“Lady Rose?” Alexander scrambles to place the name—he does not like being unprepared. In his experience, it can be dangerous. “Lucy’s friend?”
“Yes, she’s taken a turn for the worse, I’m afraid,” Mr. Sinclair says, his whole expression shadowed. “Her father has been sent for.”
“She’s dying,” Alexander says, as a dull horror grips him. He can almost feel Lucy’s pain.
“The doctor says she doesn’t have long. It’s why I’ve gone to bed in my day clothes—my sister sits up with her now, but I told her to call me the moment she needs anything. Lady Rose has been an absolute saint about it all—it’ll be a dark day when her gentle soul leaves this world.”
“Lucy loves her,” Alexander says, more to himself than to Mr. Sinclair. He can’t bear to think of Lucy in pain—and he knows how much pain this death will bring her. “What is the cause of her illness?”
“Weak lungs—the doctor says pneumonia has set in. Apparently she’s been at risk of dying from it since she was born.”
Alexander’s mind races through possible treatments. He’d had some training in the art of using herbal medicine—he’d found it both necessary and convenient when he was hundreds of miles from the nearest doctor, and he’d become so skilled that many turned to him as a healer—but he has to think what may be available here. His mind flips through the catalog of known treatments for inflammation of the lungs. Suddenly, he lands on the answer. “Is there a way to get pleurisy root?” he asks sharply.
Mr. Sinclair shakes his head. “Pleurisy root?”
“It’s also known as milkweed.”
“Oh yes … I’m not sure. We could send for a gardener. Why?”
Alexander doesn’t answer for a moment—he’s remembering other treatments. “Turmeric? Garlic? Both of those things could help for now—if you mix both of them with fresh lemons and raw honey.”
Mr. Sinclair strides over and pulls a long velvet rope to summon a servant. “The cook should have those ingredients, I should think. Are you experienced in medicine?”
“I have some working knowledge of herbal treatments,” Alexander says. He’s willing to try anything if it prolongs Rose’s life. Lucy should have the chance to say good-bye properly. Because of her chronically weak lungs, Alexander knows the herbs won’t save her, but they can give her time, and hopefully, a more peaceful death.
The servant arrives—a harried-looking valet. “Can I be of some service, my lord?”
“Will you wake the kitchen maids and ask for a paste of garlic, turmeric, and honey? It should be given to the Lady Rose.” The servant looks distinctly confused, especially when he sees Alexander standing near the fireplace, but he nods willingly. “And I don’t suppose a gardener might be awoken at this hour?”
“A gardener, my lord?”
“We are in desperate need of milkweed,” Mr. Sinclair says.
“If it’s milkweed you’re needing, my lord, I can get it for you.”
Mr. Sinclair perks up at that. “You can? Good man!”
“Yes, my lord, my grandfather worked as a gardener, you see, and I learned quite a lot from him. I’ve seen some growing beside the bridge out of town.”
Alexander and Mr. Sinclair share a look of profound relief. “Though I hesitate to send you on such an errand in the middle of the night,” Mr. Sinclair says, “it’s for the Lady Rose—it could help her greatly.”
“I’ll fetch it then, my lord,” the valet says.
“Thank you, Holt. Quick as you can.”
The valet leaves, and Mr. Sinclair turns to Alexander. “I don’t dare hope this will save her, but if it will give her a few more days of life, it’ll be well worth it. Her father is due to arrive late tonight, but even then, he may be arriving just as she breathes her last.”
“Will you show me to her room?” Alexander asks. “There may be still more I can do.”
Mr. Sinclair hesitates. “I cannot promise you will not encounter the Thornewoods on your way there. My sister has been maintaining a vigil over the girl, and the others may be asleep now, but I have no way of knowing.”
“I’d rather not spend the rest of the night cowering in your room,” Alexander says.
But as he moves to follow Mr. Sinclair, he feels a pulling in the center of his chest, like a thread being tugged. The sensation strengthens until it seems to squeeze his lungs. Lucy, he thinks. She must be summoning him back—it’s the agreed upon signal, and Alexander need only draw a rune to allow the connection. Should he try to contact her? But every nerve in his body is tingling with the awareness that he doesn’t have long. He must go to Lady Rose now if he is to give her any aid—even a few minutes more delay may be too long.
