though I gather that is sold some time ago.”
He sighed, taking hold of Miss Warrick’s hand and squeezing it.
“It is most difficult, my lord,” Jenkins agreed.
Edmund was hit with a flash of inspiration. “What if we moved her to my chamber?” he asked. “I can sleep elsewhere for now. She would be most comfortable there. After what she has done for the children, it is the least I can offer.”
“As you see fit, my lord,” Jenkins nodded, but Edmund could see from the gleam in his eyes that he approved.
“Mary, see to it that the room is prepared,” Edmund said. “I want the fire nice and hot before we move her. Then we can start cleaning up in here.”
“Yes, my lord,” Mary agreed, quickly scrambling out of the door.
Within a short matter of time, they were ready to move her. Christopher had taken to supervising Amy and Patience downstairs, and Cook was readying a dinner for them all, but Jenkins and the coach driver stood by, ready to assist as Edmund prepared to move Miss Warrick.
Suggestions had been made, but in the end, the only sensible way he could think of to move her was to carry her from the room himself.
It made sure that she would not be dropped, and also allowed the quickest possible move from one place to another. Edmund was concerned that even being away from the fire for a short time might set her back, but sleeping on a cot on the floor was no way to heal either.
Miss Warrick began to move, as if trying to escape, and to groan as soon as he touched her. Undeterred, he lifted her up into his arms, wrapped in layers of blankets still so that she would remain comfortable.
“This way, Miss Warrick,” Edmund said, talking to her as if she were awake. “Gently does it. That’s it.”
She seemed to quiet a little, and at last he was able to lay her down in her new bed, and she seemed to calm completely.
Throughout it all her eyes remained closed, and Edmund feared that she had suffered more deeply from the fever than Amy or Patience.
“You’re home now,” Edmund told her, taking up a firm grip on her hand once more. “Don’t worry. We’re all here to look after you.”
He hoped that his words might reach her in some way, and give her some small kind of comfort. Even if that was all he could do – and heaven forbid that that were the case – it would be a small something.
She did not deserve to go from this world thinking him angry with her, and that her position had been lost.
He would have begged her, paid her double, and given her as much as she wanted on top of that if she would return to being a governess now.
If only she would wake and rise from the bed to return to her duties, he would give her the world.
Edmund dined beside her in a comfortable chair, watching her every move and adjusting her pillows or dabbing her face with cool water when it seemed necessary.
The room was sweltering, but he did not mind. He would have endured a hundred times worse.
“Should I make up another room for you, my lord?” Mary asked, coming to take his empty dishes away late in the evening.
“No. I’ll stay here,” Edmund said. “Mary, have someone come to join me in a few hours, will you? I don’t want to risk falling asleep and leaving her alone. Anyone, so long as it isn’t Jenkins. The old man needs some sleep, himself.”
“Yes, my lord,” Mary said, dipping a curtsey as she left.
Miss Warrick stirred a little and moaned again, and Edmund stood to press a cup of water to her lips.
“Drink some of this,” Edmund said, still talking to her even if he did not know why.
She twisted her head away slowly, and he held the base of her neck to prop her up more easily. “It will cool you down.”
She did not drink, exactly, but the water entered her mouth; and so, satisfied with this, Edmund returned to his chair, resuming his watchful duty.
When he woke in the morning of the third day since his return, the sun was streaming through the windows again.
Mary set aside some embroidery she had been working on clumsily through the night, by the light of the candle, and started to fuss around him, as had been the routine while he watched over Miss Warrick.
“Any change?” he asked, leaning over to touch Miss Warrick’s forehead and finding it still hot.
His back complained at the motion, having been ensconced in the chair all night, but he ignored it.
“No change, my lord,” Mary said regretfully. “She burns still.”
Edmund sighed. “Thank you, Mary. You may take your rest now. I will watch over her.”
“Yes, my lord. Cook says she’ll serve breakfast anon and bring you up a tray.”
Edmund nodded absently as she left. He was thinking about his parents, and Samuel, and their experiences with the sickness.
He knew that it did not take long for the damage done to become long-lasting. Samuel had burned longer than this, and lost all of his strength.
Patience and Amy seemed well enough now that they were through it, which must mean that they recovered early enough to avoid further troubles.
And that, in turn, meant that Miss Warrick may only have a short window in which she would need to wake up – or worse would come.
He took hold of her hand, stroking her soft skin, feeling the limp flesh and how it did not respond at all to his touch.
How he wished that she would move, even a little, even if just to fit her small fingers into his and hold his hand in return. He squeezed, but nothing happened.
�
��Miss Warrick, it’s time to wake up,” Edmund told her, squeezing her hand again. “You must come home to us now.”
Miss Warrick groaned, and Edmund leaned closer, hoping that his words were having some effect.
“You pushed yourself too hard,” he said. “But I am not angry. We all need you here, Miss Warrick. You are of great importance to us. Please, now. You must find some strength to return to us.”
