Lady Rogue (24 page)

"Oliver?"  She lifted her head breathing a deep sigh. 
Because I had to, can't you see
, she thought.  She had hoped that by being with Garrick's friend she could dissuade him from his affections.  That would have made it so much easier for her.  If only she could have made him think she preferred Oliver to him then perhaps he would have vanished from her life.  But Garrick was more sure of himself than she had supposed.  Or perhaps he did not give up his women quite so easily.

"Not that I want you to misunderstand."  Garrick's eyes moved tenderly over her face, pausing a
t her lips.  "I have no claim. Yet. But when we kissed...."

"Nor
do I want you to think....."             

"Oliver can be  very charming.   It's just that I sensed that our being together  had touched you as deeply as it had me."

And you are right in that assumption.  I love you, so desperately, and yet you can never love me.  Not  the person I really am
, Dawn thought.  How could she make him understand.  "I...I like him.  Oliver. He's a most amiable fellow."

"And what am I?"  His face was shadowed
, but she could feel the heat of his gaze.  His head bent, tempting her as his lips brushed against her own as if to remind her of what had passed between them.

My life, my love
, she thought.  For the moment all she knew was the feel of his lips, the current of expectation that swept through her.  She could feel her heart beating so loudly she was certain he could hear.  She couldn't think, couldn't breathe. 
Tell him you love him
, an inner voice whispered. 
Take a chance.  Let him love you and  give him your love in return.  Grasp happiness with both fists and hope that you'll have a happy ending.  Fairy tales can come true
! 

"What am I?" he asked again.  Their gazes locked and she couldn't look away.  An irresistible tide, the warmth of her feelings for him, drew h
er.  How could she lie to him?

"I've never met a man like you.  You are the kind of man I've dreamed
of, but you frighten me too."

"Frighten you?"  Of all the things she might have said that was the last  he had ever expected her to say.  "Frighten you?"   Her words wounded him. Gathering her close against his chest he whispered, "I'd never do
anything to harm you.  Never."

"Never?" She trembled against him.  Never was a strong word.  Unknowingly he already had harmed her by taking her brother away from her.  But he didn't know that.  How could he?  And what would he think if he did know.  Would he be sorry?  Would he still be gentle and smiling?
Tell him the truth.  Trust him and all will be well.  Remember the time in the carriage.  . Margaret Pembrooke knows about your past and she still cares about you
, she thought. 
Perhaps he can too.  Perhaps all is not lost after all.

"Something is bothering you."  He traced the pucker of her frown with his finger tip.  "Tell me what it is."  A whisp of curls had fallen into her eyes and he  brushed i
t away.  "Perhaps I can help."

"I'm....I'm not...not.."  Dawn swallowed hard, preparing herself to begin the tale.  Would he understand?  Would he believe her when she told him her days of thievary were behind her? Warily her eyes searched out the terrace
, and seeing it to be deserted she took his hand and led him there.  "Come with me."

If she was going to confide in him they needed privacy.  Margaret Pembrooke would be her witness.  She would corroborate what Dawn was going to tell him now.  Somehow Dawn felt the old woman could make Garrick understand even if she couldn't.  She had to take the chance or turn her back forever on whatever happiness she  might have.
One thing she knew for certain--ignoring Garrick Seton just wouldn't work.  Nor could she hide her love by hanging on to Oliver’s coattails.  Oliver was as she had said a pleasant lad, but he could never measure up to Garrick.

Cool whisps of wind brushed against Dawn's face as she neared the terrace.  She tried to sort out her jumbled thoughts, to  prepare herself to use the right words.  Cooly, logically her mind took command. 
Just begin at the beginning and tell him the truth.  Her mother had always told her that truth won out over lies every time
.

"Garrick, there's something I m
ust tell you......" she began.

"Miss Dawn Landon.  I'm looking for a Mistress Landon."  A shrill, boyish voice pierced the air
.  "I have an urgent message!"

"A message?"  Garrick reacted before Dawn did.  Raising his arm he beckoned the boy over to where they stood.
"This is Miss Dawn Landon." 

The grim expression on the boy's fac
e alarmed Dawn.  "What is it?"

"I have been sent to find you.  You are to come with me right away.  Margaret Pembrooke has been taken ill and is asking fo
r you.  Hurry!"

"Margaret
?"  Dawn was stunned.

"My Aunt?"  Oliver's voice shook as he came up behind them.  "But she is in perfect health.  The doctor said so the last time he visited.  Strong as a
Yorkshire bred cow."

"All I know is that I was sent to fetch Miss Dawn Land
on, as well as yourself, Sir."

"Oh, bother it all!  I'll have Douglass boiled in oil if she has fallen again.  Drat the man!"  Wrenching Dawn's hand from Garrick's, he said,  "Come.  Come.  Let's not waste a minute."  As he  pushed her along  Dawn's  chance for a confession was lost. 
               

