‘There’s no point in trying to help the Richards family,’ Kerensa sighed, ‘unless to send food over for the children. They have no real desire to keep themselves or the farmhouse clean, so they will always suffer from the fevers.’
Oliver kissed the top of her head in consolation. ‘There will always be people like that in the world, my love.’
‘I do fear for them, ’specially the children. They look at me with such big trusting eyes, and there’s nothing I can really do, with their parents the way they are.’
‘You did your best, my love, be content with that for now.’
Kerensa sighed and rested a hand protectively on her stomach. ‘Oliver, did your mother have a doctor to attend her?’
‘Certainly not. Pengarrons have never approved of doctors. Concoction-giving charlatans, the lot of them.’
‘You are huffy about doctors, aren’t you? I must admit I’ve always found the thought of them rather frightening… like magistrates.’
‘And titled wealthy men?’ he asked teasingly.
‘Those particularly,’ she replied, smiling while finishing her drink of water.
Oliver took the empty glass from her. ‘Have you decided yet what you will call the puppy?’
‘Yes. Bob.’
‘Bob? As a derivative of your father’s name?’
‘Not really,’ Kerensa said sleepily, snuggling under the sheet. ‘The Richards children chose it for me… and they never need slapping…’
She was restless all night keeping Oliver awake in the process. When he rose at five she was sleeping fitfully, and felt much hotter to the touch of his fingers on her brow. After dressing he decided to seek out Beatrice and get her to make up an infusion of herb tea to bring down his wife’s temperature. He was fortunate to find the old crone asleep in her chair in the kitchen and not to have to go searching for her. It took a long while to rouse her from her drunken slumbers. She grumbled profusely as Oliver got her unsteadily to her feet, but calmed herself quickly when he sternly told her what he required her to do. She shuffled off, grunting like an old sow, to her well-stocked, pungent-smelling medicine cupboard.
Oliver was bringing the puppy in from the garden when he startled Esther as he came through the kitchen door. Settling Bob in his basket, he asked her to give the puppy a drink of milk and to bring his own breakfast to the smaller dining room in an hour, then headed for the stables for his morning ride. He made straight for Pengarron Point to ponder on the prospect of becoming a father. On his arrival back he struck Jack with wonder by tossing him Conomor’s reins and singing happily on his way into the Manor house.
He ran up the wide staircase to check on Kerensa and was met with confusion.
‘Oh, sir!’ cried Ruth, meeting him halfway on her way down. ‘Her ladyship is that sick. Polly too.’
Esther appeared next, rushing up behind him, carrying a large pitcher of steaming hot water.
‘What’s that for?’ Oliver demanded to know.
‘To clean up her ladyship, sir. She’s been that sick.’
‘She wasn’t that bad when I left her an hour ago!’ he exclaimed. Dodging around Ruth, Oliver took the stairs three steps at a time and burst through the bedroom door. He found Beatrice holding Kerensa up as she retched over a bowl.
‘I’ll take her, Beatrice,’ he said at once.
‘Be gentle with the poor cheeil,’ the old woman said in a whisper, struggling to get her massive weight back on her feet, as they changed places.
‘How long has Kerensa been like this?’ Oliver asked, as her body heaved violently and she gulped for breath after each bout.
‘’cordin’ to Ruth it musta started as soonas ’ee went fer yer ride an’ I wus sortin’ through me cupboard fer somethin’ fer the poor little maid.’
Clutching her stomach Kerensa groaned as the vomiting stopped. She looked mournfully at Oliver but could not speak. She fell back into his arms, her body visibly shaking, her nightgown soaked in perspiration. Esther wrung out a towel and washed Kerensa’s face, neck and hands.
‘I’ll get her a clean nightgown, sir,’ she said quietly.
‘Thank you. Has someone been to see Polly?’ Oliver asked her.
‘Yes, sir. She’s been sick, but doesn’t seem nowhere as bad as her ladyship is,’ Esther answered, searching in a chest of drawers. When she found a nightgown she looked distastefully at the contents of the bowl. ‘If you can manage with this, sir,’ she said, holding out the garment towards him, ‘I’ll take that away. There’s another one by the bed if it’s needed.’
