by Jane Ashford
Dr. Mason arrived soon after this, and Georgina received him just outside Ellerton’s room. When she had introduced herself and explained that she would be nursing the patient, the doctor was relieved. This clear-eyed young woman seemed much better suited to the task than the shaken girl he had met yesterday. “You are a member of his family?” he asked.
“No. Unfortunately he has none. I am a friend who happened to be traveling and found him here. I have had some experience with hired nurses and will not leave him to them.”
“Ah, you have worked in a sickroom yourself, perhaps?” he was examining her measuringly.
“My father’s. And I will have the help of my maid and, I think, some of the baron’s servants.”
“Baron, is he?” Mason nodded. It had been obvious to him that his patient was distinguished. It was also obvious that he was not being told the whole story, but he was not surprised by this.
“Baron Ellerton. And my name is Georgina Goring. Will you examine him now? I am very worried.”
“Of course.” Dr. Mason disappeared into the bedchamber, impressed anew with Miss Goring’s capable air.
His expression was less cheerful when he came out again, and in answer to Georgina’s inquiring look, he shook his head. “I don’t like it. I wish he would wake. I can make no final judgment on his state until he does.”
“Is there no sign when that may happen?” Her voice trembled slightly.
“No. In some of these cases…” He hesitated.
“What?”
Dr. Mason shrugged. “Sometimes, a person taking a blow to the head never wakes. He simply…fades away.”
“That will not happen to Baron Ellerton!” exclaimed Georgina. The doctor raised his eyebrows at her vehemence, and she quickly added, “Is there nothing I can do to help him?”
“Try to make him drink. Speak to him now and then.” She nodded as if memorizing these meager instructions, and the doctor wished he could offer more. “I’ll call again this afternoon,” he finished, putting on his hat. “Send for me if there is a change before that.”
“I will.”
Mason took his leave, and Georgina slipped back into the bedchamber that was to be the focus of her existence for an indefinite time. The blinds were half-drawn so that it was dim. A single candle stood on the bedside table, screened so as not to shine in Ellerton’s eyes. He lay as he had ever since Georgina arrived, on his back, unmoving, his breath now shallow, now rasping. She moved closer and scanned his chalk-white skin and bloodless lips. The innkeeper had removed his clothes and put him into one of his own nightshirts last night when the doctor set the broken bones. Since then, there had been no change. She leaned over him. “Baron Ellerton,” she said in clear tones. “Baron, can you hear me? Wake up.”
There was no reaction. His eyes remained closed, and he neither moved nor made a sound, though occasionally in the night he had groaned. With a sigh, Georgina settled herself in the armchair drawn up on the other side of the small table. It was frustrating not to be able to do more, but she would follow the doctor’s instructions and wait. She refused to allow the smallest doubt of his recovery to enter her mind.
The morning passed slowly. Georgina read one of the dog-eared periodicals a traveler had left behind at the inn and looked forward to the arrival of her own things. Then, at least, she would have books and sewing to fill her time. She ate luncheon downstairs, the landlady again sitting with Ellerton, and was starting upstairs once more when the sounds of an arrival drew her to the parlor window in hopes her luggage had come.
It had not. She had never seen the very elegant traveling carriage drawn up outside, and she was about to turn away when her attention was caught by its occupant, who was just climbing down.
He did not look like the vehicle’s owner. He was a small, bandy-legged man with sandy hair and brows and a suit of severe black. His expression was ludicrously haughty. He gazed at the emerging innkeeper as if he were some particularly contemptible breed of insect. “Take me to Baron Ellerton’s chamber at once,” he commanded, in such ringing tones that Georgina heard him perfectly. Nonplussed, she hurried out to the corridor to intercept him.
“Here’s the lady,” said the innkeeper with patent relief when he saw her.
The newcomer turned and looked Georgina up and down. He was not precisely insolent, but she felt that he gauged the cut of her gown and elegance of her coif to a nicety. “Miss Georgina Goring?” he inquired.
“Yes?”
“I am Basil Jenkins, Baron Ellerton’s man. I have come to take him home.”
It took Georgina a moment to realize that this was the baron’s valet. She had had no experience with the superior gentleman’s gentleman, and thus was unprepared for his manner. But she recovered quickly. “He is far too unwell to travel,” she answered. “The doctor scolded them even for bringing him the short distance to this inn.”
“Indeed? Perhaps I could see for myself?” The man’s tone suggested that he put little faith in the judgment of hysterical females, but Georgina found this amusing rather than offensive, particularly as she knew she was right. With a gesture, she invited him to follow her upstairs. And she did not speak again until Jenkins had seen the baron and returned to the hall outside his room.
“You see?” she asked then.
He nodded, his imperturbable facade gone. Seeing his genuine concern, Georgina added, “I hope you will stay and help me nurse him. My maid will also do what she can.”
The valet drew himself up. “I shall do whatever is necessary, miss. You were very right to send for me, but there is no need for you to remain.”
“You cannot sit with him every minute,” retorted Georgina, stung. “You must sleep sometime.”
“I’m sure the landlady will—”
“I intend to stay,” she said flatly. “I have some experience in a sickroom, and I mean to use it.”
