by Abigail Agar
“May I?” she asked the cook, who responded with an enthusiastic nod. Lavender grabbed a knife and began to saw at the loaf.
She took two slices of bread and put the oil in a small bowl. Then she grabbed the tonic and rushed back to the marquess’ room.
When she entered, he looked up at her with the pain still in his eyes.
“Y-you came back quickly,” he said.
She was relieved he thought this, even with the pain he was going through. Perhaps she had not taken so long after all.
She gave him dunks of the bread, dipped in the oil. Feeding him like he was a little bird, she ensured that he could get the medicinal benefits of the bark.
Once he had finished eating the bread, there was still some oil left in the bowl. She moved to his legs and started to rub the oil near the wounds so that it would help to numb the pain.
“Excellent. You are doing very well,” she said. “Did you finish the tonic? Oh, wonderful. You are doing an excellent job, Lord Beckman.”
“Th-thank you,” he said, still hurting.
“I know that it hurts, but you are all right, and you shall feel the relief soon,” she promised.
“I cannot bear it,” he said, referring to the pain.
“I know, but you shall be all right. Then, we may call for the doctor. I suspect that you have a mild infection. If it were bad, we would have seen the pain present differently,” she said.
“Infection?” he asked.
“I think so. And we must get it under control before it worsens. Give me just a moment to have the doctor sent for,” Lavender said before rushing out to the hall and finding a footman.
“What is this all about?” Lady Beckman asked, coming towards Lavender in the hall.
“Your son, Lady Beckman. I believe there is a small infection. Nothing which is now deadly, but it could spread. It is urgent that the doctor come,” she said.
Once all was arranged, they went back into the room together to wait for the doctor and look after Lord Beckman.
Finally, he appeared to be feeling a little better. He was calm and did not seem to be in as great pain.
“Are you all right, Ronan?” his mother asked.
“I am better, Mother,” he said. “She made me a couple of things that helped.”
“Is that so?” Lady Beckman asked Lavender.
“Yes, Lady Beckman,” she replied, humbly bowing her head.
“Well, I am glad for it. Thank you, Miss Philips. I can see that my son is a good deal better now. And with the doctor coming, I think that everything shall soon be fine,” she said.
“Certainly, Lady Beckman,” Lavender agreed.
Soon enough, the doctor arrived and took a look at the leg. He agreed that the marquess likely had a small infection. Lavender told him what she had given to the marquess, and he was glad for it.
“You do, indeed, know how to help,” he said.
Later in the day, all was settled. The marquess was feeling all right, and the infection was quickly dealt with.
But that evening, there was still more to be done.
Helping the marquess try the movement exercises again was somewhat unlikely, Lavender thought. Still, she put forth the effort and helped him manage the pain as he shifted his leg.
The marquess was growing quieter and less determined to make the lives of others miserable. He was also proving to be more determined than ever to succeed in his efforts to restore his ability to move about independently.
“You are doing very well. Particularly considering how you were doing just this morning,” she said.
“Your tonic and oil worked. I feel perfectly all right,” he said.
“I am glad for that, but you must focus on what you are doing rather than what I have done. I was only trying to help you reach these goals. You are doing so well, and I have no doubt that you are going to prove to yourself that you are stronger than you ever knew,” she said.
“You think so?” the marquess asked.
“I do. I am impressed by the improvement you have already made,” she said.
He looked at her, his expression full of meaning, as though he really was listening to her words as if they made a difference of some sort.
“You are not the typical maid,” he said.
“If you will forgive me, I do not think any maid is typical. We are all individual women. We are not simply living according to our employment,” she said, trying to be honest but also remain peaceful.
She saw the reality dawn upon him as if he had never imagined it could be possible. But her words were true, and he would have to face them eventually.
She was a maid, yes, but she was also a woman. Lavender Philips had saved the day and possibly his leg, as a woman with medical knowledge and even as a maid.
One day, she believed, he would see that.
