by Abigail Agar
Not only that, but there was no precedent to this. No one else in the estate was ill, and no one else showed any signs of weakness or becoming ill. But Ronan was only growing worse by the hour.
“How is my boy?” his mother asked, returning to the room.
“He is very … he is quite ill,” Miss Philips said with caution.
Ronan was going to try and refute what she said, to tell his mother that he was perfectly fine, but he could barely maintain consciousness without being overcome by the weakness he was experiencing.
“Ronan, my boy!” his mother exclaimed, upon touching his forehead. “You are so cold. And I have never seen you this pale. Oh, something is very wrong. Miss Philips, we must call for the doctor at once.”
“Yes, Lady Beckman,” Miss Philips said.
She disappeared from the room, and Ronan was alone with his mother. But before he could say anything to her or ask her if she knew what was wrong with him, Ronan began to lose consciousness.
Suddenly, there were other voices.
Had he actually gone to sleep or had the doctor come unimaginably quickly?
Whatever the answer, Ronan was awake now. He was ready to find out what was wrong with him and to take whatever medicine might help him recover. The doctor came over and began examining him.
“Lord Beckman, it appears as though you are suffering a great deal. I am terribly sorry to see you in this state,” he said.
“I … I am fine,” he said, his voice a shadow of its former self.
“I think not, My Lord. Miss Philips, you were right. The symptoms do resemble someone who has ingested something that has deadly elements to it,” the doctor said.
Ronan’s eyes flew wide open, and he tried to sit up.
“Deadly?” he asked.
“Calm yourself. Forgive me; I did not mean to scare you, My Lord,” the doctor said, helping Ronan to lie back down.
“What do you mean by deadly?” he asked, wishing he had not made the gesture to get up.
“I mean that you may have eaten something that had something in it, which is not good for you. I posit that there are some foods which, when cooked improperly, can lead to poisonous effects. However, I do believe that it shall pass. There will be only a brief season of illness followed by a full recovery,” the doctor said.
“You think so? I am going to be all right? There is nothing to fear?” Ronan asked.
“Well …” the doctor trailed off.
Ronan was disappointed. Had he misunderstood?
“You should be all right, but there are always risks, My Lord. Please, just think about resting for now. You are exhausted, and it is very important that you recover your strength after what you have been through,” the doctor said.
Ronan understood, but it still upset him that he was in this position at all. What had he eaten that was cooked improperly? The kitchen staff was excellent, and no one else in the house was sick. It was a theory that did not make any sense at all.
“Well, I am glad that it appears as though I shall be fine,” Ronan said.
“Yes, yes. You shall be. But it would be best if we had something to assist in cleansing your blood and drawing out the poison,” he said, going through his bag of medicines.
“What shall I have to do?” Ronan asked.
“Well, that all depends. I cannot find the medicine I am looking for,” the doctor said.
“Oh … so I am going to continue to feel this way?” Ronan asked.
“No, not at all. We shall figure something out. Not only that but as you slept, Miss Philips made you something, did you not?” the doctor said before turning to ask Miss Philips.
“Yes, indeed, I did,” she replied, holding out a little bag. “When you mentioned the toils of pregnancy, I recalled this treat my father often made for his female patients who were with child.”
Ronan opened the bag and found candied ginger in small pieces.
“A few of those, and you shall feel somewhat better,” she said.
“Thank you, Miss Philips. I shall be eating it throughout the day,” he said.
“Very well,” she replied.
The doctor was still searching his bag but sighed in frustration and put up his hands in surrender.
“I cannot find what I need,” he said. “I fear that I must have run out and forgot to write down that I need to have more.”
“So, what am I to do?” Ronan asked.
The doctor paused in thought.
“May I?” Miss Philips interjected.
“Miss Philips, yes. What other ideas have you? I know that you are someone who can be trusted in all of this,” the doctor said.
“I have a tincture that aids in cleansing the blood and drawing out toxins. Would you like me to get it? I can show you the ingredients, and you may let me know whether it will have a positive effect,” she said.
“Very well, that is ideal, Miss Philips. Thank you,” the doctor said.
