by Anne Herries
‘You’ll never get it down him like that, my lovely,’ a voice said from the doorway. ‘I’ll give ‘ee a hand. You wants to squeeze his nose—like this, see.’
Sarah looked at the slatternly woman who had entered the bedchamber. She had not sent Mrs Beeson away, though she always had a faint odour of strong wine on her breath, and was not as clean in her habits as Sarah liked. However, she was the only person in the house who was prepared to enter the sickroom, and she was still taking care of John’s son, who, Sarah had seen for herself, was well on the way to recovery. The pustules had come and gone on the child’s body, leaving pitted marks that would remain as scars—though they might fade a little as he grew older. But at least he lived.
Mrs Beeson pinched John’s nose with her thumb and forefinger. As he opened his mouth in order to breathe, she motioned to Sarah to tip her medicine on to his tongue, at the same time letting go of his nose. John spluttered and choked a little as the liquid trickled down his throat, but most of it went down.
‘Thank you,’ Sarah said, though she thought the old woman’s methods a little unkind. ‘He would not swallow and I am sure it will do him good.’
‘He’s done better since you came,’ Sally Beeson said and gave a cackle of laughter. ‘Stands to reason, don’t it? A fine gentleman like that knows when he’s got a pretty nurse fussing over ‘im—likes that better than old Sally round ‘im, I can tell ‘ee.’
‘He does not even know I am here,’ Sarah said, her throat caught with tears. ‘He is so hot and so ill, Mrs Beeson. Much worse than Tilda was when I nursed her in Italy.’
‘Took it bad, the poor lad,’ Sally said and cackled again. ‘Had to nurse the boy in his arms, despite I tells ‘im ‘ee will take it from the child. Little Nathaniel weren’t too bad when all’s said and done, and that’s the truth—but Mr Elworthy were like a man possessed. Nuthin’ I says would ‘ee listen to and this is the result of it.’
‘I expect he loves his son,’ Sarah said. ‘Is that not natural enough?’
‘Ah, ‘twud be if it were all right and tight,’ Sally said. ‘But I ain’t one to gossip and I knows when to keep my mouth shut. Not like some others I could mention. There’s talk enough and I won’t add to it, though maybe I knows more than some what thinks they knows it all. Here when she birthed the lad I was and there’s nothing hid when the pain is bad. ‘Sides, the lad were as big and healthy as they come…’
‘What do you mean?’ Sarah looked at her curiously. ‘What do you know, Mrs Beeson?’
Sally shook her head at her. Sarah would have questioned her further, but at that moment John sat bolt upright in the bed. His eyes were wide open and staring, but she knew that he was not seeing her.
‘Andrea!’ he cried in an agonised voice. ‘Forgive me! I beg you to forgive me. I did not mean to hurt you. I never meant you to die…’ He gasped and fell back on the pillows, his eyes closed, lost to the fever once more.
Sarah bent over him, smoothing a lock of fair hair back from his forehead. She bathed his face with a cool cloth, and then turned to look at Mrs Beeson.
‘I think he feels a little easier, Mrs Beeson. He is not as hot as he was before.’
‘The pustules are coming through,’ Sally said and picked up his arm, showing Sarah the red marks that were beginning to appear on John’s flesh. ‘Once they are out he should be through the worst of it, my lovely. A few days until the scabs fall off, and then he’ll not be infectious to any. You’ll save your man yet despite all.’
‘Shall I?’ Sarah looked at her and tears hovered. She had lived in dread these past days, for it had seemed to her that John might die despite her care. ‘Do you think he will live, Mrs Beeson?’
‘Shouldn’t wonder at it. The first few days are the worst. I reckon as you’ve nearly weathered the storm, though it ain’t certain yet. Give it another two or three days and we’ll see what happens—maybe he’ll slip away and maybe he’ll recover.’
‘I pray that he does recover,’ Sarah said, wiping her sleeve across her face. She had hardly slept for the past four nights and was feeling very tired. She knew that she must lie down for a while.
