by Abigail Agar
“You may,” Lady Beckman declared.
The doctor did his part, and Lady Foster glared at Lavender. It appeared as though she was still displeased by how much trust was placed in Lavender, even if Lavender had felt stripped of all trust and care she had hoped to receive from the family.
The doctor departed with a promise to return in the morning, and Lady Beckman urged Lady Foster to leave as well.
“I really ought to stay,” Lady Foster said.
“No, you must get home and get your rest. We shall be fine this evening,” Lady Beckman said. Although her words were polite, it was clear to Lavender that she was trying to be rid of Lady Foster. This comforted Lavender somehow.
Once Lady Foster finally left, Lady Beckman, too, departed. She had already made it clear that she was not comfortable being near her son in this state, so frightened she was by the grief to come.
But Lavender remained by his side. She looked at Lord Beckman as he remained lost to the world, his pale face having been but a background to the drama which had just unfolded. She saw now how lifeless he appeared, and it only led her to take his hand once more, this time holding it to her face as her tears began to fall.
Chapter 33
Beyond his eyelids, Ronan sensed a harsh light. But he couldn’t yet open his eyes to see what it was. There was an ache in his head, and his throat felt dry. His lips were tight and flaky.
Had he been ill? Aside from the discomfort and the headache, he felt all right. But until he could open his eyes, was he even really awake enough to know?
Ronan forced his eyes open and blinked against the brightness. It wasn’t anything special, just daylight coming in through the window. His eyes were a bit sensitive, but maybe that was just from the headache.
He quickly realised that there were two other people in the room. The doctor was standing by the door to the balcony, staring outside. Miss Philips was asleep in a chair beside him.
Ronan wanted to speak up, but his throat was still too dry, so he tried swallowing and clearing it.
At once, alerted by the sound, the doctor turned to Ronan in the same moment that Miss Philips jolted upright from her sleep.
“Lord Beckman!” the doctor exclaimed. “You are awake!”
Ronan cleared his throat again and tried to speak, but Miss Philips rushed to him with a glass of water, which she had at the ready. He took a few small sips and let it soak his throat before trying to speak again.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You were gravely ill, Lord Beckman. It was a horror,” the doctor said.
Miss Philips nodded, solemnly, something in her gaze holding a strange emotion.
Guilt.
“Do you know what caused it?” he asked.
“No, we could not figure it out,” the doctor said.
“And you were here beside me?” Ronan asked Miss Philips.
“I was, My Lord. I did not wish to leave you on your own in case you needed anything,” she said.
“I’m sure you were giving me all sorts of wonderful and helpful medicines,” he said with an appreciative smile.
But Miss Philips’s own faint smile faded away entirely, and a look of concern and regret took its place. Ronan wondered what she was so upset about and what it had to do with his illness. Clearly something had taken place to cause her this grief, but he was unable to figure out what exactly that was.
“Do you need something to eat, My Lord?” Miss Philips asked.
“Indeed, that would be lovely,” he replied.
“Very well. I shall return shortly,” she said, taking her leave.
Ronan looked at once to the doctor, who appeared uncomfortable as she left the room.
“Is everything all right?” Ronan asked.
“Yes, My Lord. There was simply … we were not sure as to whether you would make it. Once we stopped all medicine, you miraculously recovered,” the doctor told him.
This was a shock to Ronan, but he figured that the doctor and Miss Philips knew well enough to take care of him and how to handle his struggles with health. They should certainly be able to make the proper decision to know that these medicines did not work.
After a short while, Miss Philips returned with soup and bread. Ronan eagerly began to eat.
“My goodness, I have never been so hungry in all my life,” he said.
“It has been quite some time since you last ate. You must eat as much as you can now,” the doctor said.
“Is that going to be enough?” Miss Philips asked.
After a moment of evaluation, Ronan realised that it would not. Miss Philips promptly returned with additional food, and he ate it with gusto. Every bite made him feel better. Although he was still quite weak, Ronan was relieved that he felt otherwise better, and his headache dissipated within the hour.
“I cannot remember the last time in which I saw such a recovery,” the doctor said.
