Edith Layton (6 page)

“Do you still think you can help?” Miles asked.

“I must.”

“Then do,” he said.

He sat and lowered his head to his hands and didn’t look up until he heard the woman ask him to help raise Annabelle’s head, so they could try to give her a sip of the first potion she’d brewed for her.

Miles’s friend, the surgeon from London, arrived at sunset. Harry Selfridge was a tall, lean man whose spectacles covered soft brown eyes.

“I came as soon as I received your letter, Miles,”
he said as he stripped off his gloves. “Called for my coach, and left my consultation room filled with patients.”

“I’m devilish sorry for having rousted you—”

“Don’t apologize! It was no imposition. I owe you much more than this for your aid on the
Forthright
as well as when I had that unfortunate incident in Spain. I only hope this in some small way can help repay you. How is she?”

“You don’t owe me anything, but do whatever you can, Harry. She’s in great need. I dismissed her other doctor. I needed someone I can trust.”

“That would be me. Where is she?”

Miles led him to the stair. His step faltered, he hesitated, then turned to his old friend. “I—have a woman from the village tending to her now, or at least until you came. She seemed competent, and I needed help. And…” He lowered his gaze and added, his cheekbones growing ruddy, “I’m taking her advice even though I have doubts, but her cures don’t seem too vile. In fact, I helped her give my wife a potion of peppermint, elderflower, and yarrow today. I’m not an utter fool,” he said when his friend looked at him sharply. “The woman seemed to have good credentials, and damn it, Harry, what else could I do? I dismissed the curst doctor on the spot, tossed him out of the house because it seemed to me he was killing her faster than the influenza could. Herbs, at least, I thought would be benign.”

“Herbs? Benign? Like hemlock, henbane, and belladonna, eh?” Harry then patted Miles’s shoulder. “Never mind. Yarrow and elderflower are specifics for some infections. If that’s what it is there’d be no harm in it and possibly much good.”

Mrs. Farrow looked up when they entered the bedroom. “She’s still sleeping,” she told Miles, “but her breathing seems easier. That could be only my wishful thinking, though. What do you think, Harry? And how have you been?”

“By all that’s holy,” the surgeon said with a smile. “Gloriana! You found yourself a worthy ministering angel,” he told Miles. “We’re old friends, Mrs. Farrow and I. Her essays are well regarded at the Academy and her research has been of great interest to us. How have you and your good husband been keeping, Gloriana?”

“Well enough. Had His Lordship told me you were the surgeon he sent for I’d have been easier in my mind. The lady is not in good case, Harry. Not at all.”

“Well, let’s have a look,” Harry said, approaching the bed. He stared at his new patient, felt her forehead, and bent his head to her heart to listen close. Then he gently lifted one of Annabelle’s arms and winced at what he saw. “Cupping?” he asked sadly, pushing back the sleeve of her dressing gown to look at the array of dark red circles that disfigured her slender arm. “Of course, un
less she was attacked by an octopus,” he answered himself bitterly. “On the breast as well, I suppose?”

Mrs. Farrow parted Annabelle’s dressing gown, and the surgeon winced. “Oh Lord. The devil was thorough with his remedies, wasn’t he? And these horrors here, along her ribs? Blisters, I suppose? Raise a blister, lower a fever, but that was in the last century. It won’t go out of style until the next, I’m afraid.”

He continued his inventory. “This gash here at the wrist, of course, was for the bleeding. Certainly efficacious for fevers due to infection caused by shot. But for this?”

He turned to Miles. “He was lucky you only threw him out, I would have killed him. Now,” he said, looking at his patient again, “let me see what I can do.”

M
iles felt a touch on his arm and he woke instantly, looking up in confusion. He’d only meant to rest, but when he’d closed his eyes it wasn’t yet dawn, and now the room was filled with light.

“How long have I been sleeping?” he asked, starting from his chair, his eyes wild. “How is she?”