Jenkins eyed her with a mixture of suspicion and annoyance. “And just what do you have to do with it, if you’ll pardon my asking, miss? I don’t recall hearing your name before you were so kind as to write.”
Georgina stiffened, feeling herself on weak ground. “I am a friend of the baron’s,” she said.
“Are you now?” His gaze grew speculative, and Georgina nearly quailed under it.
But her instinctive dignity came to her aid. “I am,” she replied coolly. “And I don’t intend to discuss this matter further. You will want to see about a room for yourself and have your things brought up.”
“The baron’s things,” he corrected.
She inclined her head majestically and swept past him and into Ellerton’s room once again. But even as she heard him move away outside, her heart sank. It was clearly to be a battle for control of the sickroom, and she hated such brangles above all things.
Ten
From this point on, nothing went as Georgina had expected. She had unconsciously had a vision of herself moving efficiently around a darkened sickroom ministering to Ellerton, and perhaps later talking with him and amusing him through a boring time of recovery. Instead, wherever she turned, there was Jenkins, bringing a fresh jug of barley water, smoothing clean towels with complacent skill, unpacking the baron’s things, or applying a cool cloth to his brow. Georgina felt useless, and increasingly annoyed. She suspected that Mr. Jenkins knew this, and enjoyed it, which made the situation worse. By the end of the first afternoon, she saw that she would have to make some stand or lose control entirely. Steeling herself, she poured out a cup of barley water and began to coax Ellerton to drink a little. Though he remained unconscious, he had once or twice been induced to drink.
“He won’t take anything,” whispered Jenkins from the corner where he was laying out Ellerton’s toilet articles. “I tried him a moment since.”
Georgina stayed where she was. “The doctor left orders that I should keep up the effort,” she
answered with a slight but unmistakable emphasis on the pronoun.
“Before I arrived,” conceded Jenkins.
Georgina, having no success, straightened and put the cup aside. “Indeed. I am only glad I was on hand when the baron had no one else.”
“Very fortunate,” said the valet, with something very close to a sneer. “Though hardly necessary any longer, now that his proper attendants have arrived.” Two more of the baron’s servants had come in the late afternoon, to aid Jenkins, now that it was apparent Ellerton could not be taken home.
“Properly,” replied Georgina, who was by this time more irritated than she could recall being in the course of an even-tempered life, “he should be nursed by the females of his family. It is too bad there are none, for such a task really requires a woman’s special talents.”
Jenkins drew his small frame up. He was obviously put out both by her opposition and the fact that he had no ready riposte to this remark. But a muffled sound from the bed caused them to drop their argument and turn.
Ellerton’s eyes were open, and he was watching them. As Jenkins hurried closer and Georgina bent to speak, he muttered, “Good God,” and let his eyelids droop.
“Baron Ellerton,” said Georgina. “How do you feel?”
“Let him be,” objected the valet. “He needs his rest.”
“The doctor said he could not tell his condition until he woke,” snapped Georgina.
“I kept dreaming of that fiendish cat,” murmured Ellerton in a thready voice. “Is my leg broken?”
“Yes,” said Georgina.
“Umm. And ribs, I think.” He moved very slightly, and grimaced. “What of the horses, and the phaeton?”
Georgina, who had not inquired deeply into their fate, was forced to draw back, chagrined.
“The team will be all right, Hotchkiss says,” volunteered Jenkins eagerly. “They were pretty thoroughly blown, but he’s taken them back to London and is looking after them. The phaeton’s broken a wheel and axle and the paint’s spoiled.”
Ellerton nodded, as if this was no more than he expected, and closed his eyes again. But after a moment they snapped open to focus on Georgina. “Miss Wyndham?”
“She’s all right. She wasn’t hurt.”
“Ah. Unsurprising. What are you doing here?”
“Just what I was asking before you woke, my lord,” blurted Jenkins. “Now that I’ve come to look after you, I’m sure there’s no need for the young lady to remain.”
“Susan sent for me,” answered Georgina, her gaze steady on the baron.
Jenkins’s glance grew sharp. “I thought you told me you were traveling and happened upon his lordship here?”
Ellerton took in the situation at once. “Very kind of you,” he said in a stronger voice. “I’m grateful.”
The valet looked from one to the other. “But she needn’t stay now, eh, my lord?” he repeated.
Starting to agree, his master met Georgina’s clear gray eyes once again. In his weakness, he felt a strong desire for her company. “She need not, of course. She has done far too much already. But I admit I should be glad if she stayed.”
Jenkins was dumbfounded. Georgina smiled. “I should be happy to do what I can,” she murmured.
Ellerton smiled fleetingly as well; then his meager strength gave out and he drifted into a light slumber.