Chapter Thirty-Two

The physicians face was grim as he took Oliver and Dawn aside.  "There's not much I can do.  Just make her as comfortable as I can and hope for the best. Sometimes a patient gets well, but then at other times……" 

"But what is wrong?"  Dawn's
gasped to see the pale, haggard face of the woman in bed.  "She had a bit of indigestion  a few days ago at breakfast.  Nothing more."

"Ah yes.  Dyspepsia.  Mmmm.  A common complaint in these times. But that is not what s
he is suffering from, I fear."

"Then what?"  Oliver's tone was just as shrill as Dawn's.  "Speak up, man.  What is ailing my Aunt.  Why....why she is usually as healthy as a verita
ble horse, I'll have you know. By your own words!"

"Something to do with her stomach."  The doctor shook his head.  "We know very little about such things I'm afraid.
”

“You know very little. You’re a doctor, for god’s sake.” A moan and a stir from the direction of the bed caused him to lower his voice. “You bloody well better know.”

Clearing his throat, the physician was defensive.  “Why, I daresay that despite all the dissections those blasted surgeons engage in, we're still barely out of the dark ages when it comes to knowing about the body.  If you want my opinion I would wager a guess that it quite possibly could be peritonitis."

"Periwhatis?"  Oliver shrug
ged his shoulders in confusin.

"Peritonitis.  A kind of poison
."

"Poison!"  Nearly falling off his chair,
Oliver grimaced.  "Poison?"

"An inflammation of the peritoneum, the membrane that lines the cavity of the abdomen. 
The result of a burst appendix, I daresay. Of course, in the early stages it usually causes a great deal of pain but then your aunt has no feeling below the waist, it’s possible.... It's altogether possible....."  He turned towards Dawn.  "Tell me about her complaint.  How it started."

"Well, she thought she might have come upon a bit of bad food.  She had a spell of nausea, then vomiting.  But it went away.  I asked her if she wanted something for the mid-day meal
, but she wasn't hungry.  She told me she had lost her appetite and said jokingly that she would soon get back her girlish figure if she continued in such a manner."  Dawn felt a twinge of guilt.  She had been so filled with her own thoughts  of Garrick, the ball and her decision to go with Oliver, that she had taken little notice of Margaret Pembrooke's complaint.  "Now that I think back on it, she did seem a bit feverish.  Her face was flushed. Oh, I should have called you."

"Ah yes, and I would have bled her immediately.  As it is I'm afraid the poison has gathered.  But I have bled her now and given her a castor oil, a mild laxative, and syrup of pale roses.  That should relieve some of the  poison and hopefuly correct the problem."  One by one he stuffed his remedies back in his leather bag.  "She should get better.
If not, summon me immediately.”

Dawn and Oliver hovered
anxiously over Margaret Pembrooke's bedside, but instead of improving she got steadily worse. Murmuring incoherently over and over, then drifting off into a fitful sleep.

"Trust a physician.  Ha!  The farther away one stays from such quacks the better, I always say."  Oliver mumbled.  "Trying to move in proper social circles as if they were aristocratic.  Ha!  Their overblown vocabulary is spiced with Latin words and such, but their
Oxford educations are all for naught.  Charlatons, that's what they are.  Why, they are little better than surgeons, if you ask me, though they think themselves above them." 

Dawn remembered her father
had held much the same view.  He had regarded all doctors with scepticism.  "The safest thing to do when ill is to keep well away from doctor's remedies and rely on your mother's healing herbs," he had always said.  "Hospitals are for the destitute, the fever ridden and the insane.  No one in their right mind would enter one.” Certainly neither the doctors nor the surgeons had not been able to save him after the carriage accident.  And her mother had died as well, though there had been a physician at the prison.  Oliver was right in espousing them as "quacks".

“And yet he was very kind, and is certainly trying to do all that he can,” Dawn whispered, trying to soothe the disgruntled man at her side.

Oliver wrung his hands.  "Well, if
he
knows what is good for him he'll save my Aunt.  Or he will rue it!  That I swear."

He really does care
, Dawn thought, looking over at the worried young man who now had his face in his hands.  If only Margaret Pembrooke would open her eyes and witness her nephew's devotion.  So many times she had bemoaned to Dawn that her nephew cared little for her, that only her money drew  his attention.  Surely his worry  now was not feigned, nor his anger.

"He has done all that he could.  The
rest is up to God," she said.

"Then I beg him to spare her."  Tears misted the young man's eyes
, and he wiped them away with his lace handkerchief, then blew his nose.  "I've been a selfish dolt.  Too concerned with my own pleasures.  It's just that she seemed so formidable.  I....I thought she would always be here.  I never thought....."

