A Silent Ocean Away (22 page)

“Yes, sir,” Travis nodded eagerly, glad to be put to work. “I’ll have Joseph draw the water, and I’ll tell Fatima to prepare you a tray of food. Then I’ll let your father know you are home.”

Paul was halfway up the stairs before he remembered the first news that had accosted him when he’d set foot on Charmantes. “Travis, where
is
George?”

“He left three days ago on the
Rogue,
sir.”

“
What?
Why?”

Travis recalled George’s instructions:
Tell Paul or Frederic only if they ask,
and quickly relayed the message, “Miss Colette asked him to deliver a letter to Virginia—”

“Jesus Christ Almighty! Has he gone mad? Does my father know?”

“No sir, he never asked me.”

“God Almighty,” Paul cursed again as the impending scenario played out before him. George’s absence would create many managerial problems over the course of the next few weeks, especially progress on Espoir; however, thoughts of George’s desertion were far from pertinent in light of the greater disaster awaiting them all. Paul rubbed his throbbing forehead, but the pain only intensified.

He considered Colette. She must be contemplating death if she sent George on such a mission. But why? What would it gain her, save pain and havoc for everyone concerned? Ultimately, it threatened the collapse of this faltering fortress—on their heads. Paul shuddered.

Charmaine attempted to amuse the children, but their minds were far from the game of hide-and-seek she had suggested they play. “Come away from the door, Jeannette,” she pleaded. “Your father will call us when your mother awakens.”

“He said that yesterday, but still we weren’t allowed to see her.”

“And the day before, we saw her for only ten minutes!” Yvette chimed in.

Charmaine sighed, at a loss for encouraging words. “Yes, I know, but still, we must wait. If your mother needs rest, it’s best we don’t disturb her. You want to see her completely well again, don’t you?”

Jeannette nodded in resignation, but Yvette was not so inclined. “We’ve been told that over and over and over again! I’ll wager Father never comes today. He’s so worried, he’s forgotten about us.”

Jeannette’s eyes filled with tears. “Do you think that’s true, Mademoiselle Charmaine? Papa promised we would see Mama today.”

“I wanna see her, too!” Pierre began to cry, crawling from beneath the bed, where he’d been hiding. “I miss Mama. When are we gowin’ to her room?”

Charmaine picked him up and sat on his bed. “Now listen to me,” she said. “I know Dr. Blackford and your father are doing all they can to make your mother better; therefore, we must heed their advice. But, if your mother asks to see you—which I’m certain she will—you’ll not be forgotten, will you?” When they shook their heads “no” and Pierre’s tears subsided, she continued. “We must be patient. All right?” They nodded.

Colette’s chest pulsated with pain, her breathing shallow as if the weight of the world pressed down on it. Hot one moment and cold the next, she quaked beneath dampened bed clothing, changed not an hour ago, yet already saturated with perspiration. Still, she fought valiantly, her eyes snapping open when a cool cloth was placed to her burning brow.

“Ssh…” Rose Richards whispered, “lie still…don’t try to talk.”

Colette sighed. The old woman had been so good to her, more of a mother than her own mother had ever been, and she felt comforted. Time wore on, and Rose continued to apply the compresses.

“Try to sleep, Colette,” Rose encouraged, “a nice, deep sleep.”

The words had the opposite effect; Colette’s eyes opened again. “Nan—”

“Ssh…” she admonished. “Save your strength. There’s no need to talk.”

Colette licked her cracked lips. “Nan,” she pressed weakly. “I need to know…did George…”

“Yes, child,” Rose soothed. “He left Charmantes days ago. He will deliver your letter. Now, lie back and rest. You must close your eyes and rest.”

“It’s important…so important…”

“Yes, yes, I know.”

“No!” she argued, alarmed by the thread of pacification she heard in the old woman’s voice, struggling now to sit up. “I’m not trying to make more trouble.”

“Colette, you’ve never made trouble, and the letter
is
in George’s hands. It
will
be delivered. Lie back and sleep.”

Drained, yet satisfied, Colette relaxed into the pillows and closed her eyes.

“What the deuce…?”

Robert Blackford was livid as he took in the French doors thrown wide to the raging storm and the cold compress Rose Richards was applying to the brow of his flushed patient. “I thought I told you the woman is in my care!”

