"Ah," he said as John Paul walked up, setting the magazine down. "You've finally arrived. We will need to be going in just a moment if we're to meet your young lady friend and her brother in the park. It's nearly three, and you said we needed to meet them at four forty. Even if we push the horses we might be cutting it a bit close on time, at this rate."
"I know," John Paul said. "I was bathing before the date, and then I got a bit lost in my thoughts, I suppose."
"Becoming a philosopher in your age," Henry teased, and John Paul forced a smile. Perhaps the joke hit a little bit too close to home for him, with the concerns over his body and what age might mean for it. Still, henry likely meant nothing by the jape, it was simply an off-hand comment made as a little joke between a nephew and his uncle, after all.
They went out through the door together, taking the horses from Mark. He'd had them saddled and ready to go for them already, and the pair of men set off trotting down the road beside one anther.
Henry seemed much more calm and collected on his horse now; he had been so nervous in the past, yet now he was commanding it quite expertly, and john Paul beamed inwardly. He tried to push the expression off his face; it wouldn't do to be too excited over something he'd played no hand in, after all.
"I see you're much more comfortable with that thing now that a few months have passed," he said. Henry grunted his agreement.
They rode in silence, John Paul lost in his thought s as he imagined Henry to b lost in his own. It was only a few hours' ride, but they pushed the horses and made it with a few minutes to spare before they would meet the Wakefields. Lydia and her brother were already there, though, as they arrived.
Chapter 14
Lydia rose up on her toes as they came, looking over the hedges at them, and stepped out into the path first.
“John Paul!”
Her hands waved in wide arcing motions over her head and she smiled, belying the black clothing she wore for her mourning period. It was a nice afternoon, autumn not quite cool enough for heavy yet, but the color was starting to touch the leaves on the trees that lined the path.
Simon stepped out after a second later. He did not wave, but he looked to be in a decent enough mood. John Paul was unsurprised. The weather was absolutely fine; if anyone could have a bad day in such perfect June weather he couldn’t imagine it.
“Simon,” John Paul said as they came close, “This is my nephew, Henry Roche. Henry, Simon Wakefield. Lydia’s eldest brother, and…”
For a moment he regarded Lydia, quietly considering his words.
“Since the passing of their late father, the head of the Wakefield home.”
“Nice to meet you,” Henry said, offering his hand out. They shook hands and for a moment it seemed as if something passed between them, unspoken.
“I think I’ve seen you!” exclaimed Simon after a moment, as John Paul turned to his fiancee.
“I suppose we ought to let them get acquainted, then,” he said, his amusement touching his voice. “Would you like to walk?”
John Paul had not noticed it before, but he felt the tugging of tiredness dragging against his steps. He ignored it as best he could. Occasionally, he would catch snippets of the young men, talking a dozen or so steps back.
He caught sight of them, on occasion, when the path took a tight turn between hills; they were speaking softly enough most of the time, but anyone looking could see the vigor with which they were approaching whatever subject they discussed.
“They seem to be getting along well enough,” John Paul remarked out loud.
“I suppose they do. I didn’t realize they’d known each other before, though.”
“No, neither had I,” John Paul agreed. “How have you been, my dear?”
Lydia reached her hand out and he took it, their fingers intertwining. He felt his heart race as he held her hand and they took a few experimental steps with her hand wrapped up in his.
“I’ve been having trouble sleeping,” she said, softly. She blinked and started and looked at him. “Because it’s exciting! I’m nervous and excited about the engagement, and everything, and it’s all so different.”
John Paul nodded.
“No need to explain.” His exhaustion was becoming more and more noticeable as they walked, heading up a hill. He saw a bench ahead of them. “Do you need to sit, miss Wakefield?”
“No,” she said, looking as if she’d been caught off guard by the question. “But I think we could sit and look at the trees together, at least,” she offered.
He took her offer, whether she meant it to be a way for him to sit or not, he needed it. They walked over to the bench; Henry and Simon stopped a ways back to keep whatever their private conversation was, private, and to give the lovers their space.
“There,” she said finally, pointing a gloved hand up at the sky. “That cloud.”
“Yes?”
He saw the cloud she was pointing to. It looked unremarkable to him; very much like a cloud.
“Don’t you see? It looks very much like a dog, don’t you think?”
He didn’t see it.
“You’re absolutely right,” he answered. She smiled at him.
John Paul looked out at the park. He had already noticed the trees, and they made it seem like they were in their own private space, but if he looked he could see others around. A few young men throwing a ball back and forth; the ball hitting their gloves when they caught it made a loud “pop!” as each tried to throw harder than the other. Down the path a ways he saw that it turned and went over a small creek that ran through the park, that ran off under the streets somewhere.
Some children played in the water, though it must have been cold, their pants pulled up past their knees. One of the young boys splashed some water up and hit one of the girls with it, and they splashed their disapproval and squealed unhappily.
John Paul took a deep breath. Being here with Lydia, he imagined that they were his children, and he was seeing their lives writ large spread around the park. His heart pounded and he felt very satisfied.
