by Rose Pearson
Lifting her eyes to Francine and remembering just how unsure the lady had been of her the very first day she arrived, Josephine let out a quiet laugh. “You are very kind, Francine, but you owe me nothing. I am just glad to have your trust and your friendship. That is all that I require. To know that someone cares for me enough to ask me to write to them has brought a great peace to my heart.”
Stepping closer, Francine caught Josephine’s hand. “I am not the only one who cares, Josephine.”
A strangled sob escaped Josephine’s throat. “Please, Francine, I –”
“Will you not stay?” Francine interrupted, softly. “Will you not stay to talk to him? I can see just how much he has come to appreciate you, Josephine.”
It was a moment of indecision. Josephine felt herself sway on her feet, her desire to return to Lord Dunstable’s bedchamber and continue with her nursing pulling at her. And then, unbidden, came the memory of working in the Devil’s basement. Those people needed her more than Lord Dunstable. He would be quite safe here, able to make a swift recovery surrounded by those who loved him. She was not called to stay here but to go and look after those who had no-one else. People just like her.
“No,” she said, giving Francine a small smile. “I must go. Doctor Thomas needs me. I will write to you though, I promise.”
This did not bring a smile to Francine’s face, although she did nod her understanding. A tear slipped down her cheek and she pressed Josephine’s hand. “Then I will let you go. Thank you, Josephine, for all you have done. You are an angel sent from heaven, I am quite sure of it. You have given us all life back again and for that, I will forever be grateful. Goodbye, my dear friend.”
Josephine swallowed her tears and tried to smile despite the pain that racked her very soul. “Goodbye, Francine. I wish you all the best of health in the years to come.”
The Devil’s basement was just as it always had been. There was the same stench of illness, the same cloying smell of death and decay and yet, as Josephine surveyed the scene, she thought that the room was a little less crowded.
“It is good to have you back,” Sam muttered, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Those ladies who came to help us, they’ve been working as hard as they can, but we can always do with another. I know Doctor Thomas is glad to see you.”
Josephine managed a smile. “I know. I spoke to him as I came in.” Doctor Thomas had been hard at work but had stopped long enough to greet her and say just how glad he was to see her returned. He had asked after the Dunstable family and it had brought her a good deal of happiness to say that they had all made a good recovery.
“There are not as many as there was once,” Sam said, slowly, as though able to see into her thoughts. “But they come from all over now. It don’t matter whether they be from the streets or from the townhouses, they all come here now. Or anywhere they can go, really. The fever wards are full, the doctors are all either busy or sick themselves and there ain’t enough beds for everyone.”
“Do you think it will pass soon?” Josephine asked, glancing at the older man. “Do you think the fever will lift from the city?”
Sam shrugged. “I can’t say. I hope so but that’s as much as I can do. The doctor seems to think so but how long that will take, none of us can tell.”
Josephine sighed and nodded, readying herself to step into the fray once more. “Then I had best go to help Doctor Thomas,” she murmured, trying to find the strength to keep going despite the pain in her heart over leaving Lord Dunstable so far behind. “Excuse me, Sam.”
Wandering through the basement, her eyes taking in everything, Josephine saw that what Sam had said was quite right. There were ladies lying in their rickety beds wearing gowns that were of the highest fashion, or gentlemen whose once fine coat was now being used as a pillow for their head. They came from all over, it seemed, and still Doctor Thomas was bringing in new patients almost every hour.
“Here,” Doctor Thomas muttered, gesturing for Josephine to come closer. “This is a new patient, a lady of the ton. I’ve only got her name but very little else. It seems her servants and her companion all became ill with the fever, and then she herself. It was just as well one of the footmen came to find us, otherwise we might never have found them all.”
Josephine shook her head, her eyes drifting over the form of the sick lady. She had flushed cheeks, a paleness about her lips and a red spotting over her neck. “The fever claims everyone,” she murmured, picking up her bowl and cloth. “Has she had any of your medicines, Doctor Thomas?”
“Yes,” he replied, with a grave nod. “Some. She will need more in an hour or two. Can you use your mixture to try and bring down her fever?”
“Of course.” Bending down, Josephine began to dab lightly at the lady’s forehead, seeing her so young and beautiful and growing angry at this terrible disease that seemed to claim so many lives. “What did you say her name was, Doctor Thomas?”
“A Miss Georgina Wells,” the doctor replied, a little distracted. “Her companion is next to her, although she appears to be doing a little better.”
Josephine froze in place, her mind scrambling to recall where she heard such a name before.
And then it came to her. Miss Georgina Wells was Lord Dunstable’s betrothed.
Looking down at the lady, taking in her fine clothes, her blonde curls and trim figure, Josephine could easily understand why Lord Dunstable was taken with her. She was every bit the lady and Josephine was quite sure that she had the manners, etiquette and good breeding to go with it. Shaking her head, she dabbed at the lady’s forehead again, feeling her heart sink to her toes all over again.
Lord Dunstable appeared back in her thoughts yet again, her mind going over all she had seen of him, all she had said and all they had shared. Her heart turned over with guilt as she thought of how close she and Lord Dunstable had become – not that she had known that he was engaged.
