by Rose Pearson
Gideon wanted to refuse at once, the shame of being driven through London by a woman whilst he sat inside screaming at his mind – but then the memory of his sister, white-faced as she begged him to go in search of help – began to tear at him. “You will freeze,” he muttered, passing one hand over his eyes as any attempt to protest began to fall away. “You only have your shawl and –”
“Then may I have your coat?”
Blinking furiously, Gideon tried to answer but found the words dying in his throat. This lady was unlike any other he had met before, her lack of propriety breath-taking and yet refreshing in equal measure.
“May I?” she asked again, a trifle more gently. “It is very cold and if we are to make good time, I should not like to have to stop simply to warm up my frozen fingers – although I am quite used to those, I’m afraid.”
Somehow, Gideon found himself shrugging out of his jacket and handing it to her, not quite sure what he was doing or why. Miss Josephine took it from him with a glad smile, leaving him standing in just his shirt and waistcoat.
“You’d best get into the carriage, my lord,” Miss Josephine murmured, her small frame now wrapped in his coat, which was much too big for her. “Do excuse me.”
As he stood there, still staring at her, she climbed deftly up into the driver’s seat and took up the reins.
“My lord?”
Stammering for a moment, Gideon quickly gave her some directions and then clambered inside, sitting back against the velvet seat as he pulled the door closed. For a moment, he thought that Miss Josephine too would fail to have the horses moving but, almost as soon as he was comfortably seated, the crack of the reins was heard and the carriage immediately began to rumble away.
Closing his eyes, Gideon pushed away the last of his embarrassment and tried to concentrate on the fact that he would at least be returning to his estate with someone to help. He was still not quite sure what Miss Josephine could do but he had to hope that she had gleaned a good deal of knowledge from working with Doctor Thomas. He knew full well that this fever had already claimed a good many lives, both from the wealthy and from the poor. All he could do was pray that his mother would be spared and that Miss Josephine’s ministrations would be effective. He had no other hope than her.
Chapter Seven
Josephine let go the reins, her fingers stiff and sore. She had not wanted to complain, knowing just how desperate Lord Dunstable was to return home. In addition, she had known that to delay would mean that Lady Dunstable could become all the worse, for every minute was precious.
“Here, let me help you.”
She looked down from the driver’s seat to see Lord Dunstable holding out his arms to her, wanting to help her down. For a moment, she wanted to refuse, to tell him that she could manage quite well on her own, but that would be foolish when she felt as though she were entirely frozen in her seat.
“You are cold,” he said, his blue eyes filled with concern. Josephine felt her heart lift with warmth for a moment, feeling as though she meant something to him – only to realize that his concern for her wellbeing was simply due to his worry for his mother. If she was not well enough to care for Lady Dunstable, then he would be entirely alone.
“Yes, a little,” she muttered, leaning forward and managing to place her cold hands on his shoulders. She felt her breath catch as his strong arms lifted her down, hating herself for her reaction to being so close to a handsome gentleman.
“Careful, there!” he exclaimed, as her knees buckled underneath her. “Goodness, Miss Josephine, you have almost done yourself in.”
“I wanted to reach her as soon as possible,” she said, gently, looking up into his face. “I can understand the fear that swirls about you.”
His expression hardened for a moment and she thought he might turn away from her but, instead, he let out a long breath and nodded. “Thank you, Miss Josephine. That does bring me a little comfort.” Supporting her still, he turned towards the house. “I’m afraid we will not be greeted by anyone – the staff are all unwell or have been sent away until the fever leaves my estate. If you can come inside, I will make sure to fetch us both some refreshments.”
She leaned on his arm but felt warmth slowly returning to her limbs as they began to walk, her bones sore from her driving. “Your mother first, of course.”
Lord Dunstable said nothing for a moment, glancing down at her with gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you, Miss Josephine.”
“Miss Francine Peters, my sister.”
Josephine looked towards her, having had her gaze roving around the tall ceilings in astonishment, to see a tall, brown-haired young lady hurrying towards her – only to stumble as she did so.
