Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 05] (14 page)

“G
ood night, Miss West,” Seth murmured, as he lay tucked under his covers, his eyes bright in the candlelight, his cheeks flushed pink.

Sitting beside him on the bed, Abigail laid her hand on his sleepy brow and was surprised by the heat of his skin. Concern flashed through her. “Sit up, Seth.”

He lifted himself halfway out of the covers to sit.

Reaching behind him, Abigail stuck her hand down the loose collar of his nightshirt to feel his back. His skin burned to the touch.

“How do you feel?” she asked, trying to keep the anxiety from her voice.

“Oh, all right,” he murmured. “My head hurts a little.”

Her gaze searched his features, hoping for any hint as to why he had such a fever. “Anything else?”

His hand rested on his stomach. “My tummy feels funny.”

Abigail recalled that Seth had hardly touched his dinner. Felix had been talking about a new story that he’d read in a book, and she’d been so diverted that
she’d assumed Seth had been similarly distracted from his food. But now she wasn’t so sure.

Abigail stood. “I’ll be right back.”

She raced down the corridor and informed a footman that Seth had a fever, so the staff should be at the ready if she required anything. Then she went to the kitchen and asked for some water with lemons and sugar to be brought to Seth’s room, and fetched some clean rags and a basin filled with cool water.

Upon returning to the boys’ rooms, she was disappointed not to have been wrong about Seth’s condition. Seth’s eyes were shadowed and his lids heavy, and he looked so positively miserable, Abigail wanted to cry. But instead she got busy, peeling off his clothing and wiping down his skin with cool cloths, trying to lower his fever.

Felix looked up from the pages of the book he was reading, seemingly surprised by the goings-on. “What’s wrong?”

“Seth has a fever,” Abigail replied calmly.

“A fever!” Seth’s half-closed eyes flew open.

“Not to worry, we’ll get it down,” she assured herself as much as the boys. “I’ve been trained by Dr. Michael Winner, the greatest children’s doctor in London. I know what I’m doing.”

After bathing Seth with cool water and cajoling him to drink water mixed with lemons and sugar, Abigail was relieved when Seth fell into a restless sleep. Felix, thank the heavens, slept like the dead, and none of the business going on in their rooms bothered him a bit.

That evening each minute seeped into an hour,
each hour bled into the next, and all thought of nighttime excursions flew from Abigail’s mind.

For the next two days, the entire focus of Abigail’s existence was centered on Seth’s comfort. It was easy not to think about the masked rescuer, easy not to dwell on the things she’d done.
Later
, she promised herself. Later she’d go out. Later she’d search for Reggie. Then her eyes would close, she’d hug Seth close and feel the innocence of living one moment until the next, as she hoped for his fever to break.

“Please just let him not get worse,” she prayed, knowing that there was only so much she could do.

Abigail was suddenly glad that because of the repairs to the nurseries, Lord Steele had given the boys a room on the same floor as she. She would pop into her room now and again for a quick nap, but was always close in case she was needed.

During those two days, Felix would visit Lord Steele in his study and they would read together. Then the boy would go out in the company of two footmen, Foster and Zachariah, while Abigail stayed with Seth. There was still no word on the missing footman Claude, and although Abigail found it strange, she was too busy to give it much thought.

During the day she would read to Seth, bathe him, and sing him songs. Seth was surprisingly good-spirited through it all, his mood seeming to lighten with the rise of the sun each day and darken with the beginning of night. He sorely missed his mother, and Abigail’s heart bled with agony as he cried in her arms.

On the third day, Abigail and Seth lay together on the window seat in the parlor, the golden sun blanketing them in its warm embrace.

“And so the knight jumped on his trusted steed,” Abigail read, her eyelids heavy, her breath deep and head fairly swimming with the desire for slumber.

A small snore erupted from Seth’s open mouth.

Lowering the book, Abigail looked down at him. His pallor was better, his cheeks less pink, and his face not quite so pale. His breathing was even, his body relaxed. Gently she cupped his forehead in her hand. Relief swept through her; his skin felt cool to the touch. The fever had broken.

She allowed her eyes to close, her body to relax, and welcomed the sleep of thankfulness.