“Shh, she’s doing well. At least her condition hasn’t changed, and that is well,” Mrs. Farrow said. “Harry went to bed. I had the night watch, remember? But I must get warm water and need someone to sit with her while I do. I hesitated to leave if you were asleep. I know it’s foolish of me because she doesn’t know the difference, but I hate to leave her alone for a moment.”

“Not foolish, kind and considerate,” Miles said,
his heart slowing to a normal pace again. “Go and get some rest yourself. I’m refreshed.”

She gave him a quizzical look.

He looked down at himself, and added, “‘Refreshed’ admittedly, is perhaps not the right word. I look like I’ve slept in my clothes, because I have. But I do feel better for it.”

“My lord, closing your eyes for five minutes is not refreshing. Nor is not eating or exercising. You’ve been glued to this room since she fell ill. I wouldn’t have woken you unless I had to. I suppose I didn’t have to, but…”

“I know,” he said gently. “She’s very alone and her condition unpredictable. Go now. I’ll watch.”

But watch for what? he wondered as he sat by his bride’s bedside again. Could she slip away in her sleep? And if so, what difference did it make if he stayed? For that matter, what difference would it make to her if she woke to find him there? How could he give her any comfort? He hardly knew her. He sat sprawled in a chair, watching her and bedeviling himself.

She dreamed on. He kept watching to make sure she was still breathing. Her face was so pale, her lips so white; thank God Mrs. Farrow had thought to put a pretty lacy little nightcap on her, because though Miles had seen much and endured more without flinching, the sight of Annabelle’s poor cropped head did strange things to his stomach.

If the worst came to pass, he thought with a
surge of self-loathing, he’d never marry for convenience again. He’d never compromise on something as important as marriage even if it meant never remarrying at all. Now he saw what he hadn’t thought of before. Fools rush in, they said. He’d indeed been that. He’d agreed to a life of loneliness with a woman he didn’t know. And if things had gone on as they’d planned? What hope would there have been for children conceived and raised with no loving parents? What hope for himself?

And if she lived? How could they make a go of it now that he realized what a huge mistake they’d made?

When the door opened, Miles looked up to see his friend Harry peering in. “No change that I can see,” Miles said. “Go back to sleep.”

“Can’t,” Harry said on a yawn as he came into the room. “It’s the same thing at home. I can’t rest if there’s even a small chance I can help. I know that a successful London physician should see the supposedly ill and quack them to their heart’s content, then go home to sleep the sleep of the very rich. But most nights I’m at St. Guy’s tending to those who can’t afford to see me by day. I don’t know how my Mary Anne puts up with me.”

“I never thought to ask. How is she?”

“As always, more than I deserve. She’s sorry she couldn’t attend your wedding, as was I. I was detained by a stricken patient, of course. They
tend to go into crisis whenever I have something merry planned. My Mary Anne was too busy keeping our newest babe close company to travel so far as out the door. Due next month, if all goes well. But once that’s done, she looks forward to meeting your wife.” He paused, cleared his throat, adjusted his spectacles, and scrutinized Annabelle. “You know?” he said softly, after studying her for a moment. “Your wife just may be able to be introduced to mine someday, after all.”

Miles rose to his feet. “What is it?”

“It’s what it isn’t. She’s holding her own. And days have passed without her worsening. Her color’s no worse, her breathing isn’t labored. I don’t say it’s time to celebrate, but here’s the dawn and here she is. That’s good, that’s very good. The tides of life run lowest at dawn and dusk. That’s when the weak slip away. She’s holding on. That’s something.”

“What’s happened?” Mrs. Farrow asked. She stood stock-still in the doorway holding a basin of steaming water, staring at the two men standing over the patient’s bed.

“Nothing,” Harry assured her. “We were only just commenting on that. She’s still with us, Gloriana, and that’s good.”

“Well,” she said with heartfelt relief. “Then you two might want to leave for a bit. They say conversation can penetrate the sleeping mind, and I know pain and discomfort do. So it only makes
sense that comfort can too. I thought I’d wash the lady’s face and hands for her, freshen her for the morning.”

“Excellent idea,” Harry said. “Let us know when you’re done. Come along, Miles, we’ll swallow some strong coffee, put some heart back in you too.”

