“I’ll get Mrs. Block,” Chloe said and ran upstairs to the servants’ floor. The doors were all closed. Which one was it? She didn’t even know if she was in the men’s or women’s side. She knocked on a door and a woman with puffy eyes blinked at her.
“Where is Mrs. Block’s room?”
The maid pointed Chloe down the hall. She pounded on the door a few times until it cracked open. Mrs. Block got one look at her and was immediately alert.
“What is it?”
“It’s Josephine. She’s very sick.”
Mrs. Block disappeared behind the door and reappeared in a heavy robe and slippers.
“She spent the night in my room,” Chloe said as they headed up the hall. “She was missing her mother and wanted to stay with me. And then she woke up, vomiting, and complaining of stomach pains.”
“Fever?”
“I don’t think so. She was healthy earlier this evening. She’s in a lot of pain. She’s holding her stomach and crying.”
Mrs. Block sped up and they descended the stairs and turned toward Chloe’s room. Josephine was now lying on her side beside the basin, breathing, but either asleep or unconscious. Mrs. Block rushed to her side and lifted her upper body. The back of Josephine’s nightgown was smeared with something dark and wet and a puddle spread out beneath her. The smell was unmistakable. The girl had lost control of her bowels.
“It looks like she vomited up her whole supper,” said Mrs. Block. “I want you to rouse Alexander or Ian and get them to go fetch the doctor. It should be Ian.” She looked up. “Now. Don’t just stand there!” she barked. She looked at Josephine with undisguised fear.
Chloe ran to Ian’s door and pounded. She was about to open it and shake Ian awake when the door flew open.
“What is it?”
“Josephine. She’s sick. We need to get the doctor.”
She followed him to her room, and by the time she had come up behind him, he had already taken in the scene.
“Get the doctor,” said Mrs. Block, cradling the small body against her own. “Something is very wrong.”
“Chloe!” cried Ian, his face full of anger and terror. “Go to the stable and get Mr. James to get the carriage ready. Tell him we’re taking her to Doctor Fleming.”
He swept Josephine into his arms and strode into the hallway.
“Why don’t you bring Alexander along for help?” Mrs. Block asked him.
“He was no help to her mother when she was alive. Why would he help her daughter?”
Chloe rushed past them, down the stairs and into the kitchen. She grabbed a lantern and hurried out the back of the house toward the stables. The back lawn was cold on her feet, and as she ran past the brick border into the rougher area of the yard, twigs and gravel stabbed her feet with every step. She did not slow. She knew nothing about medicine, but if Mrs. Block was frightened, then Josephine was in grave danger.
The stable was dark and the horses stirred and snorted at her approach. At the back of the stable was a closed door. She pounded on it until Mr. James pulled it open, allowing a crack of light to pierce the stable from his room. He was wearing nothing but flannel pajama bottoms and his chest was dark with hair. Flustered, Chloe looked away.
“What is it?” He reached for his shirt, which seemed to be flung over some piece of furniture next to the door.
“Get the carriage right away. The little girl is sick. No time for the doctor to come so we need the carriage.”
He grunted and pulled a horse from its stall.
“Do you need any help?” Chloe asked. She knew little about horses, but she could follow instructions.
“Nah. Just get back to the house. Take that,” he said and pointed to an oversized black coat that hung on a hook next to his bedroom door. It smelled of animals and hay. She gratefully pulled it on and ran back to the house.
In the kitchen, Ian was holding Josephine in his lap near the fire and Mrs. Block was removing a large bowl from the table and replacing it with a smaller one. She placed the large bowl in the sink and Chloe saw the thin, watery vomit collected in the bottom of it. Whatever the girl had eaten, it was out of her system now. She couldn’t possibly have anything left in her stomach. They had wrapped Josephine in a woolen blanket and she was conscious again, though her lips were white. Her breathing was more labored now but her crying had stopped. Except for her breathing, she sat as still as a statue, her face blank and her eyes glassy and hollow-looking.
“He’ll be here soon,” Chloe said.
“I want Mummy.”
“There, there,” Ian soothed. He carried Josephine to the window and Chloe leaned over to see Mr. James’s progress. The carriage was nearly ready and two lanterns glowed from the front of it.
“It’s time,” Ian said.
“Mummy!” Josephine moaned and reached her arms toward Chloe.
“I’m not your mummy, darling,” she said as gently as she could.
“Mummy! I want Mummy!” she yelled, her face reddening with effort. She squirmed in Ian’s arms and tried to pull herself free.
“Mummy’s coming,” said Ian, looking at Chloe pointedly and jerking his head toward the back door. The lanterns were moving toward them now and the horses’ hooves crunched the gravel. Mr. James leaped from the driver’s seat and opened the carriage door. Chloe climbed in first, followed by Ian with his charge.
Mrs. Block said something into Ian’s ear as Mr. James climbed back into the driver’s seat and then she slammed the door shut and stepped back from the carriage. The horses started at the sharp sound, jolting the carriage forward and throwing Chloe against the seat back. Josephine’s face was white in the darkness, her eyes wide and alert.
