Carola Dunn (21 page)

“You’ll need a hand moving the poor lad, miss.”

“I shall help Miss Findlay,” said the housekeeper, coming in, followed by a footman with the first two buckets of hot water for the bath.

On her knees by the chaise, Lissa tore her gaze from Colin’s bluish lips. “If you please, Mrs. Cardew,” she said thankfully. “Bless you, Trumbull, for finding him so quickly.”

“If there’s owt else I can do, miss....”

“Yes.” She laid her hand against Colin’s icy cheek. His eyes seemed to look right through her. “I think...I think Lord Ashe must be informed. I shall write a note as soon as I have a moment.”

“There’ll be a man waiting to carry it, miss,” the head groom promised and removed himself as a second hot-water bearer arrived.

With Mrs. Cardew’s assistance, Colin was quickly stripped. His skin was so chilled, Lissa decided a really hot bath would be too much of a shock to his system. They wrapped him in blankets until the water was brought to a moderate temperature.

As they lowered his limp body into the warm water, Lady Orton hastened in, Lord Quentin on her heels. She took one look at her son and burst into tears.

“Oh, my poor little boy!” she wailed.

“Told you it wouldn’t do,” said Lord Quentin. “Not in a fit state to be any use to the child. Leave him to Miss Findlay. Miss Findlay will take the best possible care of him.”

“Indeed I shall, Lady Orton,” Lissa assured her, with a grateful nod to Lord Quentin. The last thing she needed was a weeping mother getting in the way.

He gently but firmly removed her ladyship.

“Maybe he’ll do for Miss Daphne after all,” Mrs. Cardew observed. “There, lamb, we’ll have you cosy in your bed in no time. Look, Miss Findlay, I do believe his lips are losing that nasty blue cast already.”

“And he is not shivering quite so convulsively. Can you hold him for a minute while I pour his drink?”

Colin turned his head towards her. His frightened eyes held a plea and his lips shaped the words, “Don’t go!”

“I’ll fetch it, miss.”

The housekeeper brought barley-water with lemon and honey from the spirit lamp where it was keeping warm. Then she lifted the lid from the bowl before the fire and pungent fumes of camphor drifted through the room. She returned to hold Colin while Lissa urged him to drink. He managed to swallow a few sips.

The bathwater cooled. They moved him into the well-warmed bed, propped up against pillows. He was still wheezing, but his colour was beginning to return, and though he could not speak his stupor had clearly passed.

Lissa wondered whether she need send for Lord Ashe after all. Part of her wanted to use the excuse to see him again. Part of her recognized the unwisdom of seeing him--and dreaded, besides, that he might view her summons as encouragement.

A treacherous voice in her head whispered that Lady Orton could send for him.

No, to suggest such a thing to the already distraught mother would be bound to confirm her fears for her beloved child. As long as Colin continued to improve, Lord Ashe must remain in ignorance.

“Mrs. Cardew, I believe you might take a comfortable report of Lord Orton to his mama.”

“I will, miss, and then get on with my own affairs, if you can manage without me, for the household’s all at sixes and sevens. Send for me at once if you need me.”

The housekeeper had scarcely left when Colin was seized with a violent fit of shivering. Alarmed anew, Lissa realized he was still chilled inside though warmed on the surface. Not knowing what else to do, she turned up the spirit-lamp beneath his barley-water. She was helping him to drink when the apothecary from Bascombe arrived.

He examined Colin and told Lissa cheerfully, in the boy’s hearing, that she was doing everything right. Her relief did not last long. Taking her aside, the apothecary said he was as good as certain an inflammation of the lungs was inevitable. He gave her some medicines, advised her on what to expect and what to do, and warned her not to let the doctor from Stow-on-the-Wold bleed Colin.

“The lad’s going to need every drop of blood he has,” he said gravely. “I’ve other patients to see, but send for me at once if you have any doubts about how to go on.”

Bidding her good day, he departed. Lissa sat down at Colin’s bedside to write to Lord Ashe. Whatever the cost to herself, she could not conceal from him that his nephew was sore straits.

She was struggling over the wording when Lady Ashe’s dresser came in. Glancing at Colin, who had closed his eyes, she whispered, “How is the lad, Miss Findlay?”

Lissa told her what the apothecary had said. “Does Lady Ashe know yet?” she asked.