Rose met fire with fire. “My remedies may seem old-fashioned to you, Robert, but they will do Colette more good than this contaminated room.”

“Woman, you are mad! I tell you now, I’ve tried everything, even cupping.”

Rose’s mind raced. “Surely you haven’t bled her!”

“Of course not! She’s too weak to withstand that absurd treatment. But your concoctions are not helping her, either. You’d best take out your rosary beads and visit the chapel. That will be the best home remedy you can practice today.”

Rose paled with the baleful declaration, and Robert’s anger ebbed. “I’m sorry,” he muttered bleakly. “I’m at a loss as to what to do for her.”

Rose had only seen him like this once before—the night his sister had died—and the memory filled her with dread. “Surely she’ll recover.”

“The congestion in her lungs is not the only complication
threatening her life. But that is a matter between Colette, Frederic, and the priest.”

“Father Benito?” Rose asked, her alarm multiplying twofold.

Robert nodded solemnly. “She asked for him this morning. He’s come and gone only an hour ago. Perhaps he has left her with some measure of peace.”

Peace? There was no peace in Colette’s contorted face. Her serene smile had been stolen away, her beauty supplanted by hollow eyes and protruding cheekbones that cut harshly into her once angelic visage.

“Come, Rose,” the physician cajoled. “She’s sleeping now. At present, there is nothing you can do for her. Go, say your prayers. This family needs them.”

Rose left the room, a morose nod given to Agatha as they passed on the chamber’s threshold.

“Papa, can we see Mama now?” Jeannette implored.

Frederic limped into the nursery. “She is sleeping, princess, but I will take you to her room once she awakens. I told Dr. Blackford I would be here,” he continued, reading Yvette’s stormy countenance. “When he calls for me, you may come, too, if that pleases you.”

They nodded optimistically.

“What have you been studying today?” he asked, quickly changing the subject. “Perhaps I can help Miss Ryan with your lessons.”

For the first time, Charmaine was pleased Frederic had come to visit.

He must be with Colette,
Paul thought when he found his father’s chambers empty. He knocked on the adjoining door. Agatha opened it.

“Paul,” she exclaimed, stepping forward to hug him, “you’re home!”

He suffered the unexpected greeting as she drew him into the room. “Where is my father?”

“I don’t know. I thought he was in his apartments.”

“How is Colette?”

Her manner turned lugubrious. “Not well, I’m afraid. Not well at all.”

“May I see her?”

“I don’t think that is wise. Robert is with her now—”

“I’d like to see her,” Paul stated.

He crossed the room and opened the bedroom door, ignoring her objections, and reached the foot of the bed just as Robert glanced around. “I must ask you to leave,” the man ordered sharply, “she is not well enough to receive visitors.”

Paul was not listening, his face a mask of horror as he looked down at Colette. Her eyes were closed, and he was grateful for that, fearing what they might tell him if they opened. Then they were open, and he nearly cried as she attempted to smile. “Good God, Colette,” he muttered impulsively.

“Do I look that wretched?” Her lame laugh erupted into a racking cough.

“Out!” Robert commanded. “I want you out of here! You’re upsetting her!”

“No!” she begged. “Please—” Before she could finish, she was coughing again.

“I said, you’re upsetting her!”

Paul was hearing none of Robert’s fulminating nonsense. He rounded the far side of the bed and attempted to help Colette sit up to catch her breath. She burned beneath his touch.

“I’m all right now,” she whispered. “I’d just like a drink.”

“Paul, you must leave!”

“Get her a goddamn drink!” Paul barked.

Agatha scurried to the pitcher and poured a glass of water, bringing it to him. Colette swallowed only a sip before collapsing back into the pillows. Beads of perspiration dotted her brow, and Paul wiped them away.

“Thank you,” she breathed, clearing her throat.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“The children…Robert refuses…but I want to see my children…”

Paul nodded. “Then you shall.”

As he returned to the sitting room, Robert was right on his heels, closing the door between the two chambers. “You cannot mean to bring them here. She doesn’t have the strength—”

“What kind of physician are you, anyway?” Paul growled, facing him. “She’s been under your care for nearly a year now and look at her!” Receiving no answer, he snorted in disgust. “Stay out of my way!”