‘You go and rest, my lovely,’ Sally Beeson said, seeing the signs of exhaustion on her pretty face. ‘Don’t want you going down sick, do we? I knows you says you don’t take the smallpox, but you’m tired to death and that’s no good. He won’t want to see you lookin’ washed out when he’s over it, will he?’
‘You will call me if anything should happen?’
‘I’ll call you if I needs you,’ the old woman said. ‘Sleep afore you kills yourself, my lovely.’
Sarah smiled at her and went through into the adjoining room. She thought it must have belonged to John’s wife, for it had been refurbished in pretty shades of pink and cream and was much airier and lighter than his own bedchamber. That was furnished in dark browns, crimsons and gold and, though everything was of good quality, the furnishings had an air of outdated opulence that belonged to an earlier time.
Sarah had not ventured far from the west wing, because she had spent all her time with John, watching over him, bathing him and caring for him in every way she could. Mrs Beeson had helped her, but the other servants did not come near. Mrs Raven brought food, water and fresh bedding up to the rooms, but she would not enter. Sally Beeson dealt with the soiled linen, and Sarah knew that without her both John and his son might have been left to die in their own filth. Smallpox was such a feared disease that many people simply refused to nurse those who had taken it.
Sarah lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. She was very, very tired and it was not long before she slept.
When she awoke the afternoon had flown and it was nearly evening. She jumped up, washing and tidying herself swiftly before going back through to John’s bedchamber.
Mrs Beeson had gone. Sarah was distressed that she had left John alone, for since her arrival they had contrived not to leave him for a moment. She knew that the woman must have slipped out to see to John’s son, though Mrs Raven was taking care of him for some of the time now that he was no longer infectious.
Going over to the bed, Sarah put a hand to his forehead and discovered that he felt quite cool. It seemed that the fever had left him at last, though she could see that there were clusters of the unpleasant pustules over his face. For the moment there was little she could do except apply a cooling lotion to the lesions. Later, when the scabs had formed and gone, she could give him a special cream that she had bought from a doctor in Italy. It had helped Tilda, though it was likely that some of the scars would never heal. He would never be quite as handsome as he had once been, but that did not change her feelings for him.
What did the scars matter when it seemed likely that he would live? Sarah knew that for her part they meant nothing. She was only thankful that he had not died. She smiled as he stirred and murmured a name in his sleep.
‘Sarah….’ he murmured softly. ‘Stay with me, my love…do not leave me. I love you so…’
Sarah felt her throat tighten with emotion. It was her name he had spoken, not Andrea’s. He was not aware that she was with him. Now that the fever had broken he was dreaming—and it was her that he thought of as he dreamed. She stroked his hair back from his face and smiled.
‘I am here with you, my dearest. I love you. I love you so much, my darling John. Please get better, my love…please get better…’ She turned as the door opened and Mrs Beeson entered. ‘Why did you not call me before you left him?’
‘It weren’t necessary,’ the old woman said. ‘Sleepin’ like a babe, he were, when I left ‘im to see to the child. He’ll pull through now, you marks my words. We’ll have ‘im up and about afore the month’s out or Sally don’t know her business.’
‘It is clear that you do know it, Mrs Beeson,’ Sarah told her gratefully. ‘I should have found it hard to nurse him alone—and I do not know what might have happened had neither of us come to him.’
‘Mrs Raven sent for me as
soon as the boy were took bad,’ Sally said with a grin that showed a row of blackened teeth. ‘Doctor wouldn’t come near more than the once, so she said, told her to nurse the babe, but she were afeared of it same as most of ‘em are. You’m a brave one, my lovely. Ain’t many as would risk their own lives for the sake of another the way you have.’
‘I love him,’ Sarah said. She blushed as she said it—she knew that she was laying herself open to ridicule and hurt by confessing her love. Yet her action in coming here uninvited had already said more than words. ‘What else could I do, Mrs Beeson?’
‘You call me Sally, my lovely. He’s a lucky man, luckier than he knows—and he’s a good man an all. You don’t want to take notice of anythin’ you might hear to the contrary. I seen him with ‘er and the boy and I knows a thing or two.’ Sally touched the side of her nose. ‘Mrs Raven was asking if you was ready for your dinner?’