After this, there was nothing more Jenkins could say. Through the doctor’s call (and profuse apologies for its lateness), Mason’s more optimistic assessment, and preparations for dinner, he was generally silent, merely muttering to himself from time to time and venting his feelings through sharp commands to his fellow servants. Georgina had to smile more than once, but she was careful to hide her reaction, knowing that it would only make things worse. She had nearly concluded that the valet was vanquished when, as they sat together in the sickroom later that evening, he said, “My lord’s accident will break a deal of hearts in London.” He spoke absently, as if to himself, but his words were perfectly audible to Georgina. “He’s popular with the ladies, he is,” Jenkins continued. “And no wonder, I always say. But it’s amazing the lengths they’ll go to put themselves in his way. Why, I recall one—a countess she was, and so lovely it made your eyes ache—pretended she’d hurt her ankle outside our front door. Had herself carried in to the drawing-room sofa, and stayed the whole afternoon. His lordship wasn’t fooled, of course.” He paused reminiscently. “And then there was the young lady from the country who claimed she was a cousin. Called his lordship ‘dear cousin’ so often I thought he would give her a setdown. But he’s always polite, my lord is. Never speaks ill of a lady, or to her, though he manages to thwart all their little schemes anyhow. A downy one, and no mistake.”
He paused, and Georgina knew that he was glancing sidewise to see what effect his remarks had had on her. Her cheeks were flushed. She couldn’t help that, for it had been only too clear that he was classifying her with these women who ran after the baron. But she sat straight, her chin high, and refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing that she was embarrassed. Ellerton could not believe this, or he would never have sanctioned her stay.
“No, his lordship’s taste in women is somewhat different,” continued Jenkins musingly. “His latest, now, she is a caution. All that black hair and those dark eyes. And a temper!” He chuckled as if recalling some incident. “I suppose it helps her on the stage.”
Georgina grew even more rigid, and at the small movement she made, Jenkins clasped his hands together and pretended horror. “Miss! I beg your pardon. I quite forgot you were there. Talking to myself, I was, as I often do when I’m waiting up for his lordship. I’m not accustomed to having another person in his bedchamber, you know.” He made this sound scandalous.
Georgina rose, routed. “I’m going to bed,” was her only reply. “I will take your place first thing in the morning.”
The valet had stood when she did. “I do hope you will forgive me, miss.”
Georgina turned back to look at him, her understanding of his purpose clear in her eyes. To his credit, Jenkins quailed a little. Without answering, she went out.
But when she had put on her nightdress and gotten into bed, Georgina could not dismiss the man’s tales from her mind. Indeed, they had conjured up, only too vividly, visions of the many young ladies who had pursued Ellerton, subtly and blatantly, and of the few he had granted his favor. The latter in particular preoccupied Georgina. She knew very little about such women, but Jenkins had painted a compelling portrait. Georgina’s active imagination required no more to weave a series of scenes that greatly depressed her spirits.
More embarrassing was the valet’s equation of her with the girls who had thrown themselves at Ellerton’s feet, some literally. Jenkins clearly thought her another of these, and her wish to nurse the baron merely a scheme to capture his attention and stay by his side. Rehearsing his remarks made Georgina blush anew, for she saw that many would agree with him. Though it is completely untrue, Georgina thought fiercely. But some part of her remained uneasy.
Feeling that she must understand her motives completely, Georgina asked herself why she was determined to stay on at the inn. Jenkins was correct in arguing that he and the baron’s other servants could care for him adequately. Was she acting as those other women had?
She was trying to help, she insisted, and to shield Susan from the possible consequences of her foolhardy behavior. But the annoying skeptical voice in her mind replied that her help was not necessary.
Yet she would not wish to be left alone at an inn, injured and weak, with only servants, she told herself. And though Jenkins seemed very capable, he showed no signs of having nursed a sick man before, as Georgina had. Moreover, Ellerton’s condition was Susan’s fault, and it was only right that the family make some amends. Susan could not, so Georgina would. The only unfortunate thing was that she could not exp
lain this to those who would undoubtedly find her presence startling.
Trying to feel virtuous at her adherence to duty, Georgina turned over for perhaps the twentieth time and ordered herself to sleep. She would be no good to anyone tomorrow if she did not. But a part of her remained unsatisfied, and each time she closed her eyes, a procession of women passed before her mind’s eye—demure, laughing, boldly vivacious, and all beautiful and utterly self-assured. Nothing, thought Georgina despondently, like herself. Baron Ellerton could have no interest in her. She recalled his remarks about her odd character.
“Then no one will link you with those women who pursued him,” said Georgina aloud. “It will not occur to them!” And pulling the bedclothes up over her chin, she commanded herself to sleep.
It was apparent the following morning, with Georgina’s maid settled in and all her things unpacked, that she had one advantage at least in the sickroom. She could establish herself in the armchair with her books and her sewing and easily hold the field, while Jenkins, who failed to depart with the coming of daylight, had to find reasons for his presence. The fifth time he adjusted the baron’s pillows, eliciting an impatient sound from Ellerton, Georgina had to hide a smile. She understood some of the valet’s feelings at finding a stranger in charge of his master, but she would not have been human had she not enjoyed her small triumph after last night.
At one, when Georgina went downstairs for luncheon, she was greeted by her four young friends, who had ridden out to visit her and inquire whether she needed anything. “How is he?” was the first remark, voiced by Marianne but obviously a general concern.
“A little better. He woke last night for a while, and has been awake most of this morning. The doctor thinks he will be all right, though weak for a time.”