“This is not my fault!” Blackford rallied, calling to his back. “She has pneumonia. Your little governess took her on a picnic in the pouring rain. She caught a chill, and her lungs have filled with mucus. She’s been fighting this newest malady for a full month now.”

Paul rounded on him, but his ire flagged as swiftly as it had spiked. He shook his head and left the room.

“One moment, Yvette!” Charmaine reproved as she opened the door.

“Miss Ryan,” Paul greeted, her lovely face erasing the memory of Colette’s ghastly visage.

“Paul!” she exclaimed, glad beyond words.

At the mention of his name, everyone in the room perked up, and even Frederic brightened, releasing Pierre who had been sitting
in his lap. “Come in, please come in,” she invited. “When did you arrive?”

“An hour ago,” he answered, ruffling Pierre’s hair and hugging Jeannette who had scampered over to greet him.

Yvette remained next to her father, who sat at her desk. “Mama is very ill,” she informed him, as if that were the only thing that mattered now.

“Yes, I know. She’s been asking for you. Would you like to see her?”

“Oh yes!” they answered in unison.

“But”—he admonished—“she has a high fever. You mustn’t force her to talk, and you may stay only a short time. Do you understand?”

They nodded.

He had just lifted Pierre into his arms when Agatha appeared in the doorway, her face ashen. “It is time. Robert fears it is time.”

Death…it hung in the room with a life of its own. The gathered assembly could feel it—smell it—taste it. There was no escaping the sound of it: Colette’s labored wheezing, the dogged coughing, and now the whimpers of her loved ones. Charmaine closed her eyes to the telltale finale
. Why in heaven’s name did we bring the children here?

In the throes of her extremity, Colette’s unique beauty was only a memory, scarred by the unholy battle she had fought: hooded eyes sunken, lips chafed raw, sallow complexion drawn over skeletal cheeks, lovely hair matted and coarse.

Yvette faced the truth first, bravely inching closer, silent tears trickling down her cheeks. “Mama, I’m here,” she said, taking her hand.

Colette attempted to smile up at her.

Jeannette followed, falling to her knees beside the bed. When
Colette closed her eyes, she buried her face in the bed linen and wept.

“Don’t cry,” Colette beseeched, mustering the strength to stroke her daughter’s hair. “I’m happy—” The remark hung unfinished as she suffered through another fitful cough.

Blackford sidestepped Paul, who stood sentry against interference. “The children have had their time,” he directed, reaching the bed. “This visit is upsetting everyone, specifically Colette. No good will come of it.”

It was true, but Paul couldn’t ignore Colette’s tormented entreaty of: “No! Please! A moment longer…” He passed Pierre to Charmaine, then pulled Robert aside. “I want you to stay,” Colette was saying, her voice low and raspy.

“We will, Mama,” Yvette whispered, fighting the fire in her throat. “We’ll stay as long as you like.”

Colette considered Jeannette again, the child’s sobs increasing. “Sweetheart, you mustn’t cry…”

“I—I can’t help it!” Jeannette gasped. “You can’t die! I—I—won’t let you die! I love you too much!” She rose from her knees, leaned across the bed, and wrapped her arms around her mother, as if she could squeeze the demon of death from her.

Charmaine’s embrace quickened around Pierre. His whimpers had intensified, yet, she took succor from him, grateful to have someone to hold. She pressed his head to her bosom and shielded him from the avalanche of grief.

Rose stepped out of the shadows and bent over Jeannette. “Come, darling,” she comforted, separating the girl from Colette, “say goodbye to your mother.”

“No!” Jeannette cried, struggling to be free. “I won’t leave her!”

Colette broke into another rattling cough, unable to catch her breath this time, the convulsion worse than the others.

Robert rushed forward again, pulling her upright and striking her back until the spasm subsided. “She cannot withstand this strain!” he remonstrated sharply, his accusatory gaze leveled on Jeannette, who’d retreated, terror-stricken, to the edge of the bed.

“I’m all right,” Colette panted, sucking in shallow pockets of air. “Come, Jeannette,” Rose cajoled, gathering her in tender arms, “your mother must rest. Give her a kiss.”

Jeannette obeyed, her lips lingering on her mother’s cheek. “Mama? I love you Mama.”

Colette’s hand found hers. “And I love you,” she murmured, her grip tightening momentarily.

Jeannette abruptly stood and tore from the room.