‘Thank you, Esther,’ Oliver said gratefully. ‘It certainly doesn’t help having that in here.’
Covering her nose and mouth with her apron, Esther picked up the offending bowl and hurried out of the room.
Kerensa moaned, her head rolling back on Oliver’s arm, so weak now she had lost consciousness.
‘Get that maid out of that wet gown ’fore she catches ’er death of cold,’ Beatrice instructed him. ‘I’ll ’elp ’ee.’
They pulled the gown over and off Kerensa’s burning hot body. The movements brought her round and she moaned feebly.
‘Leave… me… be…’
‘It’s all right, my love,’ Oliver said tenderly, ‘we’ll soon have you dry and comfortable.’
Rapidly, Beatrice towelled down Kerensa’s damp skin and Oliver pulled the fresh nightgown over her head. Together they eased the cool linen garment down to cover her decently, then Oliver lifted Kerensa and held her while sitting on the bed.
‘I’ll get the other bowl ready,’ the old woman said.
Oliver took note of her worried face. ‘You think there is more to come, Beatrice?’
‘I’m ’fraid so, me ’an’some. This is no ordinary mornin’ sickness. I bin thinkin’ ’bout Polly too. They wus both over to they Richards yes’day.’
‘You think they ate something bad over there?’
‘Or drunk somethin’ mebbe.’
‘Beatrice,’ Oliver said, his brain working fast, ‘tell Jack to ride over to Rose Farm to see how the Richards are faring. Tell him not to eat or drink anything while there, and if they are very ill to go on to Perranbarvah and inform the Reverend Ivey and Mrs Tregonning. She may be able to help the family, and the Reverend can check if there’s an epidemic breaking out.’
‘Right away, me ’an’some, don’t ’ee worry now.’
Beatrice hastened to the door then Oliver called her back.
‘Do you think Kerensa is pregnant, Bea?’
‘She may be, I s’pose, boy, but I can’t see no signs of nothin’ and I’m never wrong.’
‘No, you’re never wrong about that,’ Oliver said to himself, when she’d left the room.
Esther returned with the bowl, emptied and clean. She raced over and pushed it under Kerensa’s chin as the retching and vomiting began again. This time nothing was left in the girl’s stomach to be brought up and she cried out miserably, making the other two in the room wince each time. When the spasms were finally over she slipped away into total unconsciousness. Her breathing was laboured, the fresh nightgown already showing signs of dampness.
‘It would be better if you laid her ladyship down,’ Esther said, ‘You’ll only make her hotter holding her like that, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir.’
‘You’re right,’ he said, and reluctantly laid Kerensa’s still form on the bed sheet, covering her loosely with the top sheet only up to her waist. Oliver and Esther stood side by side for many moments, staring down on the girl in the huge bed.
‘She looks so small,’ Esther murmured to herself.
Glancing at the tall woman at his side Oliver said grimly, ‘Too small, too pale, and far too young to be ill like this.’
‘She’ll be all right, won’t she, sir?’ Esther grew more alarmed as he remained silent. ‘Sir? Sir?’
‘She must be… she must be,’ he whispered finally.
Beatrice, Ruth and Esther took turns to sit in the bedroom throu
ghout the day with their sick mistress. Oliver refused to move outside the door to eat, to drink, or for any other reason. He paced the bedroom carpet, stopping at intervals to look down at Kerensa or to touch the things laid out neatly on her dressing table. Picking up her gilt-edged mirror he looked at his own reflection for a moment, then putting it down he picked up the tin fish-shaped brooch she often wore, turning it over and over in his hand and wondering why she treasured it.
The top drawer of the dressing table had been opened, presumably by Kerensa to take something out before her sickness overwhelmed her. Oliver lightly touched the items of her underclothes, shifts of soft white material, silk stockings, handkerchieves, things all very personal to her. His eye caught a small bundle of cloth in the corner of the drawer. He pulled it apart, and at once recognised the contents as Clem Trenchard’s love tokens. The discovery made him catch his breath. So Kerensa was still in love with the blond farmer’s son? She cherished his lock of hair, his kerchief, his flowers, given to her from out of his love. Oliver put the find back exactly as he had found it. He went to the bedside and looked down at his ailing young wife. Her eyes were open but she did not know he was there.