They sat alone in the morning room, eating a hastily assembled breakfast they’d foraged from the kitchens.

Harry cast a shrewd eye over his old friend. He sipped his coffee and murmured, “If you were my patient I’d give you two days, at most. You look dreadful.” His voice softened. “You must love her very much.”

Mile’s lean face was shadowed by a new growth of beard, and his eyes had dark circles under them. But the stark sorrow in them made him look even more haggard. “No,” he said quietly, “there’s the damnedest part of it, Harry. I don’t. How could I? I scarcely know her.”

Harry winced. “Ah! An arranged marriage.”

“No, I’m free to do as I please. The despicable thing is that I arranged it.”

The surgeon’s eyebrows rose.

Miles sighed. “Well, perhaps not. Family is the reason I married. Mine. I came home to find them in chaos, Harry. That filthy beggar Proctor left my mother penniless. I sent her money but I couldn’t
send her backbone, nor could I buy her acceptance in the polite world. His lying and cheating had put an end to that. She wasn’t good
ton
anymore. And my sister?” He gave a hollow laugh. “She bloomed into womanhood and yet still acts like a hurly-burly girl, spends more time in the stables than on the dance floor. The bizarre thing is that men like it. I’m afraid they’ll misunderstand it too. And that’s not just because of the possible scandal, but for her own future’s sake. The less said about my brother, the better, because if I get any angrier at him I’ll thump him before I greet him next time he gets sent down from school—which could be any moment, if his past record holds.

“In short, I needed a wife. Someone to literally help set my house in order. Someone who could give us entrée into society, as well as being a woman my mother would approve of and follow. She’s very biddable, you know. Otherwise she’d never have married that cad.”

“Your mother’s not so malleable as you think,” his friend said with a frown. “Proctor was a wretched man and that marriage a mistake, but as I recall, for all her submissiveness, your mother was a strong-minded woman, in her own way.”

“You haven’t seen her in years,” Miles said dismissively. “My father was a strong man who set her standards.”

“He was a very good man.”

“No, he was better than that,” Miles said roughly. “I didn’t expect my mother to remain a widow, because she isn’t the sort who can get on by herself. She could have done well with a different second husband. Now she’s a shadow of her former self. Trying to cope with Proctor broke her spirit; seeing what had become of her nearly broke my heart. What my siblings were doing snapped my temper. So what was I to do?

“It was driving me mad, Harry. The idea of marrying occurred to me and wouldn’t leave my mind. It seemed the answer to all my problems, not only for reestablishing my mother in society. A stylish and strong-minded wife could set an example for my sister. A fashionable wife could help present her in London, show her the right way to go on. And whatever else he is, Bernard’s still young and impressionable. If I married a beauty it would get his attention, and she might be able to sway him too.”

“And for yourself?” Harry asked shrewdly.

“Me? I couldn’t find love, so I settled for a wife I could admire.”

“And why did she marry you?”

Miles shifted in his chair. He looked down at his cup. “Circumstance, unhappy endings to a few associations she’d hopes of that left her looking for a husband to stop the whispering about her lack of success on the marriage mart.” He looked up, his eyes sleet stark. “I’m not telling tales out of school.
You know it; who in London doesn’t? That’s exactly why she married me. And just like me, there are worse bargains she could have made. In fact, as marriages of convenience go, our was better than most. At least we both knew what we were doing and had free choice.” His voice became low, hoarse. “Or so I thought. But damn it all, Harry, now I see what a mistake it was.”

“Oh, I see,” Harry said lightly. “So dying at her age would be better if she loved you?”

Miles’s head shot up.

“I think,” Harry said slowly, “that she may live. But I also think that if she does, you have an even bigger problem than guilt to deal with.”

“You really think she can recover?”

“Yes. If she passes this crisis, and it looks more and more like she may. The influenza is sweeping London. It takes some people very badly; the old, and especially the poor, are dying like flies. But the young and the rich, those who have good constitutions and the wherewithal to eat properly, are surviving nicely. How are you feeling, by the way?”