His decision made, he strides after Rob and into the darkened hall.
The smell of death is strong in the room—sour and almost cloyingly sweet. But the girl continues to breathe, though each breath is clearly a struggle. Alexander’s heart feels like lead in his chest as he watches her, her face so pale, her lips with a bluish tint from the lack of life-saving oxygen. Her lungs rattle in her chest.
Too weak to rouse herself, she makes no sign of knowing the two men and Lucy’s sister are in the room.
“She only just fell asleep,” Lady Thornewood whispers, her own face drawn and pale. “It was … she was suffering terribly.”
Mr. Sinclair puts his arm around his sister. “There’s nothing you can do, Wren.” He eyes her meaningfully, and Alexander realizes he must mean with arcana.
Lady Thornewood looks up at Alexander for the first time. “I dearly hope Lucy sent you, for if you are an assassin, I think I hardly have the energy to fight you.”
“She did send me, my lady, and the queen—your grandmother—did as well.” He pauses, unsure how much else to say—he’s unsure if Lady Thornewood knows the extent of Lucy’s plans. “She wanted me to ease your mind about your daughter. The girl should rest, but she’s in no real danger. Her arcana is Spiritual, which means she can hide it as easily as Lucy does.” He glances at Rose again. “But I’m also here because I can help.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Lady Thornewood says.
Mr. Sinclair nods. “He has Holt fetching various herbs—I thought anything would be worth trying. Her father still hasn’t arrived …” He trails off as everyone in the room becomes painfully aware of Rose’s labored breathing.
“I agree,” Lady Thornwood says softly. “If you have the means to help her in any way, Lord Devonshire, please do.”
“I will. But please, call me Alexander.”
She gives him a ghost of a smile. “Then you must call both of us by our given names, for it wouldn’t do for all of us to be working together as nurses in a darkened room and maintain ridiculous formalities.”
“Well said,” Rob says, and Alexander gives a single nod.
He moves closer to the bed and holds his hands above Rose’s frail form, fingers splayed and palms down. He lets his eyelids fall closed. When he opens himself up to sense her prana—her life force—he frowns when he finds how faint it is. He knows her levels will never be on par with his—and certainly not with Lucy’s or Katherine’s—but all human life has at least a soft glow simmering beneath the surface. Rose’s is like a single candle in a cave. Still, he will do all he can to fan the flames into greater life.
He brings his palms together and brings them to his chest. Rapidly, he forms hand motions: hands clasped, then index fingers steepled then clasped again. He learned these hand signals long ago in the kalari. They are a way to physically connect to spiritual power, and now that Alexander has seen Lucy utilize runes, he thinks they may be similar.
The candle flame of Rose’s prana flares with the coaxing of Alexander’s hand signals, each motion acting like a gust of wind. A fine sheen of sweat breaks out across Alexander’s face as he keeps up the motions, but he’s rewarded by Rose’s face blooming with color. A little more, and her breaths come easier—the death rattle disappears.
“She lo
oks so much better!” Katherine says, her voice still quiet but excitement shining in her eyes.
Alexander finally releases his hands, the muscles in them sore from his intense efforts. He lets out a breath of relief. If she responded to this, she may respond equally well to the herbal medicine.
Rob claps him on the back. “Well done.”
Just then, Holt enters the room with the mixture of garlic, turmeric, and honey. His cheeks are streaked with dirt, and he’s panting for breath. He holds an uprooted scraggly plant in his hand—the milkweed. “Forgive me, my lord, but I wasn’t sure what part of the plant you’d be needing, so I brought it all.”
Alexander takes the plant from Holt. “Thank you, Holt. You were right to do so—it’s the root I’m after. Katherine, if you’d be so good as to assist Lady Rose in taking a spoonful of the mixture in that bowl, then I will prepare the pleurisy root. Holt, would you mind showing me the way to the kitchen? I need access to a mortar and pestle, water, and a kettle.”
“Right this way, my lord,” Holt says.