Steele strode down the carpeted hallway, nearing the parlor where he knew Miss West and Seth were reading. He’d had trouble working the last two days, ever since Seth had come down with a fever. He attributed some of his restlessness to his inability to find the wicked widow three nights ago, but recently he’d felt compelled to stay home, wanting to be near in case he was needed.

Not that Miss West required his help. Her efficient caring left little room for him to do anything but check in on Seth now and again. The lad was good-natured, Steele had to admit, weathering the baths and lemon drinks and broths with stalwart amicability. The boy was calm, too, as if knowing that he was in good hands.

Again Steele had to credit Sir Lee for selecting
Miss West as the boys’ governess. Her every act was wrapped in genuine caring, her every word soft to the ear. When a challenge arose, she met it with aplomb. But Steele could tell, for all her competence, she was worried. Her eyes were shadowed, anxiety pinched her brow, and her voice had that breathless quality that belied her apprehension.

She hid it from the boys, but when they weren’t looking, she would gaze at them with the kind of glance that spoke of loved ones lost and the fear that it might happen again. Miss West had known grief, and in every swipe of the wet cloth to Seth’s fevered skin, in every spoonful of liquid she made him drink, she was clearly striving to keep the ill fates at bay.

As Steele approached the doorway, his steps slowed and he listened. Silence greeted him. Quietly he strode inside.

Steele’s heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t think of anything more beautiful than the sight before him, reminding him suddenly of a Madonna and child.

Miss West lay in the window seat, her body curled protectively around Seth, his small body nestled into hers. Her hand cupped the boy’s forehead; a book lay beside them as if negligently dropped. The golden glow of midday sun washed over them, coating them in honeyed warmth. Miss West’s unkempt hair glistened like strands of gold, her lashes splaying long shadows across her dewy pink cheeks. A contented smile played on her rosy lips. Her breast rose and fell evenly, her body perfectly relaxed in repose.

That woman is meant to be a mother
, the thought whispered in his mind, surprising him. He suddenly wondered if she wanted children of her own. Did she
long for marriage, motherhood? What did Miss West yearn for? Of what did she dream? He unexpectedly found that he wanted to know.

Was that why she was interested in Mr. Littlethom? Was a family of her own what she secretly hoped to gain?

He shifted, suddenly hating the idea of her leaving. His gut clenched just thinking about her not being here with her sunny hair and overly serious face and flashes of unpredictability. His house was happier since her arrival, and he didn’t want that effect to end. But it would once the boys left. He certainly didn’t need a governess if he didn’t have the children. He scowled, not liking the course of his musings.

I need to get back to work
, he chided.
I’m becoming maudlin in my old age, and productivity is the only answer.
A draft of a contract was waiting for his review, a brief needed a reply, a letter of inquiry required a response. He had important responsibilities.

But still, he couldn’t get his feet to turn as he soaked in the purity and beauty of the slumbering pair.

Steele liked the way Miss West’s hair swooped around her face like a framework of gold.

Seth was snoring quietly and evenly, his color healthier; his cheeks no longer had a feverish flush.

Suddenly Seth let out a little snort and shifted slightly. With his eyes still closed and clearly still in slumber, he grasped Miss West’s free hand and clutched it tightly into his own. Seth sighed soundly, then burrowed deeper into the protective circle of Miss West’s arm.

With her eyes still closed, Miss West hugged him tenderly and exhaled.

Feeling like an interloper, Steele turned to go. The boards beneath his feet creaked in protest.

Miss West’s eyes flew open.

Her eyes were lighter, more blue than gray today, and it took but a second for the haziness to clear and for them to focus. On him. She did not move, obviously not wanting to disturb Seth.

Steele inquired, “How is he?”

“Better,” she whispered. “The fever broke.”

“Good.”

She swallowed, speaking quietly, “I was beginning to worry that we’d have to call for the doctor.”

“No.” Steele hated doctors, dreaded their solemn faces and empty cures. Calling for the doctor signaled defeat, the death knell for sure. His mother had lasted less than a day after the doctor had come with his fatal pronouncements. His father had made it less than three days after the doctor’s ineffective potions. The thought of Seth…

“No, what?” Miss West asked, her brow furrowing.