Lord Dunstable let go of Josephine’s arm at once and hurried towards his sister, leaving Josephine to catch up.
“Are you quite all right, Francine?” he asked, hoarsely, as the young lady put one hand to her chest. “Is Mama.....?”
“Mama is waiting for you,” Miss Peters replied, her eyes drifting towards Josephine who immediately became concerned over the lady’s pallor. “She is still in her bed and has been burning with fever for some days.”
Josephine began to move forward at once, purpose driving her. “I will need a bowl and a few cloths,” she said firmly, still a little worried over Miss Peter’s pale face. “And some water.”
Lord Dunstable nodded. “Of course. Let me take Francine – oh, Jones!”
Josephine saw a man approaching them, who, from his dress, she presumed to be the butler.
“This is Miss Josephine Noe,” Lord Dunstable began, indicating Josephine with one hand. “She is come to help Mama – and the others, also.”
Miss Peter’s shot a doubtful look in Josephine’s direction, whilst the butler appeared more than relieved.
“A woman?” Miss Peters asked, sounding quite surprised. “A woman is a doctor?”
Josephine did not take offense, knowing precisely why Miss Peters appeared so astonished. “I have been working with Doctor Thomas back in London, in Smithfield Market,” she replied, calmly. “I may not be a doctor, Miss Peters, but I can assure you that I know everything that is to be done.” Pausing for a moment, she considered what to say before continuing. “The fever is a difficult disease to treat, my lady. I will do all I can for your mother and for your staff also.”
Miss Peters eyes filled with tears. “So you are not a doctor.” She turned accusing eyes onto her brother, who reached for her hand. “Whatever are we to do, Dunstable?”
Josephine began to move past Miss Peters, having very little time to hear the lady complain and cry over the fact that Josephine was not, in fact, a doctor. The butler, who did not seem to have any concerns in the slightest, hurried her along the corridor.
“We must trust her, Francine,” Josephine heard Lord Dunstable say, as she walked away. “I trust her. She knows what to do. I heard it from Doctor Thomas himself. Can you not be glad that we have someone here to help us? Or would you prefer I get the old village doctor and allow him to bleed our mother until she faints?”
A little relieved that at least Lord Dunstable was glad of her presence here, although it had taken him some time to trust she could do as good a job as Doctor Thomas, Josephine walked into a gloomy bedchamber where Lady Dunstable lay.
“There are staff ill also, you say?” she asked, looking up at the butler.
“Jones,” he said, introducing himself. “Yes, there are. We have – I mean, we had – three footmen desperately ill. One, I’m afraid, has been lost to the illness.”
Josephine’s gut twisted.
“The other two are much the same,” the butler continued with a heavy sigh. “There is a maid also and between the two of us, we have continued to keep the household running as best we can.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And neither of you are suffering?”
Jones shook his head. “No, miss. Not as yet. I had the fever before, you see, and it doesn’t seem to want to return to me.”
A small smile tugged at Josephine’s lips. “Nor me,” she replied soberly, thinking of how lucky she was to have lived through the fever. “Then let me see to Lady Dunstable and then I will come below stairs.”
The butler nodded, one hand reaching for her shoulder. “I am very glad you have come, Miss Josephine,” he said, wretchedness in his voice. “I have been quite lost these last few days.”
She smiled at him gently, seeing the worry in his eyes and knowing just how troubled he was. “Of course. I quite understand. You need not worry any longer. Please, a bowl, fresh cloths, and some water. As cold as you can get it.”
He nodded, shot a glance to the prone form of Lady Dunstable and exited the room, leaving Josephine alone for a minute or two. She did not want to move forward to examine the lady until Lord Dunstable and his sister arrived but was already concerned by the musty air that sank into her lungs every time she took a breath.
“Miss Josephine.”
Turning, Josephine saw Miss Peters come into the room to join her, a somewhat guilty expression on her face.
“I do apologize,” she said, quietly, as Josephine listened in surprise. “I should have trusted that my brother did not bring someone back with him who would not know what to do.” Miss Peters clasped her hands in front of her and bit her lip, her eyes still glassy. “I have been ever so worried.”
