Hounds of Autumn (20 page)

Chapter 33

“Y
ou’re cooler. The fever broke,”
said Chloe, laying her hand on Ambrose’s forehead.

“Indeed. I was thinking of taking the perilous journey to that chair.”

She offered her arm, but he waved it away. He got up and seated himself in the chair that had become his favorite.

“I dare say you will not be meeting with Mr. Baxter tonight?” she asked.

“No. I already had Mr. Frick send word that I would have to meet him in another day or two.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be outside anyway. The cold air is not good for you.”

“I seem to recall saying that you shouldn’t go out at night either,” he said with a wicked look.

“Only that I couldn’t go out alone. And as you can see, the cold air and evil vapors of the moor had no effect upon my health.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

Once she was sure he was well enough to take a shock, she told him about Josephine’s appearance at supper.

“That was most likely why Dora was anxious about you talking with Mr. Baxter alone,” she said. “He probably doesn’t know about the girl and she was afraid he might break off the engagement after such a scandal emerged.”

Ambrose nodded. “Something tells me that Mr. Baxter would not blame Dora if her brother behaved in an undignified manner.”

“I wouldn’t have thought it of Ian,” she shook her head. “Alexander seemed like the one who would do that.”

“You only say that because you heard it from others. A few days ago, you would not have thought it of Alexander.”

“I suppose not.” She got up and rang for a servant. When a maid appeared, she asked if Mrs. Block had supper for Ambrose.

A few minutes later, the young maid who had accompanied Mrs. Block to the stone circle appeared with a covered bowl, bread, a teapot and cup. Chloe lifted the cover off the soup bowl.

“There’s all sorts of healthful things in there,” said the maid. “Carrots, mushrooms and leeks, beef broth for strength, spinach and garlic for the blood and potatoes for energy. Also beets, but I forget what they’re for.”

Chloe thought about the medicinal herbs that Robert said would be included, but did not ask.

“It sounds wonderful. I believe I actually have an appetite now,” said Ambrose.

“My aunt says to make sure he eats the whole bowl,” said the maid to Chloe. “The bread too, if he can manage it. And he should try to drink a cup of tea every hour until bedtime.”

The girl turned to leave, but Chloe called her back. “How is the little girl, Josephine?”

“Oh, she’s eating down in the kitchen. She’ll be all right. She’s had such a rough time of it with her mother and all. Very sad. We’re all seeing to her though. And Ian came after supper to sit with her.”

“Do you think she’ll be staying?”

The girl blinked in surprise. For a family member to ask her opinion was unusual. “I suppose so. We made up a room for her just down the hall.” She bobbed a curtsey and left.

As Giles curled up on the windowsill, Chloe sat with Ambrose the rest of the evening, ensuring he finished his soup and drank his tea as instructed.

That night, as she pulled on her nightgown, she thought she heard a sound in the hallway. She listened, and it came again, a soft sniffling sound. She pulled open the doorway slowly, so as not to startle the person she thought was there. Josephine was in the hallway, but she jumped back and turned to run when she saw Chloe.

“No, wait. It’s me.”

Of course the child wouldn’t know who she was. She was just another face amid a sea of arguing strangers in this house. But the girl turned back and looked at her, evaluating. She looked tiny and too thin in her cotton nightgown. She smelled of soap and her hair hung in damp coils over her shoulders. Her feet were bare on the cold floorboards and her arms were wrapped around her middle.

“Are you cold?” Chloe said. Josephine paused and then nodded. “Did they make a fire up in your room?”

The girl shook her head.

“I have a fire in my room. Do you want to come in and warm up?”

Josephine glanced at the door behind her and took a step toward her. Chloe stepped aside and dragged two chairs near the fire. Josephine knelt down on the rug and put her hands out to absorb the heat. Chloe pulled a wool blanket off the bed and put it around the girl. Josephine’s eyes did not leave the fire.

“Who are you?” said Josephine. She sat back, pulled her knees up and wrapped the blanket around her body.

“I’m Chloe, I am married to your father’s uncle.”

Josephine drew her brows together in consideration and opened her mouth to say something, but then shut it and nodded. “And you live here too?”

“No, my husband and I are just visiting for a month. He’s in the next room but he’s not feeling well.”

“I hope God doesn’t take him. He takes people sometimes when they’re sick.”

“Oh no, I’m sure he’ll be fine.” She wanted to offer some comfort, but was not sure if she should bring up Josephine’s mother. But then, how could the girl not be thinking of her? The firelight played across her small face and she looked far away.

“Are you hungry?” Chloe asked.

“No, Mrs. Block gave me supper before my bath. Hot soup with carrots and potatoes and lots of things. Also bread with lots of butter and sugar sprinkled on top.” She turned to look around the room, taking in the furniture, the objects on the dressing table, the bed. She did not notice Giles on the windowsill, hidden by the curtain with darkness behind him. Maybe she should bring Giles over. Children liked animals.