“Nor I,” Miss Philips said, her eyes still holding uncertainty.
“Please, you must tell me if there is something more I missed? Was I truly so close to death?” he asked.
“You were, My Lord,” Miss Philips told him, her eyes threatening tears.
Just then, his mother burst into the room, shock and relief flooding her expression.
“Oh, Ronan!” she exclaimed, rushing to his side and throwing her arms around him.
“Mother? You also thought I was done for?” he asked.
“I was certain of it, my boy. It was terrifying,” she said, choking against her own tears of joy at his recovery.
“Good heavens, I do not recall ever having this sort of attention in my life. Is there anything else which I have missed? Anyone who has come to visit me?” Ronan asked.
At this, Miss Philips remained quiet. Ronan wanted to hear from her most of all, but she was strangely distant. He saw how happy she was at his change, but she was still refraining from drawing near, even if that was all he really wanted from her.
“Lady Foster has come a few times,” the doctor said, drawing out the words without any sort of joy in them. Suddenly everything made sense. No wonder Miss Philips was not more expressive in her happiness, and no wonder his mother and the doctor were likewise uncomfortable with sharing this.
“Oh, and Harold!” his mother exclaimed, her tone far happier.
“He did? What a shame I did not see him,” Ronan said, glad to move on in speaking about someone else.
“Yes, he came yesterday morning but was only able to stay for a short time. He promised to come again this afternoon and said that he would be here for most of the day,” his mother said.
“That is wonderful. I shall be so glad to see him,” Ronan said.
“What else may we do for you, my boy? Surely you need more food,” his mother said.
“No, indeed, Miss Philips has fed me quite well,” he said.
“I am glad to hear that. I am terribly sorry that I was not here sooner. I went to have tea with Lady Simons, and it was not until the footman, Mr Wells, came to fetch me that I was told you had woken,” she said.
“Worry not, Mother. I am glad that you are here now,” he said.
“I ought to have been here all along, Ronan. I have been terrible. I allowed my fears to get the best of me, but I promise you that I shall never do so again. Had you … had you not recovered, I would never have forgiven myself,” she said.
“It is all right, Mother. Let the past be the past. You and I have both gone through a tremendous ordeal in losing Father. Now, we must move on, Mother. There are good things ahead,” Ronan said.
“There are my boy. You are well, and nothing could be better than that,” she replied.
Before long, Harold arrived.
“Ronan!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide with the same shock and relief that Ronan had seen in the eyes of the others.
“Harold, you came,” Ronan replied with a smile.
“I cannot believe it! I had not heard until I arrived here that you are rec
overed. Yesterday you were half dead, and today you are so full of life! What happened? When did this change occur?” Harold asked.
“I simply awoke this morning feeling perfectly well,” Ronan said with a shrug.
“I am in awe. Awe and delight. This is tremendous,” he said.
Ronan took in the sight of the people in the room around him. The doctor, his mother, Harold, and Miss Philips. They were all people who had come to mean so much to him, and he was thankful for the care and devotion they had shown towards him during his illness. He wanted more than anything now to repay them for their efforts in helping him through this difficult time and season.
Accompanied by Harold, Ronan spent some time out in the gardens for a while, just talking about the days passed and all that had taken place. He was glad to be in the company of his dear friend again and wished that he could enjoy his days like this always.
“You are so refreshed. It gladdens me to see you like this,” Harold said.
Ronan was back in his wheelchair, this time for the sake of his weakness. He understood that Harold was not glad for that part, but Ronan, too, was glad to be feeling so well.
“Yes, and I am glad that the doctor wanted me to get some fresh air. This is quite a magnificent day to be feeling well,” Ronan said, taking in the sight of the clear skies above, the gentle breeze washing over his skin.
“I am happy to remain with you for as much of the day as you like,” Harold said.
“Wonderful. It is good to have you by my side,” he said.
Eventually, they went back indoors, and Ronan, his mother, and Harold all had a celebratory meal. The maids were all allowed to feast as well, although they were relegated to the kitchen. Ronan wished that they could come out and that he could spend some time with Miss Philips in this social setting, but he understood the need to be realistic.