He knelt, took her hand and stroked her hot damp forehead. He said in a husky whisper, ‘So there’s more than just this fever that could take you away from me.’
She rallied occasionally but only to retch dryly. Oliver held her and helped to dab her burning hot body with cool water.
The Reverend Joseph Ivey was shown into the bedroom close to mid-day, bringing with him the awful news that all the Richards family, with the exception of Rudd, were taken with the same malady, two of the children seemingly close to death. An epidemic of typhus or something of the kind was thankfully not apparent elsewhere from his enquiries, the sickness appearing to be confined to the tenants of Rose Farm and its two visitors of the previous day.
Sitting unobtrusively in a corner of the darkened room the Reverend quietly prayed. He was afraid for Kerensa’s life as Oliver and the servants were. He wanted to know why, just when it was becoming apparent that Oliver and Kerensa were getting along well together, had something like this happened?
His guilt at performing the marriage ceremony had reached a comfortable level after Old Tom’s funeral when he had seen the closeness Oliver and Kerensa shared. With Clem Trenchard now married to Alice Ford, and with the invaluable, unstinting help Kerensa was giving to the needy folk of the parish, the Reverend had begun to believe it was not after all an unfortunate thing she was married to Oliver. Kerensa was good for the parish, the Pengarron Estate, and seemingly for its proud master.
The Reverend Ivey had sat in many a sick room, attended many a deathbed, giving comfort to the patient and the relatives during each harrowing occasion. But if Kerensa died, he felt he would need as much comfort as the others who would be bereaved. He stayed for twenty minutes, standing beside the bed, before going to Rose Farm. Before leaving he lifted Kerensa’s moist limp hand and sighed deeply.
‘I do wish you would let me send to Marazion for Doctor Crebo,’ he said.
‘No,’ Oliver retorted. ‘There’s been more people died at the hands of those wretches than have lived. Kerensa will fare better in the care of Beatrice… and God.’
‘I beg you to reconsider, Oliver. It’s ten years since Arthur Beswetherick died from neglect on the battlefield and the Army surgeon responsible was drunk at the time.’
A vision of his closest friend bleeding to death on Dettingen soil, and he having to watch helplessly while it happened, made Oliver shudder and become angry. As Kerensa moaned he turned sharply away from the Reverend and whispered soothing words to her, placing the square of damp linen on her forehead.
‘I beg you to think hard about it,’ the Reverend persisted. ‘Doctor Crebo is not of the old school of thought – leeches to cure everything and endless bleedings when it is obvious it will only cost the patient his life. He’s dedicated to his skills and he… did an excellent piece of work patching up Peter Blake. And you know only too well he was most seriously hurt.’
Fury flared within Oliver. He was sitting on the bed and stood up slowly to tower above the parson.
‘Did you not hear me clearly say no, Reverend Ivey?’ he asked through gritted teeth, his full temper only kept under control because he was in a sick room.
But the Reverend remained unruffled. ‘I heard you distinctly, Oliver, and I’m sorry to bring up the subject of Peter Blake, knowing how hurt you were at what he did. But, remember, it is Kerensa that we are concerned about now. I’m very, very fond of her and I want her to have every opportunity of making a full recovery.’ Oliver was forced to think deeply, but was still torn when he made his decision.
‘Ask this Doctor Crebo to come and observe if he’d care to, but I’ll not guarantee to allow him to touch my wife.’
Kerensa’s condition changed to one of severe delirium about the same time Ruth informed Oliver that Polly had not been sick for over two hours, her fever was abating and she had asked for a drink of water.
‘I take it she is well enough to tell us about their visit to Rose Farm now,’ he said soberly.
‘She has already, sir. Seems they sipped a little water to encourage the children to drink. Polly only sipped with one child while her ladyship, bless her, sipped with all of them. It’s got to be the reason why she’s so much worse.’
‘And they ate nothing?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then it has to be the water supply on Rose Farm, it must be contaminated,’ Oliver said. ‘Is Nathan O’Flynn about?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Ruth replied. ‘He’s downstairs asking if he can see Polly. Will it be all right, sir?’