“What did Ian say about me?” the girl asked.

“Not much. Your father told us that you were going to stay here, but that’s all.”

“My mum died. God took her this afternoon. So now I’m to live with my uncle. And my father. And that’s all there is to it.” She set her mouth in a manner that was far too old for her years.

She lowered her forehead to rest on her knees and took a long and shaky breath. Chloe knelt beside her and pushed her damp hair over one shoulder. She rubbed the girl’s back in slow circles. A minute later, Josephine launched herself into Chloe’s arms. She caught her balance in time to keep from falling over.

“I want my mummy back,” she whispered, her face hot and wet against Chloe’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” Chloe whispered into her damp hair. The child’s arms tightened around her neck as she took one sobbing breath after another.

“I hate God,” she whispered.

“I know.” Chloe held her, not knowing what to say. She rocked her and rubbed her back until her breathing slowed.

“I want to go to her,” she whispered, so faintly that Chloe wasn’t sure she had heard her.

“No, no you don’t.”

“I do!” she said, pulling her head back. Her eyes were wide and burned like green flames. “Then I wouldn’t be here with these dreadful people.”

“They’re not dreadful.” But that was a half-truth and they both knew it.

Josephine sighed heavily and laid her head back against Chloe’s shoulder. “If they’re so good, why weren’t they glad to see me?”

“They were just surprised, that’s all. They weren’t expecting you.”

“Ian never told them about me.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“They don’t want me.”

“They do, they just don’t know you yet. I bet in the morning they’ll be all smiles at breakfast. And if not, you come have breakfast with me. I’ll be glad to see you.”

“You will?”

“Without a doubt.”

She heaved a great sigh. “I’m tired. Can I sleep here with you?”

“I don’t know.” Chloe thought for a moment. What if someone came to check on the girl in the night and wondered where she went?

“I’m scared in my room all alone. And it’s cold.”

Well, if anyone raised an alarm, she would hear it and bring the child out.

“Fine then, you can have the side of the bed nearest the fire.”

Josephine got up. Her mouth quirked into an exhausted half smile. As she pulled the back the blankets and crawled under them, Chloe realized where she had seen a smile like that before. It was Alexander’s.

Chapter 34

J
osephine whimpered in her sleep
and kicked Chloe with an icy foot. Chloe jolted awake. The fire had died, and the room was bitter cold. Chloe made sure that the blankets were tucked snugly around the sleeping girl. Her hair was dry now and lay across the pillow in dark wisps. It slid across the pillow as the child rolled over, pulling the blankets with her.

An odor, sharp and foul came from the girl. Vomit. Chloe lit the table lamp and looked at Josephine’s sleeping face. A small amount of vomit was crusted on the side of her mouth, but her breathing was regular and she seemed fine otherwise. Chloe touched her cheek with the back of her fingers. Her temperature was normal. She hated to wake her and bring her back to the world of a dead mother and chaotic family. She wiped off the girl’s mouth and watched her for awhile.

Josephine whimpered again and pulled her body into a ball. Poor girl. She must be having terrible dreams about her mother.

“Hurts,” she whimpered.

“I know. But your mother is with God now, and she will always be looking after you from heaven.”

“No, my stomach.” Her stomach gurgled and she moaned louder and then after awhile, she grew still. Chloe waited, listening in the dark. Josephine was breathing deep and slow. She must have fallen asleep.

When Chloe awoke, she found Josephine’s side of the bed empty. A cough from near her dressing table told her where the girl was. One of the gaslights was on very low. Josephine was crouched like a toad in front of the dresser, the washing basin in front of her as she coughed and spat into it. The sharp, sickly smell of stomach acid filled the room and Chloe’s stomach lurched in response. She flew to the door, yanking it open for fresh air and then turned up the gaslight. The washbasin was filled with vomit and Josephine was dry heaving and coughing, her small body shaking with the effort. She was crying silently as she heaved, her arms clutched around her middle. Her eyes were large and hollow.

“I’ll get Mrs. Block,” Chloe said and ran upstairs to the servants’ floor. The doors were all closed. Which one was it? She didn’t even know if she was in the men’s or women’s side. She knocked on a door and a woman with puffy eyes blinked at her.

“Where is Mrs. Block’s room?”

The maid pointed Chloe down the hall. She pounded on the door a few times until it cracked open. Mrs. Block got one look at her and was immediately alert.

“What is it?”

“It’s Josephine. She’s very sick.”

Mrs. Block disappeared behind the door and reappeared in a heavy robe and slippers.

“She spent the night in my room,” Chloe said as they headed up the hall. “She was missing her mother and wanted to stay with me. And then she woke up, vomiting, and complaining of stomach pains.”

“Fever?”

