“Did you say Little Lemon was alive, Mrs. Osbourne?”
“Oh aye, his name is Benjie and he’s got three young-uns of his own now.”
“Then tell me what to do.”
“Funny this is, I always use lemons for fevers. It’s a jest, you see? Little Lemon and lemons for fevers.”
Corrie swallowed hard. “You will make a drink for him, ma’am? Made of lemons?”
“Aye, that’s it. While I’m doing that, you keep an eye on him. If he starts burning up from the inside out, you wash him down with cold cloths.”
“Yes, yes, I can do that.”
Mrs. Osbourne stood there a moment, staring down at James’s still face. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful face on any living soul. That face shouldn’t go to God just yet.”
Corrie could only nod.
The hours blurred, but they did march on, very slowly. James was still alive, so hot that soon both she and Mrs. Osbourne began wiping him down with wet cloths dipped in the coldest water Mr. Osbourne could find. Corrie’s hands cramped, but she didn’t slow. She saw that Mrs. Osbourne was slowing down, and no wonder. “I’ll keep doing it, ma’am. Please, you must rest now.”
But the old woman kept stroking down James’s chest, then when they managed to turn him onto his stomach, she stroked those cloths down his back.
He was so still, so deathly still Corrie couldn’t stand it. Finally, when he was on his back again, he opened his eyes and looked directly into her face.
“Corrie? What’s wrong? You’re not sick, are you?”
“No,” she said, her warm breath on his cheek. “I’m not, but you are.”
“No, that can’t be right-” And then he was gone, eyes closed, his head lolling to the side.
Corrie’s world stopped. She put her face right into his. “James, come back to me, please, come back. I can’t bear this.”
He began twisting and throwing away the covers, then suddenly, he was shivering, his teeth chattering. They piled blankets on top of him, but still it wasn’t enough. The three of them managed to carry him out into the sitting room, and lay him right in front of the fireplace. Within moments, the room was so hot sweat was beading on James’s forehead. Time passed. He calmed. The fever was down, thank God.
Dr. Flimmy arrived with Freddie in the early afternoon. An old man, but if his brain was still working he must know how to save the life of a young man who’d spent the night walking in the cold rain.
She watched Dr. Flimmy ease down on his crickety knees beside James. He lifted his eyelids, peered into his ears. He pulled the blankets down and listened to his chest. He put his ear against James’s throat. He pulled the blankets down to his ankles, unaware that Corrie, who’d never seen a naked man in her life, was standing there, gawking. He hummed while he looked over every inch of James.
“Lawks,” Mrs. Osbourne said, blinking, staring down at James. “Mr. Osbourne never looked like that even when he was a young sprite. Maybe ye’d best not be staring at him, Miss Corrie. Unless you’re his sister, and I know ye’re not. And ye’re not his wife neither, else ye’d have a big sparkler on yer finger, given that he’s a lordship. Ye haven’t told me what ye are and how the two of ye are together. No, I don’t want to know. Now, ye turn yer back and let Dr. Flimmy look behind his knees. That’s what he always did to Little Lemon.”
Corrie didn’t want to turn around. She wanted to stand there and look at James until it became so dark she couldn’t see him, not even his shadow. She supposed that meant the fire would have to go out as well because she knew she could see him if there were embers in the grate. Mrs. Osbourne was frowning at her, hands on her hips. Sighing, Corrie turned around.
“Is he going to be all right, Dr. Flimmy?” When the old man didn’t answer, she turned her head to look at him. He was kneeling close to James, James’s arm was raised, and he was kneading his armpit. She watched him poke and prod, then he leaned over James’s chest and raised his other arm, and the kneading continued. At least he’d pulled the blankets back up to James’s waist, and that was a pity. Dr. Flimmy finally came up onto his knees, calling out, “Mrs. Osbourne, fetch your lemonade. Make it nice and hot. And add some barley water to it. That’s what he needs right now.”