“Uncle Ian, I want to sit with Mummy,” she said.
Chloe nodded to Ian and he transferred the girl to her lap. Josephine’s body reeked of vomit and excrement, but she cradled her close. A few minute later, the girl felt too still. Chloe put her hand against her side to check her respiration. She was breathing, but asleep or unconscious again.
“She’s out,” Chloe said quietly and Ian’s face relaxed. He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair.
“What do you think it is?” Chloe asked.
“I have no idea,” he said. “But Doctor Fleming will. He’s good.”
The carriage jolted sickeningly over the rough road and threw her back again. Mr. James was driving too fast. Good.
“Here,” Ian said, holding out his arms.
Chloe passed Josephine over. “Do I look like her mother?”
“A bit.”
Something stirred in the back of Chloe’s mind.
“Was she a housemaid? Yours?”
“Ours, yes.”
Chloe tried to hold her face expressionless as she glanced out the window. The moor was covered in mist and scarcely lit by white moonlight. So Ian had a child with a maid. And now he had the product of that encounter lying near dead in his arms. Something didn’t seem right about it though. There was Alexander’s reaction to the girl and Ian’s almost smug behavior at supper. Ian was watching her. She met his eyes and pulled her mouth all the way closed, setting her jaw.
“Alexander’s?” she asked.
“Pardon?”
“She’s your brother’s child?”
He did not answer, but checked on Josephine and gazed out the window.
“But why …” The carriage turned. They were getting closer to town now.
Ian was the more responsible brother. So she understood why he would support the girl’s mother, even though he was in no way responsible for the situation. But why would he claim the child as his own?
Beatrice. Ian would want to protect Beatrice from the pain of having her husband’s illegitimate child acknowledged, and eventually living with her. He had decided to bear the whispers and shame to protect her.
“Have you been supporting her mother all these years?”
“Yes, but it hasn’t been that much really. It was the least I c
ould do to try to set things right.”
“Is this the first time this has happened?” It was a dangerous question, but something about the darkness and the closeness of death made her bold.
“To Alexander, yes.” He paused. “Well, as far as I know. If Robert ever does anything like it—” He shook his head.
“And you did it for Beatrice.”
He did not answer. The carriage was nearing the town and Ian watched anxiously out the window as they passed through. When they reached their destination, he flung the door open and strode up the narrow walkway to a small but neatly kept house. After pounding on the door, a light came on inside and the door cracked open revealing a thin woman with a narrow face.
“I’ll fetch the doctor,” she stated, opening the door wide without waiting for Ian to explain. Josephine mumbled in her sleep and then was still. Chloe carried her into the house.
“Any idea what it is?” A voice came from the dark stairway as Doctor Fleming thumped down the steps.
“No, she just started having stomach pains in the night,” answered Ian.
The doctor muttered something as he examined the girl.
“Vomiting and soiling herself, I see,” he said. “Has she been insensible the entire time?”
“No, she wakes and sleeps on and off. What is it?” said Ian.
“Can’t say yet.” He took her pulse, felt her forehead and listened to her breathing. “Let’s get her upstairs into a bed. My wife will help you bathe her and give her some fresh garments.”
Ian carried Josephine upstairs and the doctor’s wife told them she would be back shortly. As Chloe was about to pull off the soiled nightgown, Josephine opened her eyes.
“It’s time for Ian to be here,” she mumbled. “Time for Mummy to leave.”
“We’re here, sweetheart,” Ian said.
“That’s better,” she said, grimacing. “I’m cold but I need to—”
She cried out and clutched her stomach. Her torso stiffened and relaxed as she dry heaved.
“No, Mummy.” She flashed her eyes on Chloe and reached out her hands.
She gathered Josephine into her arms as the girl heaved and lost bowel control again. She was whimpering weakly, a small sound, like a pup. Her head fell back and she lost consciousness again. Chloe looked helplessly to Ian. He was leaning against the window frame, holding the heavy curtain with one hand and looking out into the blackness.
The doctor’s wife opened the door and brought fresh nightclothes for Josephine and a cup with a spoon sticking out. She unfolded a tiny paper square, poured powder into the cup and stirred. The clinking of the spoon on the cup and the wind at the window were the only sounds.
“When she wakes again, see if she will drink this,” she said. “We think perhaps she ate something rotten and her body is trying to rid itself of the toxin. Do you know what she ate today?”
Ian took a deep breath. “Well, for lunch, she had bread with cheese, and for supper, the housekeeper gave her—”
“Soup. Oh God. Soup,” Chloe said. “Ambrose and Josephine had the same soup tonight for supper. I need to get home. Now.”
Josephine was so small and pale. She was breathing, but shallowly. It was hard to tell in the low light, but her lips and hands appeared to have a dark tinge.
“Go,” said Ian. “I have her.”
He took Josephine into his arms and Chloe rose. Her nightgown and borrowed coat were covered in foul things, but it didn’t matter. The doctor’s wife rushed down the stairs calling to Mr. James. Ian held Josephine tenderly, and his eyes met Chloe’s. There was nothing to say.