“I don’t think so. She was healthy earlier this evening. She’s in a lot of pain. She’s holding her stomach and crying.”

Mrs. Block sped up and they descended the stairs and turned toward Chloe’s room. Josephine was now lying on her side beside the basin, breathing, but either asleep or unconscious. Mrs. Block rushed to her side and lifted her upper body. The back of Josephine’s nightgown was smeared with something dark and wet and a puddle spread out beneath her. The smell was unmistakable. The girl had lost control of her bowels.

“It looks like she vomited up her whole supper,” said Mrs. Block. “I want you to rouse Alexander or Ian and get them to go fetch the doctor. It should be Ian.” She looked up. “Now. Don’t just stand there!” she barked. She looked at Josephine with undisguised fear.

Chloe ran to Ian’s door and pounded. She was about to open it and shake Ian awake when the door flew open.

“What is it?”

“Josephine. She’s sick. We need to get the doctor.”

She followed him to her room, and by the time she had come up behind him, he had already taken in the scene.

“Get the doctor,” said Mrs. Block, cradling the small body against her own. “Something is very wrong.”

“Chloe!” cried Ian, his face full of anger and terror. “Go to the stable and get Mr. James to get the carriage ready. Tell him we’re taking her to Doctor Fleming.”

He swept Josephine into his arms and strode into the hallway.

“Why don’t you bring Alexander along for help?” Mrs. Block asked him.

“He was no help to her mother when she was alive. Why would he help her daughter?”

Chloe rushed past them, down the stairs and into the kitchen. She grabbed a lantern and hurried out the back of the house toward the stables. The back lawn was cold on her feet, and as she ran past the brick border into the rougher area of the yard, twigs and gravel stabbed her feet with every step. She did not slow. She knew nothing about medicine, but if Mrs. Block was frightened, then Josephine was in grave danger.

The stable was dark and the horses stirred and snorted at her approach. At the back of the stable was a closed door. She pounded on it until Mr. James pulled it open, allowing a crack of light to pierce the stable from his room. He was wearing nothing but flannel pajama bottoms and his chest was dark with hair. Flustered, Chloe looked away.

“What is it?” He reached for his shirt, which seemed to be flung over some piece of furniture next to the door.

“Get the carriage right away. The little girl is sick. No time for the doctor to come so we need the carriage.”

He grunted and pulled a horse from its stall.

“Do you need any help?” Chloe asked. She knew little about horses, but she could follow instructions.

“Nah. Just get back to the house. Take that,” he said and pointed to an oversized black coat that hung on a hook next to his bedroom door. It smelled of animals and hay. She gratefully pulled it on and ran back to the house.

In the kitchen, Ian was holding Josephine in his lap near the fire and Mrs. Block was removing a large bowl from the table and replacing it with a smaller one. She placed the large bowl in the sink and Chloe saw the thin, watery vomit collected in the bottom of it. Whatever the girl had eaten, it was out of her system now. She couldn’t possibly have anything left in her stomach. They had wrapped Josephine in a woolen blanket and she was conscious again, though her lips were white. Her breathing was more labored now but her crying had stopped. Except for her breathing, she sat as still as a statue, her face blank and her eyes glassy and hollow-looking.

“He’ll be here soon,” Chloe said.

“I want Mummy.”

“There, there,” Ian soothed. He carried Josephine to the window and Chloe leaned over to see Mr. James’s progress. The carriage was nearly ready and two lanterns glowed from the front of it.

“It’s time,” Ian said.

“Mummy!” Josephine moaned and reached her arms toward Chloe.

“I’m not your mummy, darling,” she said as gently as she could.

“Mummy! I want Mummy!” she yelled, her face reddening with effort. She squirmed in Ian’s arms and tried to pull herself free.

“Mummy’s coming,” said Ian, looking at Chloe pointedly and jerking his head toward the back door. The lanterns were moving toward them now and the horses’ hooves crunched the gravel. Mr. James leaped from the driver’s seat and opened the carriage door. Chloe climbed in first, followed by Ian with his charge.

Mrs. Block said something into Ian’s ear as Mr. James climbed back into the driver’s seat and then she slammed the door shut and stepped back from the carriage. The horses started at the sharp sound, jolting the carriage forward and throwing Chloe against the seat back. Josephine’s face was white in the darkness, her eyes wide and alert.

“Uncle Ian, I want to sit with Mummy,” she said.

Chloe nodded to Ian and he transferred the girl to her lap. Josephine’s body reeked of vomit and excrement, but she cradled her close. A few minute later, the girl felt too still. Chloe put her hand against her side to check her respiration. She was breathing, but asleep or unconscious again.

“She’s out,” Chloe said quietly and Ian’s face relaxed. He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair.

“What do you think it is?” Chloe asked.

“I have no idea,” he said. “But Doctor Fleming will. He’s good.”