Dr. Flimmy managed to haul himself to his feet, waving Corrie off when she moved to help him. When he was finally standing again, breathing heavily with the effort, he said to her, even though he was looking down at James, “His lordship is very ill. Luckily he’s also young and strong. You and Mrs. Osbourne keep him warm, and when the fever comes again, continue washing him down with the coldest cloths you can stand. Pour lemonade down his throat or he’ll wither up and die. Don’t want that lad to die, I really don’t.”
“I don’t want him to die either,” Corrie said, swallowing hard. “I must get him back to London. There’s trouble, you see, and he needs to be home.”
Dr. Flimmy began rubbing his neck. “You move him and he’ll likely not make it. Keep him here and keep him quiet and warm.”
Corrie’s brain simply seized up. “But Mrs. Osbourne-”
“Aye, Corrie, we’ll see to him. Now, let’s get some of my special lemonade down his throat.”
Surprisingly, at least to Corrie, James drank when they put the cup to his mouth. It took a long time, but she managed to get most of it down him.
He slept, unmoving, the fever gone, until that evening. Corrie was reading a tract on animal husbandry by the light of a single candle. Mr. and Mrs. Osbourne were long in bed, but not Corrie. Sleep was far away for her. Every few minutes, she looked at James. He was still quiet. They’d gotten some chicken broth down his throat. The fire was going strong. He had four blankets tucked in around him.
Suddenly, he moaned, his eyes opened. He looked straight at her. “I was relieving myself and you were watching. I was never so mortified in my life.”
The memory flashed in her mind and she smiled. “I was only eight years old, James, and I really didn’t understand what I was seeing. You scared the devil out of me when you dashed away and got yourself thrown. I thought it was my fault. I felt guilty for years.”
“How did you know about my accident?”
“Your father told me. He said he wasn’t clear on exactly how all that had come about, so I told him everything that had happened.”
James groaned. “What did he say?”
“He was quiet for a moment, then he patted me on the head, told me he’d said exactly the right thing to you. It had calmed you.”
“Am I the only man you’ve seen relieving himself?”
“Yes. Forgive me, James, but I was so very young and I worshipped you to the point of idiocy. I thought the way you did it was quite remarkable and ever so much easier than it was for me.”
He laughed. He actually laughed, low and scratchy that laugh, then his eyes closed and his head fell to the side.
“James!”
She was on her knees over him, her palm on his forehead. No fever, thank God. She sat back on her heels and stared down at him. When he began muttering, she nearly fell over.
It didn’t make much sense, but she knew he was worried. He muttered about his father and the man who’d called himself Douglas Sherbrooke. Then he spoke of the Andromeda constellation in the northern sky, of the accident Jason had had when he was ten years old, falling from the hayloft. Then he mentioned her name, and how she wouldn’t leave him alone, how she was always there underfoot, and it was true, she was cute as a button, like his father said. The only time he muttered about wanting her in another galaxy was when he turned twelve and wanted to kiss girls. Corrie remembered he’d became quite good at escaping her.
Corrie came down beside him, and pressed herself to his side. She stroked her hand over his chest, his throat, his face. “James, it’s all right. I’m here. I won’t leave you. Everything will be all right, I swear it to you.”
He stopped muttering. She believed that he slept.
Corrie counted James’s money.
There was enough. She spoke to Mrs. Osbourne, then gave the money and directions to the Sherbrooke London town house to an excited Freddie. The earl and countess were in Paris, but Jason was there. He’d be here as soon as he could. There was nothing more she could do but wait.
The next days passed with terrifying slowness. James was delirious, then he was in a stupor, lying so still she thought several times that he’d died. Corrie prayed until she was out of words, and then she prayed feelings, swearing to God that she would become an excellent person if only He would spare James.
There was no sign of Freddie.
She and Mrs. Osbourne rubbed James down with cold wet cloths until their hands cramped and turned blue and wrinkled. Dr. Flimmy came once again, examined James’s armpits at greater length this time, and announced that his lordship was improving.
Corrie didn’t understand this, but she’d grab at any straw. “Will he live, sir?”