"She understood." Dawn lied to spare his feelings.  "Really she did.   You are very dear to her.  And...and she will get well.  You will see."  How was she to know then how wrong she was or that life could so quickly
once again take a bitter turn?

The flame in the oil lamp flickered and sputtered, casting eerie shadows against the wall.  In the bedroom all was silent as the physican once more resumed his place at his patients side.  Though he didn't say it, Dawn began to fear that Margaret Pembrooke was going to die
. She had come to love the old woman, to admire her strength and tenacity, to trust her as she did few people.  Who else would have taken her into their home, shown her as much kindness as a mother did a daughter?  To teach her, pamper her, and help her to attain her dreams?  Now the pale face, the cold hands, the ragged breathing all gave warning that Margaret Pembrooke’s life was in danger.

“Is she in any pain?”

“Not now. I gave her quite a large dose of laudanum.”

“Dawn…..” The voice was a whispered croak, but Dawn crept nearer. Taking the old woman’s hand, she held on tightly, as if by clinging to her she could keep her in the world of the living.

“I’m here. And Oliver is here too. We both love you very much.”

“Not…..worried….about…Oliver…but you.”

“I don’t want you to worry, just to get well. Oh, I’m going to tell Cook never to give you steak-and-kidney pie again!” Reaching out, Dawn brushed back the gray curls that clung to Margaret’s dampened brow. “Oh, if only I’d known you were so very ill. I never would have gone tonight. I would have stayed with you and….”

“Hush! Not…your…fault. Stubborness. Mine. Like…to….think…I’m invincible.” The grandam’s eyelids fluttered as she
breathed a deep sigh.

“Doctor!”

“She’s resting.”

Putting his finger and thumb on Margaret Pembrooke’s wrist, the doctor clucked his tongue with worry,
nevertheless. “Her pulse rate has increased dangerously despite my efforts. It’s racing. I must bleed her yet again.”

"Bleed her?  You've a
lready taken half her blood.  By God, you had better know what you are doing, old man."  Raising his fist, Oliver made a threatening gesture, then once more hung his head.

"Her pulse?"  Dawn asked, feeling so
utterly helpless yet asking,  "Is there anything we can do?"  Her own heart thundered in the silent room as her eyes looked down at her benefactoress’s still form.

"No.  It is just as I feared.  The poison has spread through her and there is nothing I can do to stop it's flow.  It is only a matter of time.  All we can d
o is to make her comfortable."

"You mean she is going to die?"  Oliver bolted to his feet, looking searchingly at the doctor's face.  The man's expression answered the question.

“No.o…o!” Dawn’s lament was a soleful wail. Closing her eyes she prayed fervently. “Spare her, dear mearciful god. Please. Oh, please….”

"She's
is
going to die!"  Angrily Oliver struck the wall.  "So much for your puttering.  But then I'm certain you'll require your
fee
.  Those in your profession always do, even when you've failed.  You incompetant ass!"  Losing all control of his temper he grabbed hold of the doctor's coat and pulled him to his feet.  "Get out of here!  And take your bag of tricks with you."

"Oliver, please!  This is not the time......
” only Dawn’s interference kept Oliver from aiming a kick at the physician’s behind as he shoved him out the door.  “Let your aunt have  a measure of peace."  Hurrying towards a china basin she poured some cool water from a pitcher, grabbed up a cloth and returned to the patient's side.  Bending down she spent a long, long while at the bedside, moistening the cloth and wiping Margaret Pembrooke's fevered brow.  Grasping her friend’s hand, she held vigil long into the night, offering what comfort she could.  "I have grown to love you so,  I have.  You've been like me mum.  So very dear."

If only Margaret Pembrooke would get well.  She wanted to hear her laugh again, to bask in her praise.  "Very good, Dawn my dear.  Your "h's".  You have mastered them correctly.  Now your "a's".  Oh, the world will be yours once you've learned.  You'll see.....You'll make every man's head turn tonight at the ball.....I think of you as the daughter I might have had and didn't......Above all, my dear, be happy.  Life is but a fleeting sneeze when all is said and done.  Too short for trivia
lities, I dare say.  Be happy."

The tick of the clock on the bedside table marked off the passing hours. Reneging on his vow
never to allow the physician to set foot in the house again, Oliver frantically sought out his aid. But it was as the man said. Too late.

Dawn's face was wet with tears as she watched the doctor close the once gleaming eyes and cover the still form with a sheet.  Be happy?
Margaret Pembrooke had said.  How could she be happy?  She had no one in the world who really cared about her now that Margaret Pembrooke was gone.  Suddenly the bright embers of her world had turned to ash, and she couldn't help wondering what was to become of her.