There was no chance that he would ever be able to spend time with her socially. She was a maid, and he had already come to understand that no matter how he disliked her, Lady Foster was the only real choice he had for a wife.
Once the doctor was gone, his mother was paying calls to tell friends the good news, and Harold had departed, Ronan was left alone in his room with only Miss Philips for company. This was precisely what he had been longing for throughout the entire day, and, at last, it was his moment.
He was lying in bed again, allowing his body to rest. Harold had only just departed a few moments before. He looked up at the maid who stood at attention.
“Miss Philips,” he said.
“Yes, My Lord? What can I get for you?” she asked.
“Come, sit beside me,” he instructed.
She did so, looking somewhat sheepish. Ronan was moved by her presence and wanted nothing more than to drink deeply of her company.
“Miss Philips, I do not know what happened while I was ill. I do not know what you or anyone else felt or thought or saw. I have gathered that you all believed I was going to die, but beyond that, I know nothing,” Ronan said.
“It was … it was dreadful,” she said, softly.
“You take such good care of me,” Ronan said, acknowledging this truth without another thought.
“You are too kind. I have done only what I am meant to do,” Miss Philips insisted.
“No, you have done far greater. Miss Philips, you must understand that I can see who you really are, the sort of woman you are,” Ronan said, feeling the weight of his care for her.
Miss Philips appeared to break from the stiff distance she had been working to cultivate. Tears pooled in her eyes, and they began to spill over.
“What is it? Why are you upset?” Ronan asked, worried that he had done something wrong.
“I was so frightened. I truly thought that you were going to die. It was unbearable to watch you suffer, to see you so pale and near death,” Miss Philips said, taking a desperate breath to calm herself.
Ronan could not stop himself from taking her hand. There was something about it that felt so familiar as if they had held hands before. But he could not think of such a time.
He wanted to kiss her at that moment, to express all of his gratitude and … his love. He wanted her to know it all.
Nothing was more real than that.
Chapter 34
This time, it was not Lavender who had taken Lord Beckman’s hand. It had been he who had taken hers.
Her joy was at its full, knowing that Lord Beckman was well. It had been such a strange day with so many questions. She had wondered one thing after another, curious as to what could have caused his illness.
Why had he not responded to the medicine? What had caused him to be in the terrible condition that he had been in, and why was he not improving until the medicine stopped? Was it possible there was something—an ingredient, perhaps—which was not good for him? Or was his illness just something that needed to pass on its own?
Lavender had no answers. She knew only that she was grateful he had improved and was finally well. She hoped that Lord Beckman would continue to get better and that nothing such as this would ever occur again.
And as she looked into his eyes and saw how he gazed back upon her, Lavender hoped that he would tell her that he felt something as deeply as she did.
As if by magic, as if her very thoughts had brought it into reality, Lord Beckman opened his mouth to speak.
“Miss—”
The door burst open, and four constables stormed into the room.
“There she is! That is her!” one of them shouted.
Two of the men came and took hold of Lavender, grasping her tightly at the wrists.
“Unhand me! What is this about? What is happening?” she demanded, terrified by this sudden shock.
“Miss Philips?” Lord Beckman asked, clearly caught off guard in his own right.
The two constables held her as the third remained by the door and the fourth stood between Lavender and the marquess.
“Lavender Philips, is that your name?” the constable by the door asked.
“Y-yes,” she replied in a small, frightened voice.
“You are under arrest for the poisoning of Lord Ronan Beckman,” the man said.
The words hung in the air. For a moment, Lavender did not comprehend them. What was he talking about? What did he mean by that statement? What did he think he was going on about?
“What did you just say?” Lavender asked, her voice high in pitch.
“You are under arrest for the poisoning—and attempted murder—of Lord Ronan Beckman. You are hereby ordered to come with us to the precinct where you shall await your hearing,” the man said.
“This is nonsense. You cannot be serious,” Lord Beckman said.
“Lord Beckman, we have plenty of evidence of the fact. Your maid has made every attempt to harm you. She has the skill and knowledge to enable herself to the fact, and she was the one who oversaw you during this time, is that correct?” the constable asked.