Chapter 8
Softened by the day, Ronan was surprised by his own inclinations. He was surprised that he found himself so intrigued by his new maid and even more so that she impacted his attitude in every possible way.
Still, being in his room all the time was terribly boring. He could not imagine a life like this, stuck here, and unable to find his freedom. He was bound even when he had made progress with the exercises the doctor had given him. He no longer had the searing pain when he shifted his legs, there was no infection, and the doctor agreed that he was progressing nicely.
Regardless of his progress, however, Ronan was stuck. He would not be able to use his legs for weeks, if not months. The idea of it was every bit as agonizing as his legs themselves.
If only he had been wise enough to stay away from those thieves when they had come upon him. Surely, he knew that he was not the sort of man to take them on. But he had not wanted to be a coward. Ronan had been utterly determined to prove himself better and stronger than that.
The men, he had recently heard, would be facing the courts soon enough. He had given written testimony to a constable, and the coachman would go in person to speak against them. It was the best option they had.
But, for now, Ronan just wanted his life back.
“How are you feeling today?” Miss Philips asked him one morning.
He tried to smile and instead simply shrugged. He had grown less hostile, perhaps, but he was still hardly in a good mood.
“Yes, of course. It must be very difficult to have to remain in your bed this way. I know that you are probably eager to go out and to enjoy yourself among friends,” she said.
“I am,” he confessed.
“It shall come in time. And I know that you are missing the London season, and that must be quite painful for you, but there will be another next year,” Miss Philips reminded him.
“You would not under—” he stopped mid-sentence. “No, wait. You do understand.”
She looked at him solemnly and gave a small twitch of a smile in confirmation.
“It must have been very difficult for you. I mean, having had a status that allowed you to attend events and everything. And now, you are forced to simply watch from afar,” he acknowledged.
“Indeed, it is a great challenge. But I can see the hope that I have for my future, regardless. You are going to return to the life that you knew. You shall have the same friends and status as you always did. This is only a season for you,” she said.
“But not for you …” he replied.
“For me, this is now life. And I do not mind it so much. In fact, I can see the good in it. There are still good things ahead for me, even if they do not look the way we might expect,” she replied.
“How do you see the world in such a light?” Ronan asked.
“Because I must. Without hope, what is there?” she asked in reply.
Miss Philips was certainly intriguing. She was compassionate and did not linger in her own self-pity. She was bold and brave and unashamed of the world to come. Ronan found it rather beautiful, although he could not find it within himself to look further into the feeling that moved h
im.
“I know that you miss your friends and society and work, but what about simply going outside? Do you miss that at all?” she asked.
Oh, how he missed it!
“More than you can possibly know. I miss the fresh air that is not stale from my own body. I miss the times of being in nature and enjoying its beauty. I miss the glorious weather that we have for only a handful of days each year,” Ronan said.
“I imagine you do. I am very sorry that you cannot be out among it,” Miss Philips said.
“Yes, it is a challenge. And now, you have me even sadder than before,” he said with a laugh.
“Forgive me; I was not trying to make you sad. I am only trying to think of what I might be able to do to ease your suffering,” she said.
“Yes, well, I do not think there is much to make me feel better in that regard. The assistance you are giving me in recovering my health shall have to do for now,” he said.
She eyed him for a moment, and Ronan felt as though he were under a scientist’s device. Why was she looking at him with that inquisitive gaze? It was hardly even appropriate for a maid to do.
“What is it?” he asked.
“You have changed,” she said, her tone simply matter-of-fact. She was not remarking it as a good thing or bad. Simply a truth to be observed.
“Yes, I suppose I have somewhat,” he said.
“Why? What is it that has shifted in you?” Miss Philips asked him almost suspicious.
Ronan was not sure what to say. He could hardly tell her that it was a result of how rude he had been to her. She may not really understand it. She may find him a fool for even acknowledging that. Or, perhaps, she would take offence to it.
“I have shifted in that I was made aware of the childish nature of my previous behaviour,” he said.