“He’s better, miss, but will he live?” He didn’t answer his own question, accepted a pound note Corrie gave him from James’s coat pocket, drank a cup of warm milk, and allowed Mr. Osbourne to take him back home, since there was still no sign of Freddie. Something must have happened to him, Corrie knew it. Mrs. Osbourne walked around, tight-lipped, shaking her head. It was interesting though how she smiled whenever she looked at James.
The next afternoon, Corrie fell asleep, her head on James’s shoulder, when a loud moo woke her. She jerked up, so exhausted that it took her a moment to realize that there really was a cow standing in the open doorway. She heard men’s voices from just outside.
Was it Dr. Flimmy? No, probably neighbors here to buy milk. She placed her palm on James’s forehead. He was cool to the touch. She nearly wept with relief. The cow mooed again. She came up on her knees when Douglas Sherbrooke appeared in the doorway, right in front of the cow.
If it had been God standing there, his sight adjusting to the dim interior, she wouldn’t have been more ecstatic.
“Sir!” She dashed to him, throwing herself in his arms. “You’re here! I thought you were in Paris, but you’re not. You’re really here. Thank God, thank God. I thought Freddie had gotten himself lost. I thought maybe someone had killed him.”
Douglas held her close, patted her back. “It’s all right, Corrie. How is James?”
She heard the fear in his voice, and leaned back, smiling up at him. “The fever broke. He’s going to be all right.”
She stepped away and walked back to where James lay in front of the fireplace, his bed for the past three days.
Douglas dropped to his knees beside his boy. He studied the heavy beard on his face, the pallor of his skin, the hollowness of his cheeks.
He placed his palm on his son’s forehead. Nice and cool. He sat back on his heels. “Thank God.”
“James!”
Jason dashed through the front door, smacked his head on the lintel, and nearly knocked himself out.
“Dammit, Jason, don’t make me worry about both of you.”
Jason, rubbing his head, cursing, weaved slightly as he walked to where his brother slept. “It’s very hot in here.”
“Yes,” Corrie said. “It’s supposed to be. He’s had the fever, been so cold-” She swallowed, stared at Douglas, then at Jason, and burst into tears.
It was Jason who drew her against him, stroking her back, patting her head. “That dress is a fright, Corrie,” he said against her temple.
She sniffled, swallowed, and managed a small smile as she looked up at him. “It’s been so long, and I knew he was going to die, and I didn’t know what to do. And I sent Freddie off to London, to your house, but he never came back and-” She sniffled, then grinned up at Jason. “He’s going to live. The fever’s gone.”
“Yes, thank God and your excellent nursing,” Douglas said. “Freddie arrived this morning, not twelve hours after Alex and I did. He’d gotten himself lost and robbed. When he came to the front door, Willicombe nearly fainted at the sight of him. All Freddie could say before he collapsed was ‘James’.”
“Is Freddie all right now?”
Jason nodded. He looked toward his brother, nearly jumped out of his skin when Mrs. Osbourne shrieked, “Lawks and Lordie! There are two of ye. Mr. Osbourne, come and look at this. There are two beautiful lads, not just one.” And she opened the door from the kitchen back to the barn and disappeared.
Corrie said, “Mrs. Osbourne has very much enjoyed taking care of James, particularly when it came to washing him down with wet cold cloths. It isn’t just his face she admires.” Then she giggled, actually giggled. She stared up at Jason.
He was grinning. “I’m sure James was delighted to please Mrs. Osbourne.”
James moaned and opened his eyes to see his father looking down at him.
“Hello, sir. Why aren’t you in Paris?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DOUGLAS SHERBROOKE WAS so relieved, so very thankful, that he could only stare down at his son as he stroked his hand over the thick black stubble on his face, and finally accept in his gut that he was going to be all right. It did worry him that James’s eyes were still a bit glazed, a bit unfocused, but he knew that would change, James just needed time and rest. He leaned down and said, “Your mother sends her love. I nearly had to tie her up to keep her from coming with us, but I knew, as did she, that you didn’t need the both of us hovering around you.
“The fact is, we never got to Paris. Your mother claims the Virgin Bride came wafting into our bedchamber in Rouen, said you were in danger. We just arrived back in London last night.”