“I’ll tell the doctor to send someone to the house,” called Ian as Chloe raced down the stairs. By the time she reached the front door, Mr. James was already holding the carriage door open for her. She threw herself inside and sent up a desperate prayer as the driver climbed up and the carriage jerked forward.
Chapter 35
As the carriage pulled up to the house, the door burst open and Mrs. Block flew out to meet them. She was wringing her nightcap. The light from the swinging lanterns on the front of the carriage made her look as if she had aged a decade. She said a few words to the driver and took Chloe’s arm the moment she opened the carriage door.
“We found Mr. Sullivan on the floor after you left. He had the basin, just as Josephine did. And he was in the same horrible condition. We got him into the bed and he’s asleep now.”
They rushed inside. The gaslights in the house were on, but dimly. A few servants were up, and there were noises from the kitchen.
“How is Josephine?” asked Mrs. Block.
“She’s fading in and out of consciousness, just as before,” Chloe said as they climbed the stairs. “She is still in terrible pain. But she had some medicine just before I left. The doctor suspects she ate something bad.”
Chloe couldn’t tell for certain in the low light of the upper hall, but the pink in Mrs. Block’s cheeks seemed to vanish and her hand flew to her mouth.
“They both had my soup and bread.”
Chloe moved past her and entered Ambrose’s room. The covers were pulled up to his chest and his body was relaxed in sleep. He looked peaceful, but the stench of vomit and excrement told a darker story.
“He was lying over by the window,” Mrs. Block said from behind her. “I had some of the girls clean up a bit in here, but we didn’t change him. We didn’t want to disturb him further and the doctor was sent for and we didn’t know if we ought to and—”
“We can change him in a little while.”
“We sent for the doctor as soon as we saw him. If Doctor Fleming is treating Josephine, he’ll send his assistant, young Doctor Michaels.”
If Doctor Fleming had sent for his assistant as she left, Chloe reflected, help could not be too far behind. She willed the man to ride fast.
She sat at the edge of the bed and took Ambrose’s hand. It was cool and limp, but after a minute, his fingers curled weakly around hers. His eyelids fluttered and he muttered something.
“What is it, love?” she said and leaned closer.
His lips moved, but she couldn’t make anything out. She wondered how much he could understand. Perhaps his mind was still alert.
“It looks like you ate something rotten and your body is expelling the toxin. A doctor is on his way.”
His eyes fluttered open and his face contorted in agony. He wrapped his arms around his middle and rolled onto his side, toward her. Chloe dropped to her knees beside the bed and pressed her cheek to his, putting her arm around his shoulder.
“I know it hurts,” she whispered. “The doctor will bring something. He’ll be here soon.”
“What was it?” Ambrose groaned. “What toxin?”
Even in such distress, he was a scientist.
“We don’t know. It was something in the soup.”
She felt his head nod against her cheek and he seemed to relax. She stayed there for a minute until his breathing slowed, and then she rose and pulled the blanket up over his shoulders.
Mrs. Block dragged a chair to the side of the bed. “I can stay with him if you want to get cleaned up.”
Chloe hesitated. Ambrose needed her and she did not want to leave him.
“There’s nothing you can do right now,” said Mrs. Block in a tone that she probably used with underlings. “And you are more use to him if you are out of those filthy clothes. I promise to yell for you if anything changes. And the doctor will be here any moment.”
Mrs. Block was right, of course. Chloe went into her room and threw the filthy clothing into a pile on the floor. One of the maids would collect it eventually, either for the laundry or, more likely, the refuse bin. Armed with a bar of soap, a basin and a jug of water, she cleaned herself up as best she could. Donning a simple dress that she could get on without Miss Haynes’s assistance, she pulled her hair into a messy knot and returned to her place by Ambrose’s side. He was still unconscious.
She heard the sturdy oak of
the front door bang shut below, followed by hurried talking on the stairs. She rose and opened the bedroom door. A young man with a black physician’s bag nodded to her and went to Ambrose’s side. He introduced himself as Doctor Michaels and pulled back the covers to begin his examination.
“Would you mind opening the window a crack?” he said, absently.
She obliged. The night air was chilly and moist, but fresh. The doctor examined Ambrose’s throat and ears, took his pulse and temperature and listened to his breathing. Chloe tried not to hover. She always found such interruptions distracting when trying to diagnose a mechanical problem.
The doctor pulled the covers back over Ambrose and stepped back. “Please ring for a servant to bring some warm water, fresh sheets and fresh nightclothes. We need to get him cleaned up.”
“Of course.” Chloe rang for a servant. “Do you think he is likely to soil himself again?”
“Yes. But it will be less and less as time goes on, as his body rids itself of the toxin. That’s if my guess is right.”
“And what is your guess?”
“Something rotten in the soup. Not in the bread, as the whole family ate that. But only Mr. Sullivan and the little girl ate the soup, correct?”
“As far as I know. But what in the soup would cause this?”
“I don’t know. I asked Mrs. Block to tell me everything that was in it. She’s in the kitchen right now, gathering everything so I can have a look. After we get your husband tended to, I will speak to her and learn what I can.”
Hounds of Autumn Page 21