He leads Alexander back out into the darkened hall and down a wide staircase. Once on the main floor, Alexander is led to yet another staircase and down into the bowels of the house. It reminds him uncomfortably of the dungeon in the Sylvan castle, and a sensation rather like an elephant sitting on his chest descends upon him. Steadying himself with a few deep breaths, he follows Holt into the kitchen, where a tired-looking kitchen maid waits for him.
“I thought you might need something else,” she says with a resigned sigh. “What can I get for you, my lord?”
“A mortar and pestle, boiling water, and a tea cup.”
If she thinks the requests are strange, she says nothing of it, and hurries to retrieve the necessary items. When the kettle is on the stove, and the pencil-thin roots have been thoroughly washed, Alexander gets to work. He cuts them all into uniform lengths and then separates out some to be ground into a paste and others to be made into a tea. It may be overkill, but the poor girl is so far gone that the extra dose may help pull her back from the brink.
When the roots are thoroughly ground to a white paste, he scoops them out and puts them in a bowl. “You can take this up to Lady Rose directly,” he tells Holt. “Tell Lady Thornewood that it should be spread across her chest.”
“Yes, my lord,” Holt says and hurries away.
The kettle whistles, and the kitchen maid anticipates Alexander’s need, bringing it swiftly to his side. He takes it from her and carefully pours it over the roots in the tea cup. “This can steep while I carry it up to her. Thank you for your assistance.”
“I’m happy to help, my lord. We haven’t known Lady Rose for long, but we do care for her.”
Alexander nods once and strides away, careful not to spill a drop. After two sets of staircases, he turns down the hall and nearly strides headlong into James Wyndam.
“What the devil?” Lord Wyndam shouts, his expression darkening so fast Alexander realizes violence will be unavoidable.
If he causes me to spill this tea, I shall kill him—consequences be damned.
It seems to only take an instant for James to make up his mind, and Alexander recognizes Lord Wyndam’s decision to stop Alexander forcibly before he even takes the first swing.
Lord Wyndam’s fist flies straight for Alexander’s jaw, but for Alexander, it may as well be in slow motion. Alexander neatly dodges. He glances down for a fraction of a second to be sure the tea hasn’t spilled. It hasn’t.
When his punch connects with nothing but air, Lord Wyndam is thrown off-balance, and Alexander gets behind him. With his fingers pressed together and his hand flattened to a knife-like edge, Alexander delivers two swift blows to two pressure points on Lord Wyndam’s body. One-armed, he helps Lord Wyndam sink to the floor.
Alexander feels a twinge of guilt over the unconscious man, but he ignores it. He knows it wasn’t just the threat of his being a potential intruder that made Lord Wyndam attack—he has hated Alexander from the moment he sensed his interest in Lucy.
The room smells strongly of herbs when he enters, but the Lady Rose is still sleeping. Rob and Katherine turn to him as he carries the tea over to her bedside. He uses a spoon to pull out the roots, and tests the liquid on his wrist to be sure it’s not too hot.
“If you will help her sit up, I’ll pour a bit of this down her throat,” Alexander says, and Rob and Katherine both jump up to help.
Cupping the back of Lady Rose’s head in his hand—and with Rob and Katherine supporting her back—the three of them manage to dribble the warm tea into her mouth. With effort, she swallows, and they let her rest again.
Alexander leans down to listen to her chest, hovering just above her frail breastbone. Her lungs sound a good deal clearer—the wheezing still present, but much less of a death rattle. He lets his own breath out in relief.
When he steps back, though, he notices a darkness hovering just about Lady Rose. His muscles tense, prepared to attack if need be, but then he recognizes what it is. He’s seen it before—many times on the poor streets of India.
The shadow of death.
So it is but a temporary reprieve, he thinks, his chest filling with a heavy sorrow. Still, it is time she needed most, and time I have given her.
“She just needs a good deal of rest now,” Alexander says, and Katherine nods eagerly. “Shall I relate to you how to prepare more tea and the paste for her chest? It can be repeated in the morning, or if she happens to wake in the night, she may have more of the tea and another spoonful of the garlic and turmeric mixture.”