“No, I’ve managed to keep it from her, but she wants to see you in her sitting room,” the woman said apologetically.

“Even though she does not know Colin ran away? You will have to break it to her yourself, for I cannot leave him now. Pray tell Lady Ashe she may dismiss me when her grandson is out of danger!”

Chapter 17

Ashe scowled at the stage. Not one of the pretty, lively dancers attracted him in the least. He had no desire whatsoever to win the leading lady, the gorgeous, flamboyant Damask Rose, from her current protector. Even the dashing blonde widow he had invited to join him in his box, along with a respectable couple to preserve her reputation, did not interest him, though she was as lovely as Daphne. She was also as vapid as Daphne without half his sister’s charm and with none of his sister’s artless innocence.

After the performance, he treated his guests to supper at Fenton’s Hotel. Then he took the widow home--on the way to delivering the couple to their residence. In spite of her hints, he did not propose any future meetings.

“Home,” he ordered Burr.

The widow and the theatre had been a last resort. For the past several days, Ashe had spent each afternoon immersed in working with Voss on his next speech for the Lords, each evening and half the night at his club. The company of his friends and political associates; the gaming tables; enough brandy to require Mills’s special remedy next morning (a rare occurrence since his salad days): nothing sufficed to drive from his mind a slight, brown-haired girl whose lips were blackberry-sweet and who faced the world’s trials with love and gallantry.

Love for her brothers, for his nephew even, not for him. He did not expect it. But he felt she liked him, enjoyed his company, and had she not, for just a moment, responded with passion to his kiss?

There were worse foundations for an alliance, if he could but persuade Lissa of it. If he could only win back her trust.

The town carriage drew up in Dover Street. Ashe sprang down, his mind made up.

“We leave for Ashmead in the morning, Burr.”

“Yes, m’lord,” the groom said woodenly.

Ashe had told everyone--servants, secretary, family, friends--that he was fixed in Town for the present, for the Little Season and the new session of Parliament. His sudden departure was bound to cause some comment, but he did not care. The prospect of seeing Lissa again made his blood sing.

The next day started cold and dry, though a chilly wind was bringing in clouds from the west with a promise of more rain. The roads, even the turnpikes, were in a sorry state after several days of near constant rain. There was no question of doing the journey in a single day, as Ashe had when he fled Ashmead, trying to hide from his feelings. Now he had made up his mind and was determined to let no obstacle stand in the way of getting what he wanted, the delay was irksome but unimportant. Lissa would be there when he arrived. That was all that mattered.

He reached Ashmead late in the afternoon of the second day. A thin, chill drizzle was falling, autumn anticipating winter, in stark contrast to the summery warmth of the day he had kissed Lissa.

The memory of that kiss heated him through and through. What a fool he was to have tamely let her go, apologized, run away!

The front door swung open before he reached it.

“My lord!” The footman looked astonished.

“What’s the matter, James?”

“The groom only left midday yesterday to fetch your lordship,” the young man blurted out, recovering himself enough to take Ashe’s hat, gloves, and greatcoat. “I wouldn’t’ve thought he could hardly have got to London yet. We was expecting the doctor, not your lordship so soon.”

“The doctor? Her ladyship is taken ill?”

“Master Colin, my lord. Lord Orton, I should say. Out all night he was, poor little lad.”

“Out all night!” Ashe turned as his butler came hurrying up. “What’s going on, Parrish?”

Nodding to the footman to resume his post at the window overlooking the carriage drive, Parrish said in a discreetly lowered yet agitated voice, “Master Colin ran away, my lord. Why, I couldn’t take it upon myself to say. He’s taken an inflammation of the lungs. The apothecary’s come again but Miss Findlay wants the doctor’s advice, too.”

“He’s bad? I’ll go up at once.”

Ashe took the stairs at a run. Not sure which was Colin’s chamber, for the boys had a room each here, he looked into the schoolroom.

Michael sat at the table, fast asleep, rosy tear-stained cheek pillowed on his arm and his dark hair even more rumpled than usual. Peter, standing at the window, turned as the door opened. Hastily brushing his eyes with the back of his hand, he ran to Ashe.

“Sir, I am glad you’ve come! I try to keep Michael entertained, but he keeps on crying. I told him and told him it’s not our fault. We haven’t done anything bad enough to be sent away.”