“He was never to be mine anyway,” she whispered to herself, as she got to her feet to add more vinegar and feverfew to the bowl. “He was always to be yours.”
There was no resentment in her voice, no anger in her heart. This was just the way of things and, despite the fact that Lord Dunstable had declared his love for her, Josephine had to believe that it was simply because of the fever. Perhaps everything he had said at the lake had simply been the start of his delirium. She had to forget him entirely, she had to let her heart let go of him. There could be no more affection for him growing within her. It had to all come to an end. She had known that and yet, even as she turned back to help Miss Wells again, she knew just how difficult that was to be.
Lifting her chin, Josephine resolved to stay by Miss Wells side as much as she could. She knew how important the lady was to Lord Dunstable and she would do all she could to help her recover. That would help her heart to forget Lord Dunstable, surely, for in helping his betrothed to recover, she would have to continually face the fact that he was never to be hers. As painful as that was to be, Josephine knew it to be for the best.
“Sam,” she called, as she picked up her vinegar and feverfew. “Might you be able to find me a piece of paper? I need to write a note.”
Sam lifted his brows. “A note?”
“A letter,” she confirmed, nodding. “I know who this lady is. She’s betrothed to Lord Dunstable.”
An astonished expression caught Sam’s brow. “The gentleman whose house you’ve just come back from?”
“The very same,” she replied, quickly. “Might you help me, Sam? I need to write to him so that he knows what has become of her.”
Sam nodded and shuffled off, leaving Josephine to return to Miss Wells. She bathed her forehead, cheeks, and neck, seeing the red rash spreading across the lady’s décolletage.
“Where am I?”
The lady’s eyes fluttered open, gazing around her in confusion. Josephine put one gentle hand to Miss Wells’ forehead, feeling just how hot she was. “You’re being looked after,” she said, not
wanting to mention the words of ‘the Devil’s basement’. “You have the fever. I’m here to look after you.”
Miss Wells groaned, her throat obviously paining her. “I have the fever?”
“But you’re going to be quite well,” Josephine reassured her, putting the damp cloth on her forehead. “I’m here to look after you and Lord Dunstable will be on his way to see you very soon.”
Miss Wells closed her eyes again. “Gideon,” she breathed, fading back into her delirium. “Yes, send for Gideon.”
“I will,” Josephine replied, firmly. “You need not worry, Miss Wells. Rest now. I’ll be here by your side when you waken.”
The lady did not stir again but seemed to fall into a fitful sleep. A little relieved by this, Josephine left the cloth on the lady’s forehead and, seeing Sam coming towards her, walked over to him to collect the paper and pencil. She would write to Lord Dunstable this very night, in the hope that soon, he would be at his betrothed’s side....no matter how painful that would be for her.
Chapter Thirteen
Gideon opened his eyes slowly. Sunshine was streaming in through the window and sending a warm shaft of light onto his bed, and the sight of it made him smile. There was warmth and life and beauty and he finally felt as though he had returned to it.
He had been lost in the fever. Lost in the heat and the sweat and the confusion that came with it, his throat aching painfully as his skin burned. And yet, the only thing he could recall was Josephine. Whenever he had called for her, whenever he had tossed fitfully and cried out, she had been there to comfort him. The cool cloth had taken some of the heat from his bones and the sound of her gentle voice had soothed his fractious mind. He had a lot to thank her for.
That thought made him frown. He had not seen Josephine for the last day or so but since he had done very little other than sleep and eat, he had not had the opportunity to ask Francine or his mother where she had gone. How relieved he was to know that the rest of the house was slowly getting back to normal! The fever had gone from them all, it seemed, and whilst Gideon was sorry that he had lost a maid and a footman to the fever, he was glad that the rest of the servants appeared to be quite well. For the time being, the fear and worry over his estate had gone. Things were slowly going back to how they had once been and he could not have been more grateful to Josephine for her part in it.
A small niggle began to plague his mind. Frowning, Gideon pushed himself up to sitting, trying to let himself remember whatever it was that was attempting to come to light.
I love you.
He froze in his bed, his expression one of shock as the words he had spoken to Josephine came back to him. He had said them aloud, had said them to her and yet he could not recall what her reaction had been.
Not that what he had said was a lie, of course, for he knew in his heart that he had come to love her, but to have said it aloud was quite another thing entirely. For heaven’s sake, he had only just managed to find the words to explain to her that he had begun to care for her before he had become ill, but now to discover that he had confessed his love to her whilst in the grips of the fever brought Gideon a rush of anxiety.
And what of Georgina?
A flush of heat crept into Gideon’s cheeks, despite the fact that no-one else was around to witness it. That was why he had stepped back from Josephine at the lake and certainly why he ought not to have said any such words of love to her. He had to deal with the situation with Georgina first. They would bring their engagement to an end and he would find himself free to care for, love and even marry whomever he wished.
And he wished for that someone to be Josephine.