Josephine nodded. “You have been alone with your mother some days, I understand,” she said, gently. “I am here to help you as best I can. I have seen much sickness recently; Miss Peters and I know what to do to try and help.”
Miss Peters shot her a sharp look. “Try?”
A sad smile crossed Josephine’s face. She could not give Miss Peters false hope, not when she knew that the fever could be stronger than anything she could put against it. “I will be honest with you, Miss Peters. Scarlet fever is strong. It has taken many lives. I will do all I can for your mother, just as Doctor Thomas showed me. She is strong, your brother tells me, and that is in her favor.” Reaching for Miss Peters hand, Josephine saw tears begin to run down Miss Peters face. “You are tired also, I think. You will need to rest.”
“I will rest when my mother is better,” Miss Peters replied, fiercely. “I cannot let her die. I – I love her.”
Josephine felt a stab of pain, recalling just how much she had loved her own parents and how that love had not prevented them from being taken from her. “Of course,” she managed to say, dropping Miss Peters hand. “Then, with your permission, I will examine her.”
Miss Peters nodded. “Of course.”
Josephine, however, did not first go to the lady in the bed but rather went to the window and drew back the drapes. The bright light made Miss Peters exclaim aloud but that did not stop Josephine. She pulled open the window, drawing in a full breath of fresh, clean air, so different to the London smog.
“But – is that not dangerous?” Miss Peters exclaimed, hurrying towards Josephine as though to shut the window again. “Surely my mother required darkness in order to rest.”
Josephine stood directly in front of the window, putting her hands on her hips and looking at Miss Peters firmly in the eye. “No, my lady. Your mother requires fresh air and light.” She recalled the gloominess of the Devil’s basement and a shudder ran all through her. “I have seen the stench of death, Miss Peters, and I will not allow it to pervade here. Trust me, my lady. I know what your mother requires.”
“Francine.”
Miss Peters turned her head just as Lord Dunstable walked into the room, a tray in his hand.
“Francine, allow Miss Josephine to do what she thinks is best,” Lord Dunstable said quietly, but in a voice that rang with firmness. “Come now, sit down by the fire. I have brought us all some tea.”
Josephine’s stomach rang hollowly at the sight of the biscuits and other small delicacies that lay on the tray in front of her, remembering how the butler had told her of the one kitchen maid that was left to run the house and finding herself incredibly grateful for the woman. “I must see to your mother first,” she said, softly. “The butler is returning with what I require.” A sudden thought hit her and she frowned. “Oh, but I have left my bag of things in the carriage.”
Lord Dunstable set down the tray and nodded. “I will get it for you, Miss Josephine. Do excuse me. Francine, pour the tea and do take a drink. You look quite done in.”
Miss Peters gave her brother a wan smile and set about doing what she had been asked, all the while casting suspicious glances towards Josephine. Josephine ignored this and pressed her hand against Lady Dunstable’s forehead, feeling the heat that practically emanated from her. Her face was flushed with a paleness about the lady’s lips and her skin appeared red and blotchy. Tossing from side to side, her fingers fluttered towards her throat, clearly in agitation. She was in a nightgown which allowed Josephine to examine her thoroughly, although there was very little need to do so given that it was more than apparent she had the very same fever that Josephine had been treating back in London.
“She has scarlet fever, Miss Peters,” Josephine murmured, not turning her head. “I will use a mixture of vinegar and feverfew to bring down her temperature and she will have Doctor Thomas’ medicine given to her regularly. In addition, I will make her broth and give it to her often in order to keep up her strength.” A slight frown caught her brow. “How long has she been unwell, Miss Peters?” Doctor Thomas had stated that after the ninth day, patients had a much greater chance of improving and it was this that caught at Josephine’s mind.
“Miss Peters?”
There came no response from the lady and, turning her head, Josephine saw with alarm that Miss Peters was now sitting in her chair with her head lolling back behind her.
“Miss Peters!”