Oliver nodded. ‘Tell him to keep it brief, Ruth, then to get over to Rose Farm and locate the source of the trouble, and to take fresh water from here for the Richards.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Ruth curtsied. She threw a worried glance at the girl writhing and muttering gibberish on the bed, and wiped tears from her eyes when she left the room.
A short time later Kerensa cried out in nightmare and Oliver held her and rocked her like an infant. She seemed to sense him there and quieted, twisting her fingers in his shirt to keep him close. He smoothed her damp hair away from her pale face that accentuated its glossy redness, giving her an ethereal quality that frightened him. Tears glistened on his cheeks, and for once there was no Pengarron pride to forbid their display.
Doctor Charles Crebo arrived at the Manor house in the late afternoon. He was shown into the master bedroom by a weeping Ruth. He found a dirty fat old woman staring into space sitting at the side of an enormous heavily draped four-poster bed, and his apparently sleeping patient held too tightly by her black-haired husband whose head was buried in the pillow beside her.
‘Sir Oliver… Dr Charles Crebo at your service, sir,’ the surgeon-physician said briskly. ‘The Reverend Ivey of Perranbarvah said you might have need of me.’
Oliver looked up, his voice pained and husky. ‘My wife, doctor.’ By now he was prepared to clutch at anything to save Kerensa’s life. ‘Can you help, please.’
‘I’ll do what I can,’ promised Charles Crebo.
‘All we can do now is to wait,’ the doctor announced a short time later.
‘Is there nothing you can give my wife?’ asked Oliver. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Your servant says she managed to give her a few drops of strong camomile tea, Sir Oliver. In your wife’s case that was probably the best thing to do. Hopefully it will have cleared her stomach and gone some way to purifying her system, and she’s taken spoonfuls of cooled boiled water to ward off dehydration. There is nothing I can give her to make any difference to her condition.’
Kerensa moved her head from side to side and murmured, ‘Dunstan… Dunstan…’
Charles Crebo looked at Oliver.
‘Our old dog,’ he explained. ‘It was killed a few weeks ago.’
‘I see. And your wife, presumably, was very fo
nd of the dog?’
‘Yes, she was… she’s gone through some terrible experiences this year. Dr Crebo, last night my wife told me she thought she was with child. You’ve examined her, what is your opinion?’
‘Well,’ the doctor said, rubbing his chin and putting his thumbs in his faded waistcoat pockets, ‘there were no visible signs of pregnancy that I could see. Without asking her one or two questions I really couldn’t say at the moment. Of course, it could be early days yet.’
Kerensa stirred restlessly and murmured her husband’s name.
‘It’s all right, my love,’ he said, taking her hand and gently kissing it.
‘What happens now?’ he asked Charles Crebo.
The other man sighed. ‘Your wife will reach crisis point before the night is over, Sir Oliver.’
‘And what do you believe her chances to be, Dr Crebo?’
‘I only hope she has a strong constitution and fighting spirit, or I’m afraid a lot more against than for. I’m sorry. She appears generally fit and strong and you say she’s come through earlier ordeals. Cling to that. I’ll call back later tonight.’
Oliver ordered Beatrice and the King sisters to stay out of the room unless he rang for them. He cradled Kerensa in his arms again. If he was going to lose her, he wanted to hold her close for every precious second. He thought back over the eight short months he had known her, recalling every moment, every word, every smile he could.
Gloom settled over the house like a heavy black cloud and did not go unnoticed when Dr Crebo returned at eight in the evening in the company of the Reverend Ivey whom he had met on the road. He shook his head sadly on declaring Kerensa’s heartbeat and breathing had become weaker, and released his patient into the parson’s hands. Declining to stay to join in the prayers, he retired downstairs to wait for the Reverend Ivey to join him in a glass of port.
As the doctor made his way to the parlour, Jack was sitting up in the hayloft of the stables, tears of grief and helplessness streaming down his thin young face as he stroked Kerensa’s sleeping puppy. Elsewhere, Jake Angove and Barney Taylor sat together smoking their pipes in ominous silence. Ruth and Esther sniffed back tears as they went about their work, unable to sit still in the dreadful wait, while Beatrice sat on one side of Polly’s bed, holding her hand, and on the other side Nathan O’Flynn did the same.
Pengarron Land Page 41