“Would you like to go on,” he offered.
“Certainly,” answered she. He pushed himself up. His legs rebelled as he started to stand, and then refused to work altogether in protest and sent him pitching over to his knees. Lydia gasped and Henry came rushing toward his uncle.
“Are you alright?”
John Paul laughed weakly but made no move to stand back up.
“I guess… I’m more tired than I thought.” He turned over into a seated position, and gave an apologetic smile to Lydia, whose face was white as a sheet. “I’m just a little tired. I’ll be right as rain in the morning, my dear, you’ll see. Just some bed rest and it’ll all be fine.”
He let Henry help him up and then sat back down on the bench.
“Perhaps you should go home with your brother, though. I wouldn’t want to scare you like that again.”
“Oh, okay,” she said softly, clearly upset by the whole affair.
John Paul took her hands in his, and brought them to his lips.
“I’ll be waiting until we can see each other again.”
“Feel better, mister Foster.”
“I will do my best, miss Wakefield.”
Lydia stood and started to walk away. She didn’t look back, and John Paul wondered if that wasn’t purposeful. He was glad for it, either way. He stood up gingerly, using the back of the bench to steady himself. He felt woozy, though he thought he could make it without falling again. He let go of the bench and staggered a step before catching himself. Henry reached out and grabbed his arm.
“This way,” he said. “I’ll take you to the coach, you’ll be alright there.”
“Thank you,” John Paul said weakly.
John Paul thought that he wanted to go home, and for a few moments it seemed as if that was where Henry was taking him, holding the reins of his horse as he rode alongside, but after a few moments it became clear that he wasn’t heading there, or
at least wasn’t heading straight there. He turned down a side route, and the Colonel weakly protested.
“No,” his nephew said sternly. “I’ll be taking you to a doctor now, and that’s that.”
John Paul didn’t argue. He didn’t prefer this sternness from a young lad; it was unbecoming, and downright rude, but he couldn’t disagree with the decision itself, try as he might. It was simply smarter to go to the doctor. He had been putting it off far too long if a simple walk in the park would have such ruinous effect on his constitution.
So he allowed himself to be guided up to the door of a doctor. A sign on the door outside marked it as the offices of a Dr. Laurie, and he followed his nephew inside. He tried to keep his shoulders straight, but he found himself too tired to do it. He struggled even to form particulary coherent thoughts.
Henry stepped up to the front desk and rapped against it until a tired-looking man stepped out from the back.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes,” Henry said. “It’s my uncle, you see, there.”
John Paul had slumped into one of the chairs; it was comfortable and he had no particular desire to move out of it, but now it seemed as if he were going to be forced to whether he preferred it or not. He pushed himself a little way out of the chair to signal that he had heard, and then slumped back.
His ears were starting to ring again, something he had managed to push out of his mind for the past several years. Most days, he thought he hadn’t heard any ringing in his ears at all, but now with the pounding in his chest and the rush of blood to his ears he heard the ringing as clear as a bell once more.
He wanted to go home, more than anything. This infernal fatigue should surely go away sooner or later. What use had he of going to the doctor? He shook his head. That was foolish thinking. He had a family, or the makings of one, now. He had to keep himself in good condition for the sake of his nephew and his bride-to-be. If he were a little bit sick, all the better, but if it were something he should really be worried about…
He shuddered. Best not to think of the possibilities. That was only going to be disconcerting in the extreme. Rather, he should think that things would be quite alright.
Henry sat down beside him, a piece of paper in his hand and a pen, laid flat on a small tablet. He was filling out information on it busily. After a few minutes of this he handed it over to his uncle to read, pointing toward the bottom.
“Sign there,” he said.
John Paul did not sign, immediately. He read the text of it first. That was the only smart thing to do, he thought. Otherwise he might be caught out. After a moment, though, he signed it. It was just a bit of his medical history, nothing to be overly concerned about, after all. He was too tired for this sort of confusion. He handed it back with his signature at the bottom, and Henry walked up to the desk again, sliding the tablet and pen across.
“It will just be one moment,” the clerk said. John Paul didn’t look up, nor do anything to acknowledge that he’d heard. How embarrassing, he thought. There was nothing he could do about it, but the shame of having stumbled and fallen in front of his young bride was burning hot in his mind.
“Are you certain this is altogether necessary, Henry?”
“Wouldn’t you rather get well, uncle?”
John Paul made a face. “It’s not that; how do you know this man isn’t some sort of quack?”
“Don’t be silly, uncle. I did my research, of course, the minute you started to look to be in ill health.”
“Oh,” the Colonel replied, and fell silent. If there was no problem, then, he decided, there would be no logic in fighting it. He would just have to deal with it after all. No matter, though.
He thought for a moment. He had to give his nephew credit, after all. He was more capable than he might seem. John Paul looked over at him, sitting there on his right. He seemed somehow larger than he had, though he was still inches shorter than John Paul. He hadn’t grown, but John Paul thought he looked somehow more capable.