‘Yes, please. I shall have it here on a tray—some soup and bread will do very well, thank you.’
‘No, you won’t, then,’ Sally told her. ‘He’ll be all right for a bit on his own now, my dear. There’s a proper dinner waitin’ for you in the dining room, and ‘tis time as you started to eat decent food.’
Sarah glanced at the bed. It was true that John was resting comfortably. He was deeply asleep and she could do no good by staying here for the moment. ‘Very well, Sally. I shall do as you say. I do feel hungry this evening, and it would be foolish of me to let my own health slide just as John is recovering, would it not?’
‘You go down then and I’ll pop in every now and then. You’m been here nearly a week now and seen nothing of the house. ‘Tis time you had a look about you if you’m to be mistress ‘ere.’
Sarah blushed and turned away from the old woman’s bright, inquisitive eyes. She had told the housekeeper that she was John’s betrothed to gain access to him while he was ill—but what would he think of her behaviour when he recovered and learned what she had done?
Sarah pushed her embarrassment to the back of her mind. When John recovered he would either ask her to marry him or he would not. If he did not, then she would leave this house never to return, so it did not matter what his servants thought of her.
She was not quite sure where her meal was laid out downstairs for she had seen only a little of the house as she was conducted upstairs to John’s apartments. She wandered towards the back of the house, glancing into the empty rooms as she passed them, and then she heard voices and something made her hesitate.
‘You should not have come back here,’ a voice that Sarah recognised as Mrs Raven’s said. ‘If you cause more trouble I shall likely be dismissed for it. Especially as there’s to be a new mistress in the house. He won’t stand for more of your tricks.’
‘I’ve nowhere else to go—and you’ve said yourself that you need more help in the house, Aunt Bessie. Let me stay for a while. I promise I shan’t do anything more to upset things.’
‘Well, it’s the truth I need help, for half the maids fled when the boy went down with the smallpox, and one of them died of it—though Millie is on her feet again. Very well, you can stay, but if you make trouble I shall tell him it was you and why.’
‘I’m sorry I did it. I promise I shan’t again.’
‘Get off to the kitchen, then. I’ve plenty of work needs doing.’
Sarah opened the door of the room in which she had heard the voices and found that Mrs Raven was alone. It seemed to be a small sitting room, with a door leading through to another room at the back, and she thought that she must have stumbled upon the housekeeper’s private apartments.
‘Forgive me. I was told that a meal had been laid for me and I was looking for the dining parlour.’
‘Well, you won’t find it back here, miss,’ the housekeeper said. ‘I’ll take you and show you if you like. The family rooms are mostly on the first floor of the main section. The upper floor of the tower is unsafe and no one goes there these days, and some of the rooms in the east wing have been shut up for years.’
‘Thank you,’ Sarah said. ‘I am sorry for intruding. Were you talking to someone just now?’
‘Just one of the maids, miss. I’ve taken a new girl on to make up for those we’ve lost.’ Mrs Raven led the way back up the stairs, turning to the right at the top. ‘The dining parlour and the drawing room are here, miss. There is a small sitting room downstairs in the west wing that you might prefer to use in summer. It opens out on to the best part of the garden—and the breakfast parlour is there too. I laid your meal in the dining room because it was closer for you. I hope as Mr Elworthy is a little better, miss?’
‘Yes, I believe so,’ Sarah said. ‘He may still be in the infectious stage so it might be best if you do not enter the bedchamber, but we think that he is through the worst.’
‘I am relieved to hear it, miss,’ the woman said. ‘I am sure it was very brave of you to come and nurse him—even if you are immune to the disease. The gossips will make the worst of it, Miss Hunter—and he already has something of a reputation.’
Sarah turned to look at her. ‘What do you mean? Mr Elworthy is one of the most honest and decent gentlemen I know.’
‘I must say I’ve always thought so myself, miss.’ Mrs Raven sniffed. ‘I dare say its all lies, but you know what folk are—they say there’s no smoke without fire.’