It no longer stung at his mind, the thought of marrying a lady who was neither of his class nor of noble birth. In a way, the fever had shown him that they were all the same, regardless of accident of birth. Kindness, compassion, and consideration were not traits that were in the nobility alone. In fact, Josephine had shown more of these things than his own betrothed lady, who had kept entirely silent by the looks of things – and certainly was not by his side now, watching over him! Gideon found he did not care what would be said about him should he be permitted to marry Josephine. The thought of having a heart so fulfilled, a life so full of love and affection, was enough to make him want to dance about the room with joy. Class and titles be damned! Love was all he required.
“Gideon?”
He turned his head to see Francine stick her head through the ajar doorway and smiled, beckoning her in.
“Good morning, my dear sister,” he said, welcoming her. “Come in. I am quite at my leisure, as you can see.”
Francine had been by his side these last two days, feeding him broth when he had been too weak to do so, but Gideon knew that he would not require such nursing today. His strength was already returning in swift bounds.
“Oh, Dunstable, I have been ever so worried about you,” Francine said, hurrying in and referring to him now in the way she normally did, which told Gideon that he must be looking a good deal better. “You look brighter this morning, though it can scarcely be called morning since it is very near to noon.”
Smiling, he pushed himself up against the pillows, wondering if he would be able to get out of his bed this morning. “You cannot begrudge me rest, surely?”
Laughing, she shook her head. “No, indeed. You will need as much of it as you can these next few days. I know it.”
Tipping his head just a little, Gideon regarded his sister. “Where is Josephine?”
The smile faded from Francine’s face almost immediately. “Josephine? Why, she has gone.”
A heavy weight dropped into Gideon’s stomach. “Gone?” he repeated, his voice growing a little thin. “What do you mean, she is gone?”
Francine lifted one shoulder, although the look in her eyes told Gideon that she knew more than she was saying. “She waited until the fever had broken and you were making a recovery, before returning to London to the Devil’s basement in Smithfield Market. The people there need her too, Dunstable.”
Gideon frowned. “Yes, I know that, Francine, but I would have thought that....” He trailed off, unable to voice the rest of his words. He wanted to tell Francine that he had expected Josephine to linger here, at the house, until he was well recovered so that they might at the very least, talk about what had transpired between them, but that was a private matter and so he could not say a word. At the same time, he did not want to appear begrudging that Josephine had returned to London, recalling the horror and the stench of the Devil’s basement. Francine was right to say that those people needed Josephine’s aid also.
“You wanted her to stay.”
The statement was casually made but the small smile on his sister’s lips spoke of understanding of all that he was feeling. He ducked his head for a moment, a little unsure as to what to say or what to do, only to feel his sister touch his hand.
“You care for Josephine, do you not?”
Sighing heavily, Gideon looked up at her and gave her a wry smile. “You will think me foolish.”
“No!” Francine exclaimed at once, looking rather hurt that he would think so. “No, indeed, Dunstable, I do not. I think that she is a marvelous creature and it comes as little surprise to me that you have found your heart so caught up with her – but what about Georgina? She is your betrothed, is she not?”
Gideon closed his eyes for a moment, his breath dragging out of him. “Yes, indeed, she is. I do not know what to say to you in that regard, my dear sister, for I confess that I am in great confusion about what to do or say to my betrothed. I do not think that she cares for me one jot and I confess that I do not care for her either. That cannot be a solid foundation on which to build a marriage. I have resolved in my heart that, therefore, our engagement must come to an end. Although,” he continued, shoving one hand through his hair, “how I am to tell her such a thing I cannot say, for she does not seem to want to respond to my letters. I do not even know where she resides at this present
moment either!”
Francine’s expression became sympathetic. “I quite understand, Dunstable. I wrote to her when you first became ill and, not knowing where she was, thought to send a copy to her father’s estate with the original going to London.”
Gideon frowned. “And you have heard nothing from her?”
Shaking her head, Francine eyed Gideon carefully. “And you are quite convinced that you care for Josephine?”
Looking steadily at his sister, Gideon felt his heart ring with certainly. “I love her,” he said, slowly. “And I intend to marry her, Francine, if she will have me.”
His sister said nothing for a moment but, taking in a breath, nodded and smiled. “Then I think you must return to London the moment you are well enough to do so,” she said, firmly. “For you will need to find her there and confess it all to her.”
“Once I have spoken to Georgina, I shall do so at once,” Gideon replied, firmly. “Thank you, Francine.”
At that very moment, the door opened and the butler hurried in, bearing a letter for Gideon. It was a rather dirty looking letter from first glance and Gideon hesitated for a moment, picking it up carefully and turning it over. There was no seal to break and so, carefully, unfolding it, he let his eyes run over the few short sentences.
His breath caught.
“What is it?” Francine asked, a little upset at seeing her brother’s face now so pale. “Is something wrong? Is it Josephine?”
“No,” Gideon replied, hoarsely. “It is not Josephine. It is Georgina.”
Francine stared at him. “Georgina?”
Nodding, Gideon handed his sister the letter. “It is from Josephine. She writes that she is tending to Georgina, Georgina’s companion and some of the staff from the townhouse. It appears that they have all caught the fever.”
One hand flew to Francine’s mouth. “Goodness.”