“Yes, please do explain it to me.” She reaches out and touches his arm. “You cannot imagine how grateful I am that you have helped her so. It will mean so much to her family, of course, but we have grown fond of her as well.” Her eyes fill. “And I couldn’t bear for anything to happen to her while Lucy is away.”
“Don’t cry all over the poor man,” Rob says, wrapping his arm around his sister’s shoulders. “No gentleman should be rewarded for his efforts with a crying female.”
She laughs tearfully. “You are perfectly awful, dear brother.”
After Alexander dictates all the instructions to make the tea and other herbal mixtures and Katherine carefully writes them all down, he finally gives in to the urge of Lucy calling him back. “I should leave from Rob’s room, if you don’t mind,” Alexander says. “I think it’ll be easier for her to summon me that way.”
“Of course,” Rob says. “I’ll show you the way.”
“I should warn you, though,” Alexander says, suddenly remembering the mishap with James. “I had a bit of a confrontation in the hall—”
Katherine sucks in a breath. “Heavens! I hope it wasn’t my husband. He swore he was going to bed—I had to force him to leave since at least one of us should have the energy to function tomorrow.”
“No, it was his brother, I’m afraid. He must have taken me for an intruder—perfectly understandable, really—but I must apologize for the way I handled it. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to bring the tea, I would have tried to talk him down. Unfortunately, all I could do was render him temporarily unconscious.”
Katherine’s eyes widen, and she lets out a little squeak. “Unconscious? Good Lord. Did he attack you, then?”
Rob looks surprised for a moment, but then bursts into riotous laughter, to which Katherine immediately shushes him. “Is he just slumped over in the hall, then? For all the servants to step over?”
“Yes, but I assure you the effects are not long-lasting. He may be a little bruised in the morning, but I dare say he shouldn’t be in any pain.”
“This I must see,” Rob says and strides out of the room and into the hall.
Alexander and Katherine follow, and they quickly come to where James lies.
“Not a hair out of place!” Rob says. “He looks like he simply couldn’t make it to his room after a long night of drinking and debauchery.” Rob laughs again, and Katherine shoots him a warn
ing glance. “You must tell me how you did it.”
Alexander shifts his weight, distinctly uncomfortable. Now that he sees the man lying unconscious after the heat of the moment has long since cooled, it seems like a rather extreme reaction.
“There are certain pressure points on the body that will render one unconscious should they be struck in just the right way. I hit two of these spots.”
Now both brother and sister watch him with a mixture of bewilderment and wariness.
“And you’re sure he’ll be all right come morning?” Katherine says slowly.
“Yes, he’ll be quite well. The worst he may have is a headache.”
“Let’s not interrogate him, Wren.” Rob’s wry smile returns. “The man was just defending himself, after all.”
“So he says,” Katherine says, her intensely blue eyes suddenly piercing Alexander’s. “I do appreciate everything you’ve done for Rose, but I would also like to caution you when it comes to our sister. She told me that you will be assisting her in her … goal … but none of us can deny that there is much about you that is highly suspicious. If you hurt Lucy in any way—”
“Yes, yes,” Rob interrupts. “You’ll kill him in some horribly painful way, etc., etc. Come now, old chap, before she threatens you further.”
Alexander allows himself to be shepherded back toward Rob’s room, but before he walks through the door, he turns back to Katherine. “I would gladly lay down my life to keep your sister from harm. Though she’d hardly believe it herself, she is the dearest person in my life. I will stop at nothing to keep her safe.”
She looks surprised, but not as surprised as he, for he meant every word.
TWENTY-THREE
I pace the floor, incapable of staying still. It feels as though it’s been ages since Alexander left. “What could he be doing?” I ask Grandmother. “Why is he ignoring my summons?”
“I’m sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation,” Grandmother says with her implacable calm.
“Suppose something went wrong, though … or I sent him to the wrong place.” My voice is taking on a tremulous quality the more I think of all the devastating possibilities. Since that first moment he didn’t respond, my stomach has been a pit of snakes. It shouldn’t have taken him long to speak to Rob. My instincts tell me something is wrong, and I simply cannot listen to reason.
The Order of the Eternal Sun Page 25