Immediately, Josephine was by Miss Peters’ side, her concern growing with every moment. The young lady had done a remarkable job to care for her mother alone but now it was obvious just how much of a toll it had taken on her. Pressing one hand gently to Miss Peters forehead, Josephine felt her heart plummet. Miss Peters was burning up.
“Miss Josephine, here are the things you require – oh!” Jones set down the tray by Lady Dunstable’s bed before hurrying over to where Josephine stood by Miss Peters, his expression anxious.
“Is she unwell?”
“I think so,” Josephine replied, grimly. “Jones, she will need to be taken to her bedchamber. And I will require another tray of precisely the same thing.”
Jones nodded, looking a little concerned. “Of course, it is just that I do not think I can carry her alone.”
Josephine moved towards Lady Dunstable, feeling a little overwhelmed. She now had not one noble lady under her care, but two. “I am sure Lord Dunstable will be able to help you, Jones. I must see to Lady Dunstable for the moment.”
Jones muttered something under his breath and looked at Miss Peters helplessly. Unable to do anything else, Josephine dabbed the cloth in water and ran it lightly over Lady Dunstable’s forehead, waiting for Lord Dunstable to reappear with her belongings.
“Here you are, Miss Josephine.”
She glanced up to see Lord Dunstable stop dead as he walked into the room, her cotton bag in his hand.
“Miss Peters is unwell,” Jones murmured, as Lord Dunstable’s face drained of color. “We are to take her to her bedchamber.”
Lord Dunstable’s gaze slowly traveled towards Josephine, who saw a slow-growing terror grow in his eyes. His mother was ill, and now so was his sister. The fear of losing them both was growing with every moment.
“The bag, my lord,” she murmured, seeing him jump slightly before tentatively handing her the bag.
“What can I do?” he asked, hoarsely.
Josephine’s heart clenched with sympathy. “Take your sister to her bedchamber,” she replied, kindly. “I will come along to see her in a moment. Jones, might you ask the kitchen maid to make up some broth?”
The butler nodded. “Of co
urse. Shall we, my lord?”
Under Josephine’s watchful eye, Lord Dunstable and the butler took the limp form of Miss Peters out of the room, leaving her alone with Lady Dunstable.
Josephine quickly made up a mixture of water, vinegar and feverfew and placed a cloth within the bowl, letting it soak for a moment before wringing it out. Proceeding to gently dab at Lady Dunstable’s face and neck, she saw the lady draw in a long breath, her eyelids fluttering for a moment.
Lady Dunstable was terribly unwell.
The medicine Doctor Thomas had given her was quickly administered to the lady, with Josephine noting what time it had been given so that she could give the next dose in due course.
“Miss Josephine.”
Lord Dunstable had returned, his face now a rather worrying shade of grey.
“What can I do now?”
“Sit.”
Josephine indicated the tray by the fire, the tea cooling in the china cups.
“What do you mean?” Lord Dunstable asked, moving towards his mother. “There must be something more I can do.”
Wringing out the cloth, Josephine set it gently on Lady Dunstable’s forehead, pulling the bedcovers a little further down.
“She is a little more settled,” Josephine murmured, looking up at Lord Dunstable. “Until the broth is made, there is little more I can do.”
Lord Dunstable’s eyes were fixed on his mother’s flushed face.
“I have given her medicine and she is a little more at ease now, my lord,” Josephine continued, trying to reassure him. “I will go and see to your sister now but you must sit and rest. Drink your tea and eat. Do send for me if there is any change.”
She made to move to the door, only for Lord Dunstable to catch her arm.
“Sit for a moment, Miss Josephine,” he murmured. “You are pale and exhausted. The butler and the maid are still ensuring my sister is settled so you have a few minutes.”
Josephine was about to refuse, only for her stomach to growl horribly. Doctor Thomas’ words came back to her with force – ‘you must not neglect yourself in order to tend to others’. At the time, she had not understood it, only for Sam to explain to her that the doctor needed her to rest and to eat, simply to ensure that she did not fall into an exhaustion that would make her useless to everyone.