The carriage jolted sickeningly over the rough road and threw her back again. Mr. James was driving too fast. Good.

“Here,” Ian said, holding out his arms.

Chloe passed Josephine over. “Do I look like her mother?”

“A bit.”

Something stirred in the back of Chloe’s mind.

“Was she a housemaid? Yours?”

“Ours, yes.”

Chloe tried to hold her face expressionless as she glanced out the window. The moor was covered in mist and scarcely lit by white moonlight. So Ian had a child with a maid. And now he had the product of that encounter lying near dead in his arms. Something didn’t seem right about it though. There was Alexander’s reaction to the girl and Ian’s almost smug behavior at supper. Ian was watching her. She met his eyes and pulled her mouth all the way closed, setting her jaw.

“Alexander’s?” she asked.

“Pardon?”

“She’s your brother’s child?”

He did not answer, but checked on Josephine and gazed out the window.

“But why …” The carriage turned. They were getting closer to town now.

Ian was the more responsible brother. So she understood why he would support the girl’s mother, even though he was in no way responsible for the situation. But why would he claim the child as his own?

Beatrice. Ian would want to protect Beatrice from the pain of having her husband’s illegitimate child acknowledged, and eventually living with her. He had decided to bear the whispers and shame to protect her.

“Have you been supporting her mother all these years?”

“Yes, but it hasn’t been that much really. It was the least I could do to try to set things right.”

“Is this the first time this has happened?” It was a dangerous question, but something about the darkness and the closeness of death made her bold.

“To Alexander, yes.” He paused. “Well, as far as I know. If Robert ever does anything like it—” He shook his head.

“And you did it for Beatrice.”

He did not answer. The carriage was nearing the town and Ian watched anxiously out the window as they passed through. When they reached their destination, he flung the door open and strode up the narrow walkway to a small but neatly kept house. After pounding on the door, a light came on inside and the door cracked open revealing a thin woman with a narrow face.

“I’ll fetch the doctor,” she stated, opening the door wide without waiting for Ian to explain. Josephine mumbled in her sleep and then was still. Chloe carried her into the house.

“Any idea what it is?” A voice came from the dark stairway as Doctor Fleming thumped down the steps.

“No, she just started having stomach pains in the night,” answered Ian.

The doctor muttered something as he examined the girl.

“Vomiting and soiling herself, I see,” he said. “Has she been insensible the entire time?”

“No, she wakes and sleeps on and off. What is it?” said Ian.

“Can’t say yet.” He took her pulse, felt her forehead and listened to her breathing. “Let’s get her upstairs into a bed. My wife will help you bathe her and give her some fresh garments.”

Ian carried Josephine upstairs and the doctor’s wife told them she would be back shortly. As Chloe was about to pull off the soiled nightgown, Josephine opened her eyes.

“It’s time for Ian to be here,” she mumbled. “Time for Mummy to leave.”

“We’re here, sweetheart,” Ian said.

“That’s better,” she said, grimacing. “I’m cold but I need to—”

She cried out and clutched her stomach. Her torso stiffened and relaxed as she dry heaved.

“No, Mummy.” She flashed her eyes on Chloe and reached out her hands.

She gathered Josephine into her arms as the girl heaved and lost bowel control again. She was whimpering weakly, a small sound, like a pup. Her head fell back and she lost consciousness again. Chloe looked helplessly to Ian. He was leaning against the window frame, holding the heavy curtain with one hand and looking out into the blackness.

The doctor’s wife opened the door and brought fresh nightclothes for Josephine and a cup with a spoon sticking out. She unfolded a tiny paper square, poured powder into the cup and stirred. The clinking of the spoon on the cup and the wind at the window were the only sounds.

“When she wakes again, see if she will drink this,” she said. “We think perhaps she ate something rotten and her body is trying to rid itself of the toxin. Do you know what she ate today?”

Ian took a deep breath. “Well, for lunch, she had bread with cheese, and for supper, the housekeeper gave her—”

“Soup. Oh God. Soup,” Chloe said. “Ambrose and Josephine had the same soup tonight for supper. I need to get home. Now.”

Josephine was so small and pale. She was breathing, but shallowly. It was hard to tell in the low light, but her lips and hands appeared to have a dark tinge.

“Go,” said Ian. “I have her.”

He took Josephine into his arms and Chloe rose. Her nightgown and borrowed coat were covered in foul things, but it didn’t matter. The doctor’s wife rushed down the stairs calling to Mr. James. Ian held Josephine tenderly, and his eyes met Chloe’s. There was nothing to say.

“I’ll tell the doctor to send someone to the house,” called Ian as Chloe raced down the stairs. By the time she reached the front door, Mr. James was already holding the carriage door open for her. She threw herself inside and sent up a desperate prayer as the driver climbed up and the carriage jerked forward.