“I’m fine,” Miles said impatiently.

“Indeed? And have been so since you came to London?”

There was something in his friend’s tone of voice that made Miles stop to think. “You know, I did have a minor indisposition before the wedding. I put it down to last-minute anxiety. A cramp, a lack of appetite…”

“A little more time in the water closet? As I thought.” Harry nodded. “Doubtless you had the same thing, but lightly, and you survived it nicely. It happens that way, sometimes.”

Miles’s lips became tight. “I gave it to her, you think?”

“You and half the population of London. But that’s what makes me more optimistic. It’s not the influenza itself which kills, it’s the debilitating effects and what that leaves the body open to. A sound foundation doesn’t crumble as rapidly as a poor one.” He rose. “Let’s go up and have another look. But I begin to believe she’ll do.”

“God, I hope you’re right,” Miles breathed as they walked to the stair. “If she does rally, how long before she fully recovers, do you think?”

“That’s anyone’s guess. She took it hard, it may be a while. If you’re thinking of resuming marital relations, I must caution you—”

Miles stopped to stare at his friend. “That’s the furthest thing from my mind! I was thinking about her recuperation, and how long we should stay on here if she does well. We’d planned to be here only a matter of weeks, then go on to Hollyfields and join the family. But as it is…How long before she recovers her looks, do you think?”

He saw the look Harry gave him, half shock, half distaste. “What a friend you are!” Miles said, shaking his head. “You should know me better. I’m not asking for my sake. I only want her to re
cover, but I promise you that if she does, the first thing she’ll worry about is her appearance. She’s very proud of her looks, you know. She’s very proud altogether,” he added. “That’s what attracted me to her. They gossiped about her in London, but she bore it like a queen who knew her subjects were always going to chatter about their betters.

“The first time I saw her,” he said reflectively as he paused before the stair, remembering, “she was going to a ball. She didn’t know me or even see me. I was standing in an alcove. She was waiting to be announced. She caught my eye; she’s very beautiful, and I’ve always preferred dark women. She was wearing something blue, the color of her eyes. She has magnificent eyes.”

He smiled as he went on. “There she stood watching the company, unobserved. Except, of course, by me. And the strangest thing was that apart from being so incredibly lovely, she looked tentative, sad, somehow fragile. It called to me. This magnificently beautiful woman, afraid? She stood there looking into the ballroom, assessing the lay of the land like a captain surveying enemy ships before raising the colors. It seemed that important to her, and she seemed that daunted. And then, damned if she didn’t draw in a deep breath like she was going to jump off a cliff. So deep it moved her breast—and you know I was watching that,” he added to make his friend smile too.

“Then,” he went on with a hint of wonder in his voice, “she smiled and walked right in as though she didn’t have a worry in the world. She looked amused, blasé, confident. It was as if all the doubt and fear I’d just seen had been a mirage. She had beauty, sophistication—and courage. And that, I thought right then, was exactly what I was looking for in a wife.

“So she’s brave, Harry,” Miles went on, his face grave again. “She’ll have to be. All I want is for her to live. You gave me a crumb of hope, and now I see the dangers even in that miracle. Because I just realized that if she recovers she has a harder road ahead than most women. How is a great beauty like Lady Annabelle going to deal with how she looks, at least now?”

“The Lady Annabelle?” Harry exclaimed, blinking. “
She
’s the lady…? I’d forgotten! Of course, that’s who you married, now I remember, though I got no hint by looking at her…” He paused, his expression troubled. “That
will
be a problem, won’t it?” He sighed. “I can’t say. I honestly don’t know when her looks will return or if they’ll be as they were. Her hair will grow in, of course. But it may not be the same texture, at least not at first. In fact, it may fall out.”

Miles winced.

“Before it grows back in again,” Harry added quickly. “A fever sometimes causes that. Her complexion will return, as will her figure, in time.
A nourishing diet and plenty of rest will help that. The scars from the cupping and blisters will fade too. She’ll recover health and looks, in time. Time is the key. It’s not exactly like rebuilding a ruined cathedral…but it may seem almost that long to her.”