“The doctor will see you now,” the young clerk said. He guided John Paul into a small room down the hall with an examination table and a few chairs. He sat in the chair. The table made him feel uneasy. After a few minutes the doctor came in after him.
“Mister Foster?” he asked.
“John Paul Foster, yes,” answered the Colonel.
“What seems to be the trouble?”
Henry spoke up for him. John Paul hadn’t noticed him come in alongside, but there he was, standing by the door.
“He’s been having fainting spells, doctor. Some sort of exhaustion, I suppose he’d say?”
“Hmm.” The doctor looked at him and gestured toward the examination table. “Would you take your shirt off for me?”
John Paul did so. He was somewhat surprised to find that he didn’t look especially worse than he had months before. He had lost some muscle tone, of course, that was obvious from the difficulty he’d had with lifting the furniture. But he looked, to his own eye, far from some old pensioner whose body was giving out on him.
The doctor took a stethoscope and put it into his ears, pressing it against the Colonel’s chest.
“Breathe in for me?”—he did—”And out.”
He moved the stethoscope and they repeated the procedure.
“Well,” he announced after a moment. “Your breathing seems to be fine, at least.”
He reached for a torch and told John Paul to open his mouth. The doctor depressed his tongue and looked down his throat, next. He frowned.
“Hmm,” he said softly.
“What is it?” John Paul asked.
“Well,” the doctor answered dully, “I don’t know what it is.”
He stepped back and crossed his arms across his chest.
“I can’t figure it. Perhaps it’s something I haven’t detected, of course; I’ll proscribe some antibiotics just in case, but I don’t see any particular indication of anything at all. Have you been sick?”
“A bit of food poisoning, but nothing too extreme, no.”
“Hmm,” he said again.
“Are you going to tell me what you think it might be, doctor, or shall I have to guess?”
“I can’t begin to guess,” he answered. “The only thing I can think of is… well, sir, you’re into your forties now, aren’t you?”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, you may find, sir, that as your body ages, it may not perform as optimally as we all might like it to. So perhaps, if you would be willing to consider…”
“That I’m getting old, doctor?”
The doctor made a face. “Well, I will admit that you seem to be in well-regulated condition, but yes.”
He seemed to be waiting for a response of some kind, hanging on the moment until someone broke it, but for a long couple of moments, nobody did.
“Thank you for your time, doctor,” John Paul said finally.
“Ah—yes,” he answered. “See Mr. Shannon at the desk about the matter of payment.”
“Of course,” answered the Colonel, putting his clothes back on.
He paid on the way out, cringing slightly. The number seemed a little high to him, but he had to admit he didn’t know what the proper amount was.
“Are you sure that man wasn’t a complete quack,” he said as he left, the prescription note in his pocket.
“Not at all, uncle,” Henry said. “Let’s get you to the pharmacy.”
John Paul lay in bed later that night. He had felt better, somewhat, when he’d come home. That, at least had been some consolation, and he was glad for it, even if he didn’t say anything to anyone. He had decided to put on a face as if recovery was what he’d expected entirely, as if he’d seen it coming.
The truth was, when he thought back, the hints were certainly there, but he hadn’t seen it coming. He hadn’t even come close to predicting anything like it. He had been weaker when he’d moved the furniture, but it had seemed like purely a result of growing older.
He had known men, though, several years his elder in the service. Men higher up the pay grade. And he knew that they didn’t fall down spontaneously because of short walks.
It couldn’t simply be old age, and he hadn’t been feeling exceptionally ill. The doctor had said that it could be any of those things, of course. He’d said he didn’t seem especially ill, so it wasn’t likely that it was influenza, and he had been eating fairly well the past few weeks, so it wasn’t a case of malnutrition.
The doctor, ignoring John Paul’s history, had suggested the possibility of it simply being old age deteriorating his body, his muscles. He had sounded dubious, though, even looking just at John Paul half-undressed.
There was little room for doubt, even now that he had started to lose his condition, that he had spent more than a few years developing his body into the peak of physical fitness. Suggesting that he was weak enough to stumble and fall on a simple walk in a park was ludicrous.
That left one simple conclusion, then, John Paul decided. He had been, and likely was still being, poisoned. It was the only thing that made any sense. He could think of no alternative.
Who, then? Who stood to gain from it?
It could be one of the servants, he supposed. They had no reason for it, but if they had perceived some slight… no, he thought. It wasn’t likely at all. He’d been naught but kind to them. They likely had no grudge against him at all, or if they had one, it was quite minor.
Besides that, the only one who had ready access to his food was Thomas. He dismissed the thought out of hand. He had been nothing but kind to the boy, and the boy just as kind in return.
He frowned. It must be, then, someone else with whom he’d spent time. It seemed all of a sudden that the walk he’d taken with his fiancée took on a meaner note. That had been a meeting of everyone he could put on the list.
Who would benefit? Simon had a large debt to be paid. John Paul knew, or at least guessed, that he would never be able to pay it all, but he had swallowed his pride for the sake of marriage.
The Soldier's Poisoned Heart (True Love and Deception) (Victorian Historical Romance Book 1) Page 13