“They kidnapped me to get to you, sir.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s true, but I know in my gut that this is more complicated than we thought. There were three men who took you?”
“Yes. Augie is their leader, Ben and Billy the other two, who weren’t really very smart. They were from London, which means that they’ve got to be known. Just maybe Remie will find out all about them. Willicombe can send him into the stews and down to the docks to hire more lads to find out what this is all about.”
“I’ll pass that along as soon as we get back to London. Actually, by now I think that all of London is looking for you and Corrie. Ah, James, I recognize that look-you’re hungry, aren’t you?”
James thought about it for a moment. “Yes, I could eat one of those damned mooing cows. They moo all the time, sir. I swear I could hear them mooing in the middle of the night.” He saw Jason with his arm around Corrie. “Jase, I’m glad you came. But I don’t understand how-”
Jason said, “We’ll tell you all about it after you’ve had something to eat. Where is Mrs. Osbourne?”
To Corrie’s surprise, Mrs. Osbourne was standing in the door of the sitting room, knotting her apron in her veiny old hands, looking-well, looking utterly intimidated. Corrie couldn’t blame her. Douglas Sherbrooke standing in the small sitting room was surely akin to a cardinal standing in the village church. Douglas, not stupid, rose and smiled at Mrs. Osbourne. He walked to her, took one of her hands as gently as he would take a duchess’s and raised it to his lips, just as James had done. “Mrs. Osbourne, my wife and I are very grateful for your kindness.”
“Oh, sir. Oh, dear, oh dear, yer lordship, it wasn’t much of anything, now was it, sir? Would ye look at me, all dressed in this old apron, with this even older gown beneath it, but I couldn’t take my gown away from Corrie, now could I, because she was wearing a ball gown that was all ripped up, really quite a mess, it was. Why I-”
“You look charming, Mrs. Osbourne. I would like to thank you for taking care of my son and his friend.”
Friend? James, who had just drawn a nice deep breath, choked. Well, he supposed Corrie was a friend, but still, to hear it said that way-he coughed again. Corrie went immediately and dropped to her knees beside him, raised his head, and gave him lemonade to drink.
Jason looked at the two of them. It was obvious that she’d done this many times since James had become ill, so many times tha
t it looked utterly natural. As for Douglas, he became very still. Then, slowly, he nodded.
“Och, my little Corrie, what a sweetie she is. Just this morning Elden was showing her how to milk old Janie, who gives the sweetest milk within fifty miles.”
James swallowed the lemonade, closed his eyes a moment, and said, “Did you really milk old Janie?”
“I tried. I haven’t quite got the knack of it yet.”
“Would yer lordship like a cup of tea? And yer other boy as well?” She stood there, looking from Jason to James, shaking her head. “Two such beautiful young men in my sitting room. No one will believe it. And now a lordship as well, not that yer not beautiful, my lord, it’s just that these two young gentlemen would make the angels weep.”
“Trust me, Mrs. Osbourne, they’ve made me weep as well upon occasion.”
James said loudly, “Corrie is the daughter of a viscount.”
“Och, so what does that make ye, Corrie?”
Corrie rolled her eyes. “It makes me the girl who tried to milk old Janie, nothing more, Mrs. Osbourne.”
Mrs. Osbourne wheezed with laughter, caught herself, and choked out, “I have real proper tea, my lord. James here has drunk two bucketfuls of lemonade, Corrie pouring it down his lovely gullet.”
“Tea would be very nice, thank you, Mrs. Osbourne.” Douglas turned back to James, picked up his hand, to touch him, to feel the life in him. “We brought a carriage. It’s a good two hours back to London. How do you feel about that, James?”
“This floor is very hard, sir. When I complained, Corrie tried to lift me up to put more blankets underneath me. When that didn’t work, she wanted me to lift my rump so she could slide the blankets in, but I swear to you I couldn’t get any part of me off the floor.”
Corrie said, grinning down at him, “So I rolled him over, slid in half the blankets, then rolled him the other way. The squabs in your carriage are soft as a bed, sir. James will think he’s floating on clouds.”
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