“Sent away?” Ashe was once again shocked. “You had best come and sit down, Peter, and tell me all about it.”

Michael raised his head and rubbed his eyes. Ashe went over to him, picked him up, and, crossing to the fireplace, settled in a chair with the child in his lap. The feeling in his breast when Michael clung to him was beyond words.

“Quickly, now, Peter. I must go to your sister.”

Peter slumped into the opposite chair. “Colin ran away, sir. He left a note, but it didn’t say much, just that he was going to Lambeth. I expect he thought we would go back there, don’t you think? You see, he heard his grandmama say we had to leave.”

“Why?” Ashe asked bluntly. “Why should my mother want you to leave?”

“I don’t know.” Peter looked bewildered. “We broke some glass in the kitchen gardens with a ball--it went over the wall. But Colin hit it, and anyway, the gardener said he wouldn’t tell Lady Ashe, just Lissa. And Curly chased a pheasant, but even Lissa doesn’t know about that. She doesn’t care about pheasants. We were going to tell you when you came back, weren’t we, Michael?”

“Yes, and I kept the feathers for you, sir. Curly caught its tail in her mouth.”

“But my mother doesn’t care any more about pheasants than Lissa does. Are you sure she said you must go?”

“Oh yes. Colin’s mama told Lissa. Lissa said Lady Orton was dreadfully upset about that, as well as Colin being missing. That was before we found him. Curly may have saved his life, sir, so you won’t punish her for the pheasant, will you?”

“Good Lord no! I am quite sure the pup has forgotten the pheasant incident, so punishment would be useless.”

“I did scold her.”

“Good. She found Colin, did she?”

“No, she went with him, and when he sheltered from the rain under a hedge she curled up with him and kept him warm.”

“So isn’t Curly a good name for her?” Michael demanded.

“Perfect,” Ashe agreed solemnly.

Peter resumed his explanation. “I helped to search for Colin and when she heard me calling she came out and showed us where he was. He was dreadfully cold and wet by then even though she stayed with him.”

“And now he’s dreadfully ill.” Michael’s face crumpled and tears started to flow again. “He might die!”

Ashe hugged him. “We’ll do our best to prevent that. I must go. Just be very sure, both of you, that you will not be leaving Ashmead as long as I can persuade your sister to stay.”

They showed him which was Colin’s chamber. Close to the door, he heard a murmur of voices within. He tapped lightly and opened the door. Camphor vapours wafted to meet him.

For several moments he saw nothing but Lissa’s tired face, lit up from within as she looked around and saw him. Then his gaze went beyond her, to Colin’s leaden flush, dull eyes, and heaving chest. With swift steps he crossed to Lissa and took her hands in his.

“I’m here to help. Tell me what to do.” He searched her face, trying to see whether her pleasure in his arrival was for her own or only for the boy’s sake.

A spasm of coughing shook Colin and she turned back to her small patient.

The following week was a nightmare of coughing spells, fever and chills, pains in chest and abdomen which made Colin cry out though he could ill spare the breath. Ashe and Lissa administered oxymel of squills, hot linseed and onion compresses, elixir of cinchona bark, camphor from the steaming bowl on the hearth and a lard and camphor rub, and endless quantities of barley water. Doctor and apothecary agreed that the more liquids they could pour into the child’s small body the better.

Maids and footmen came and went, changing soaked sheets, building the fire, fetching and carrying.

Ashe saw little of Lissa. She stayed with Colin from noon to midnight, and he took over from midnight to noon. After Daphne’s visit to the sickroom, shortly after Ashe’s arrival, when she burst into helpless floods of tears, he neither expected nor wished for her assistance with the nursing. At least her failure was due to too much sensibility, not too little.

In answer to the appeal in Lissa’s eyes, that first afternoon, Ashe escorted his sister from the room.

“You must not come up,” he said gently, leading her down the stairs. “Your distress disturbs Colin and you will make yourself ill. The last thing Miss Findlay needs is a second patient, my dear.”

“She is an angel, Rob,” Daphne wept, “and I have done her such a disservice, but I did not mean to, indeed I did not!”

Ashe directed her tottering steps to the library. He sat her down, removed the soaked, twisted scrap of handkerchief from her fingers, and substituted his own. Sitting beside her, he asked sternly, “What did you do? How did you harm Miss Findlay?”