Steele blinked. “Ah, no doctors.”

“Dr. Winner, from Andersen Hall, is a friend. He’s really good, especially with children.”

“You said his fever broke; we don’t need him.”

She pursed her lips. “You don’t believe in the medical profession.”

“I think the medical profession is quite advantageous…if you’re a money-grubbing doctor.”

Her eyes filled with sympathy. “Whom did you lose?”

Looking down at his hands, he was surprised at the knot suddenly choking his throat. “My mother, then my…father.” He hadn’t spoken of them in years and was surprised by the grief lashing through him.

“I’m so sorry.”

“The doctor was useless,” Steele choked out. “It was almost like…the doctor was a precursor to death.”

“They can be sometimes. I think it’s the nature of things.”

“I understand that there’s only so much a doctor can do…but every time I’ve called for one”—he looked up—“someone I love dies.”

Her eyes glanced at Seth. But the lad slept on, his breath even, his slumber deep.

She motioned to the chair. “Please sit beside me. The talking soothes Seth, and I want to hear what happened.”

To his own great shock, Steele lifted the chair and set it next to the sleeping boy and his governess. “I don’t know that there’s much to tell.”

“Then tell me about your parents. What were they like?”

Steele realized that he wanted to talk to Miss West, wanted to be near her. There was something about her mien that inspired trust, and the knowledge that she had a sympathetic ear.

For the next hour Steele recounted the tale he’d never spoken of to a soul. How his mother had come down with a terrible cough that made him wince with agony simply hearing it. How her labored breath whistled with torturous struggle. How her body had
burned with fever and her mind had been lost to nonsensical ranting.

Miss West would ask a question now and again, but mostly she listened, her compassion clear, yet she did not pity him, just the situation.

His father’s passing had been a bit easier, mostly because the man had hardly complained. The master carpenter was finishing up a new mantel at the local vicar’s house when his apprentice accidentally cut him with a blade. The fever had set in the next night and burned him to a cinder. When Steele’s aunt was at a loss for what else she could do, they’d gathered their last money and called for the doctor.

“It was a waste of our money,” Steele explained, bitterness lacing his tongue. “I hate doctors, they’re useless.”

“Not all of them,” Miss West countered. Then she told him of Dr. Michael Winner, the man who treated all the children at Andersen Hall Orphanage and never took a penny for it. She told him about the times the man had sat all night with a sick child, mixed hundreds of liniments, set countless bones, and stitched innumerable gashes. All with good humor, a caring spirit, and for no fee.

She sighed. “Doctors are merely human, and they come in all shapes and sizes, good and bad. But mostly they aim to do well, to relieve suffering.”

“You believe that?” Steele asked.

“I do. It takes a certain kind of man to commit to helping others. And as far as the money, he deserves to be able to put bread on his table as much as the next person. Don’t condemn him for it.” Her brow furrowed. “How old were you when your father died?”

“Twelve.” He suddenly realized that she knew exactly what it mean to be an orphan. “You were thirteen when you went to Andersen Hall Orphanage?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, his heart aching for her. They were a pair in their loss.

“And I count myself lucky for having made it there,” she added.

“I was lucky, too. I was taken in by a group of brothers in my village.” The Cutler brothers had welcomed him into their fold. They had given him a place beside them, as one of them. They had given him a reason to be, instead of wallowing in grief and loneliness. “I’ll be forever grateful to them,” he murmured.

“Do you ever get to see them?”

He shook his head. For Deidre he’d cut all ties with his old life. Then after she’d died, grief had overwhelmed, and he hadn’t had the energy to reconnect. Thereafter he’d been so busy building his career and becoming a man Deidre could be proud of.

One year had bled into the next, and soon he was too ashamed to contact the Cutlers.

“Do you miss them?” she asked.

His brow furrowed. “I do.” He realized that he missed the camaraderie, having a place.

“Then why don’t you contact them? Write them a letter, invite them to come see you?”

He shook his head. “I’m a different man now. I don’t know if they would welcome word from me after so long. I don’t know if they’d even like me.”