“I do not quite understand,” she replied.
“Well, I do not quite know how to explain it all other than to tell you that my dear friend pointed out that I was not behaving as a man of my station ought to. Apparently, my pride was causing me to be quite awful,” he confessed.
“And were you kind before all of this?” Miss Philips asked as if testing him.
“I was not. And I cannot say that I am kind now, either. Just this morning, I yelled at the cook. I want things done a certain way because this is my estate, and I expect those under my employ to do their duties properly,” he said.
“That is understandable. But can you not be nice to them when you address a problem?” she asked.
He was beginning to grow frustrated but was still holding to Harold’s words. He had to be worthy of his position. He could not be a child about it.
“If I am to be nice when addressing a problem, I should like to nicely inform you that you are pushing too far for our current position. A maid is not to correct the master of the house,” he said in a patient, if not irritated voice.
She paused for a moment before giving a single nod and getting to work changing his bandages. The wounds were healing nicely, and soon enough, she would not have to worry so much about this task.
But Miss Philips stayed silent throughout, and he gathered that she was disappointed in his scolding. Still, even if Ronan was going to try to be a better man, he was right. He needed his employees to listen and to do things in a proper, respectful way. Even beautiful ones like Miss Philips.
“Lord Beckman, there is another task I need to complete. Do you need anything before I go?” she asked once she had finished.
“No, not for now,” he said.
“Very well, thank you,” she replied.
Ronan felt a wave of regret. He should have been calmer, more relaxed with her. Then again, he would not feel that way if he did not find her so beautiful. Any other maid would not have moved him so much toward any kindness or peace.
About two hours passed before he saw Miss Philips come again. She knocked and entered, standing just inside the door with a smile upon her face.
“Yes?” he asked after a strange moment of silence.
“I have something for you,” she said.
With that, she turned around and brought in the wheelchair that the doctor had ordered them to have for when he was ready.
“I cannot use it yet. Remember? My legs still need to remain perfectly straight and level,” he said.
“Yes, I know that. Which is why,” she said, disappearing out the door again, “I made this.”
Miss Philips brought in a plank-like device, which she quickly attached into place on the wheelchair. Ronan would essentially be able to lie in the same position he had been on the bed all this time. There would be no trouble at all, nothing to cause him any harm.
“How did you do this?” he asked.
“It was simple enough. My father had to modify wheelchairs now and then, and I learned some of the mechanics of it while assisting him,” she said.
“But this? This is magnificent,” he said.
“I am glad that you approve,” she said. “I was eager to show you, but I did not know if you would be willing to try it. And you have made much progress with your legs, but it will still require some movement on your part.”
“Yes, it is going to be difficult to get into it,” he said.
“That is why I have come to help,” came a lovely Irish brogue from outside. Just then, Ronan’s mother entered the room.
Following behind her was Miss Stevens, the one whom he gathered to be friends with Miss Philips.
“Come, let us get you into this,” his mother said.
His mother and Miss Philips carefully assisted him into the wheelchair and got him settled. It was painful for a few moments when he had to readjust himself and his legs, but overall, it was not bad.
And once Ronan was firmly in the chair, he was actually quite comfortable.
“This is remarkable,” he said.
“I am glad that you think so,” Miss Philips replied.
“I feel as though I shall actually be free,” he said with a laugh.
“For the moment, you are allowed only out onto the balcony for a bit of fresh air. I sent a quick word to the doctor, and he replied that you must remain inside for now. Any uneven earth puts you at risk for too much movement, and the bone may be shaken,” she said.
Although it was a disappointment, he could not find it within himself to be overly sad. After all, Ronan was going to have the opportunity to actually move! He would be able to go out onto the balcony and enjoy the fresh air that he had missed so badly.
“Thank you so much for this,” he said, looking at Miss Philips.
“It is nothing,” she replied.
Ronan’s mother gave a satisfied smile and then ushered Miss Stevens from the room, following behind her. It was, again, just Ronan and Miss Philips on their own.