Miss Philips departed from the room to get the medicine, and the doctor shook his head.
“That young woman has done so much to help you. You are a very fortunate man to have someone like her work for you at this estate. You know she is a young woman who ought to have spent her days in the balls and among society as one of its own. For her to end up as your personal medical maid? Yes, you are a lucky gentleman,” he said.
“Thank you. I have noticed that I am, indeed, very fortunate to have her here,” Ronan said, wanting to know how the doctor was certain about her identity. He decided that instead of making claims against her, he ought to be subtle in asking to not stir up trouble.
“Her father was truly a wonder in the medical community,” he said.
“Oh? Can you tell me more about him?” Ronan asked.
The doctor looked as though he could not think of anything specific that needed adding.
“Aside from his great skill, there is not much to say. He was a good man. He loved his wife and then his daughter once she came along,” he said.
“And his daughter, you never heard rumours of her … rumours that would make you surprised to see her here in my home?” Ronan asked.
The doctor appeared quite perplexed, and Ronan could not blame him for that.
“I do not know what you mean. I am surprised she is here because a young woman such as her deserves to be enjoying life in society as opposed to working as a maid,” he said.
So the doctor really did believe that this was Miss Philips. It certainly was good evidence, and Ronan wanted to make certain that he informed Lady Foster of it at a later date.
“You knew Miss Philips before?” he asked further.
“When she was younger, yes. It has been a few years, anyway,” he said.
“But she looks much the same?” Ronan asked.
“Of course. Aside from the changes that come through ageing,” he confirmed.
All of this continued to make Ronan feel better, but before he could ask any more questions, Miss Philips arrived with the tincture in her hand.
“Here it is. I hope this helps,” she said, showing it first to the doctor.
He read the ingredients and finished by smiling.
“This is excellent. It will certainly give you what you need. You must take a full dropper now and then half after lunch and half after dinner,” the doctor said.
Ronan took the full amount of the tincture as instructed. It tasted horrible, but he was glad that there would be progress.
After that, he ate a quarter of the candied ginger within the hour.
“I have more in the kitchen for you,” Miss Philips said.
“Really?” he asked.
“Certainly. I wanted to make sure there was more than enough. You need to be equipped for this,” she said.
“I don’t think I shall ever be equipped for illnesses that continually force me to stay in bed,” he said.
“Yes, I know that it has been difficult for you,” she said.
“You cannot imagine. I am in a ho
rrible state,” he said.
“But you are doing as best you can. Think of how well your legs recovered. Now, you are just facing another small setback. But this, too, shall be over soon enough,” she said.
“You believe so?” Ronan asked.
“I do. And, before you know it, you are going to be out and about again,” Miss Philips said, encouragingly.
But Ronan felt like he was dying. He was still queasy, even with the ginger. He felt hot, then cold, then hot again. There were moments when he thought he might lose consciousness and moments when he was sure that he just had.
Lunch came, and it was a dense soup. He tried to eat it, but it was difficult to keep down. This frustrated Ronan, who thought the entire point of soup was the fact that it was easy to eat.
Still, it returned, and he would eat more of the ginger before that, too, came back up.
“I am worried that you are getting dehydrated,” his mother fretted.
“I shall be all right, Mother. Just another day, perhaps,” he said.
But Ronan recognized that the tincture he had taken that morning had been promptly vomited back and now, the same with what he had taken after lunch. Was it possible that he was even getting any of the medicine? Or was he going to be too ill even to have a hope of recovery?
Ronan was beginning to feel afraid, afraid that he would not recover, and fall asleep and not wake up. He was determined to stay awake so that he would know that he was still alive.
But he could not fight it for long. Soon enough, he drifted.
Chapter 31
“It is going to be all right. Just hold on. You will get through this,” Lavender whispered, sitting beside Lord Beckman. She knew that she shouldn’t do it, but she found herself taking his hand in her own, holding it tightly.
Seeing him so ill, watching as he began to fade away with every breath, Lavender had started to wonder how all of this had come about. He had been perfectly fine. There had been nothing to warn her of this possibility. And yet, now, he appeared to be utterly lost to the world as he lay there.