‘What are you hinting at?’ Sarah’s gaze narrowed. Was the housekeeper speaking of those vile rumours concerning John’s wife? ‘Please speak plainly if you will. If you have something to say, then say it.’
‘It isn’t for me to say one way or the other. If you haven’t heard the rumours, Miss Hunter, it’s best you don’t. I’m not one to spread gossip.’
‘I must insist that you tell me what you mean!’ Sarah took hold of her arm. She had no intention of telling the woman that she had heard gossip. ‘You cannot make insinuations and then just leave it like that. If you have heard something important, please tell me now.’
‘Well, perhaps it might be best to hear it from me,’ Mrs Raven said. ‘You must understand that it is not me making these accusations, Miss Hunter—but I’ve heard it whispered that he killed Mrs Elworthy. I know it is a wicked lie, of course it is—but it is what they are saying anyway.’
‘Oh, how could anyone say such a wicked thing!’ This was even worse than the rumour Tilda had told her of in London. It made Sarah angry that people should say such things when he was unable to defend himself. ‘I have never heard such nonsense. John would never, never do anything of the kind. I know he wouldn’t.’
The housekeeper’s expression was wooden. ‘Well, I didn’t say as he had, miss—but it’s what some folks around here are saying. They say he drove her to her death, and some whisper that he either killed her or made the poor soul so wretched that she didn’t know what she was doing. The opinion is divided, miss—and with him getting married so soon it is going to add fuel to the fire, if you ask me.’
‘I see…’ Sarah nodded, thoughtfully. It was true that if John remarried too soon it might lead to more speculation and gossip. They had arrived at the dining room and she thanked the housekeeper for providing such a nice meal for her, which was set out on the long mahogany sideboard under silver covers. ‘Thank you, Mrs Raven. I am glad you told me what is being said, but I must tell you that it is a wicked lie and should not be believed.’
‘Yes, miss. I dare say you are right,’ Mrs Raven said. ‘I’ll leave you to enjoy your meal, then.’
‘Yes, thank you.’
Sarah went to the sideboard and began to look underneath the covers, discovering scrambled eggs, cold ham and green beans, also a dish of crispy fried potatoes, all of which smelled delicious. She helped herself to a little of the egg, potatoes and ham and took the plate to her solitary place at the table. She began to eat, determined that she would not let the spiteful gossip upset her. John couldn’t have done anything that would have made his wife take her own life…could he? Despite her feelings for J
ohn, she knew a flicker of doubt, but squashed it almost immediately. The man she loved was incapable of doing anything ungenerous or evil!
Her thoughts turned to Mrs Raven. The housekeeper had lied about the person she had been speaking to in her room earlier. Obviously, her niece had been dismissed once for wrongdoing, but she had taken her back into employment. Sarah wondered what the girl had done and whether she could be trusted not to do it again.
Mrs Beeson had hinted at something being untoward in the house, and now Mrs Raven’s gossip, added to what she had heard in London, seemed to indicate that John’s marriage had not been all that it should be. Mrs Beeson had warned her to take no notice of any gossip she heard, but Mrs Raven seemed to be suggesting that there might be something in the whispers.
Despite herself, Sarah could not help wondering just what had made Andrea so unhappy that she had taken her own life. A little shiver ran down her spine for she felt something dark and hidden, some terrible secret that had driven a woman to desperation.
Was it something in this house? Or was there something outside her marriage, some secret in Andrea’s past, that had made her wish to die?
Chapter Six
John’s fever returned during the night, though it was not as virulent as it had been, and he seemed more amenable to taking his medicine. For another two days he wavered between delirium and moments when he seemed to know what was going on around him, though he was too weak and ill to talk to anyone, other than the occasional whisper of thanks for some service performed for him. It was on the morning of the next day, when Sarah went in after having left him to rest for a few hours, that she saw he was at last free of the fever. He lay propped up against the pillows, his eyes open, but clearly still too weak to try to sit up.
‘Are you better, John?’ Sarah asked as she went over to him. She smiled as she laid a hand on his brow and found it cooler than of late. ‘I believe you have come through this, my dear friend. Some of the scabs have formed and in another day or so you will no longer be infectious.’