Pale and weak, Lord Beckman was merely a shell of his former self. There was nothing to him that reminded Lavender of his life and his excitement. She could not see the way he typically lit up and shone through each day as if it were another opportunity to see the world around himself.
He had been bedridden for so long, and it made him miserable. Now he was lying there, utterly stuck and barely conscious.
“Any improvement?” came an Irish brogue from the doorway.
Lavender turned and saw Lady Beckman standing there, watching her son with deep sadness. It was clear that it broke her heart to see her son so ill, but Lady Beckman had been strangely distant throughout these hours of sickness.
“Nothing,” Lavender said. “I wish that I could understand what is wrong with him. I do not know why he will not simply wake up.”
“Nor do I,” Lady Beckman said, her face solemn as if anticipating the worst.
“Is there something I may get for you, My Lady? Would you like to sit beside him for a while?” she offered.
Lady Beckman swallowed and shook her head quickly.
“No, no. That will not be necessary,” she said, beginning to turn away. But then, she paused and turned back.
Lavender waited, understanding that she could not rush an explanation from Lady Beckman. Not only because she was just a maid in the house, but because she could see that Lady Beckman was rather emotional about what was happening. However, at last, Lady Beckman appeared ready to speak.
“You know, when his father was ill, I sat by his side day and night,” she said, her eyes still lingering on Lord Beckman.
“I am sure he appreciated that,” Lavender said.
“Indeed, I believe that he did. It was difficult, however. Watching someone you love dying before your eyes is a misery that no one should have to suffer,” she said, her tone full of understanding and pain.
“But there is no reason to believe that he shall die. He is taking the tincture. He shall improve; I am sure of it,” Lavender said, trying to encourage both herself and Lady Beckman.
But the beautiful, older woman just looked at Lavender with a sad smile and eyes filled with kindness and empathy.
“That is the belief of the young, my dear. An old woman cannot allow herself to have such hope. You see, when you get to be my age, you have seen so much death, and it is difficult to believe that there can be anything but. Although it is difficult to admit, the truth is that death is simply another aspect of life, and we cannot pretend that it shall never come to face us,” she said.
Lavender said nothing. She hated these words because she knew just how true they were. She had lost her father, and it had been the most painful thing she had ever experienced. She had not known her mother before that loss, but it stung her to know that she had missed out on such a grand part of life as having her parents nearby.
“Anyway, I lost his father, and now, I fear losing my Ronan as well. The pain of that is more than I can readily bear,” she said.
“I understand how difficult it must be. I, too, have lost family. I loved my father more than anything. And while I may have never lost a love, I know that the pain of death is unbearable. Still, we must have hope,” Lavender said.
Lady Beckman did not appear to be appeased by this. Instead, she very intensely looked at Lavender, her eyes squinting ever so slightly.
“You may yet lose a love, Miss Philips. Be wary of sharing your thoughts on this matter when you are still on the brink of seeing your heart wounded more than you can reasonably bear,” she said.
Lavender was taken aback. She couldn’t quite comprehend Lady Beckman at first, but then it struck her.
Lady Beckman was warning her that Lord Beckman was soon to die, and she was also telling Lavender that she sensed there was affection between them. It was unexpected, and Lavender wondered exactly what she was meant to say in response. How could she explain to Lady Beckman that she cared about her son?
It was another of those moments that Lady Beckman appeared to express so well what she believed to be going on. Lavender didn’t know how to react because she was so embarrassed that her affections were this obvious. Could Lady Beckman not see that Lavender was trying not to feel the way she felt?
But it was no good. She could hardly hide what was in her heart. She only hoped that Lady Beckman was wrong in her belief that Lord Beckman was on the brink of death. It simply wasn’t possible. He couldn’t die. He was so young and full of life.
And Lavender had begun to feel a true care for him. Was it really love? It certainly felt as though it could be. That was the last thing she had ever expected, but there it was. Stark and harsh, right before her eyes, Lavender saw that Lady Beckman was right. This was the man she loved.
