The Dark Earl

by Virginia Henley

  “Cholera?” Thomas’s gut knotted. People died like flies from cholera.

  Rose gasped, “Oh, no!”

  “What is it?” Thomas demanded.

  “Lady Harriet visited my family in Soho three days ago.” Rose began to sob.

  When the carriage arrived at Hampden House, Hobson met them at the door. “Lord Lichfield, thank God you’ve come. Abercorn’s doctor was not at home.”

  “It’s all right. I’ve brought Dr. Hardcastle. This way, sir.” Thomas took the stairs two at a time. The sight that met his eyes was not encouraging. Harry lay on the bathroom floor. Her knees were pulled up to her chest to try to alleviate the agonizing pain in her belly. She was retching, but nothing was coming up.

  Thomas went down before her on his knees. “Harry, I’m here, love. I’m so sorry I let this happen to you. I’ve brought Dr. Hardcastle. We will soon have you feeling better.”

  She cried out and as if it were a signal, the housekeeper and the cook picked her up and sat her on the lavatory.

  Hardcastle didn’t need to examine the patient. He knew immediately by the water coming from both ends that Lichfield’s wife had cholera. “Strip her and bathe her. It’s the only way you’ll keep her clean. Her strength has gone. Put her to bed on a bedpan, and put a bucket beside the bed.”

  As Mrs. Gilbert began to fill the tub, Thomas said, “I’ll do it.”

  Hardcastle beckoned him into the hall. “First I must give you instructions.”

  Thomas was torn, but common sense told him to follow the physician from the room.

  “It is indeed cholera. The only patients who have even a chance of surviving have round-the-clock nursing. Once the body purges itself of all fluid, the organs shut down, and death follows. So you must get as much fluid back into her as her body loses. She must drink continuously—she must not be allowed to stop.”

  Thomas nodded grimly. “I understand.”

  “Servants are deathly afraid of contagion, so tell them I will speak to them downstairs.”

  When Thomas returned to the bathroom, he was in time to lift Harry from the tub, and wrap her in a towel. Rose followed him with a bedpan and a bucket as he carried her to her bed. He gently pushed the bedpan underneath his wife and covered her nakedness with the sheet. He called to the servants and told them the doctor wanted to speak to them. Rose hovered at the door.

  “Go down and listen to what Hardcastle says. Then come back and tell me.”

  When all the servants were gathered into the kitchen, including Riley, Hardcastle explained the facts. “You must not fear that this disease is passed from person to person. There is no contagious fever—in fact, the skin becomes cold and clammy. It is not spread through breathing foul air. It is spread by drinking contaminated water. Last year there was an outbreak in Soho. My colleague Dr. John Snow discovered that drinking contaminated water pumped from the Thames is what spread the cholera. When the pump handle in Broad Street was removed, the outbreak stopped.

  “Some ignorant fool recently reattached the pump handle, and three days ago, another outbreak of cholera began. I want to assure you that you cannot catch it by tending Lady Harriet. She must drink constantly to replace the fluid her body loses, or she will certainly die.”

  Cook spoke up. “What can she drink, doctor?”

  “Any fluid at all—water, tea, anything so long as it is liquid. Don’t give her food.” He put on his coat. “Tell Lichfield I’ll return tomorrow.”

  Rose flew up the stairs and found Thomas holding the bucket while Harry retched.

  She beckoned him outside and told him everything Hardcastle had said. “I’ll go down for a jug of water, and Mrs. Gilbert is making a big pot of tea.”

  Thomas returned to Harry’s bedside. Her skin was clammy and pale as death. She had dark circles beneath her eyes, and she didn’t have enough strength to lift her head from the pillow. She licked dry lips. “What is it?” she whispered.

  Thomas knelt down beside the bed. He was terrified of frightening her, and searched his mind for words that would put her fear to rest. But his conscience balked. He’d kept secrets from her, with the excuse that he didn’t want to hurt her, but in the end, secrets had harmed her far more than the truth. “I won’t ever lie to you again, Harry. You have cholera from drinking contaminated water from the Broad Street pump.”

  She gripped her belly in agony, and Thomas gently pried away her hands and rubbed it to soothe away the pain. “I’m . . . so . . . thirsty.”

  “That’s good, Harry. You are going to get well, but we have to replace all the fluids that your body is losing.”

  She tried to smile but didn’t have the strength, and Thomas’s heart turned over in his breast. When Rose brought the jug of water, Thomas poured a glass and held it to her lips. “Drink, sweetheart. Quench your raging thirst.”

  She obeyed him and sipped the water, but a minute after it went down, it came back up again. Thomas was ready with the bucket, and as soon as she stopped retching, he put the glass back to her lips and encouraged her to drink again.

  He was amazed at her courage. She sipped and retched, over and over, until she didn’t have the strength left to even move her lips and swallow.

  Fear for her was like knotted ropes in his gut, but he smiled into her eyes and told her how courageous she was.

  When she closed her eyes, he told her that Rose would stay with her until he returned. He slid out the bedpan from under her, emptied it in the bathroom, scoured it clean, and put it back with gentle hands. Then he brought a bowl of warm water and a flannel and bathed her face and mouth, which were befouled.

  Thomas again held a cup of water to her lips, but she closed her eyes as if she couldn’t face it. “Go down and get the tea, Rose. I have to keep her drinking.”

  A maid appeared in the doorway. “There’s a little lad asking for you at the back door, Rose.”

  The young servant rushed to the door, knowing it would be her brother Billy.

  “Rose, you mustn’t come to Broad Street. There’s a cholera outbreak. We’ve moved to Aunt Lizzy’s in St. Giles until it’s all over.”

  “Oh, I know, Billy. Lady Harry has come down with it. She drank the water you got from the pump. I’ve been so worried that you’d all have the cholera by now.”

  “Lucky for us, we didn’t drink the water. Lady Harry brought our mam some tea. When she boiled the water to make tea, it must have made it safe to drink.”

  “Thank God, Billy. Don’t drink water in St. Giles until you boil it. Tell the others.”

  Thomas propped up his wife with pillows so she could drink more easily. He poured weak tea into a cup, and patiently held it to her lips as he implored, begged, and cajoled her to take a few mouthfuls. He did it over and over, never tiring, never losing patience, and yet never forcing her. His powers of persuasion were formidable, his dedication was unwavering, and his persistence dogged.

  Twice in the long night, he gave her a warm sponge bath and changed the befouled sheets. Once, when he thought she had fallen into a blessed sleep, his anxious gaze examined her face. Her eyes were sunken with dark circles beneath them. Her face was pale as death. He prayed silently that she would not be taken from him, and made endless promises to a higher power that he would never again indulge the sin of gambling.

  When morning arrived, Thomas could see no improvement and knew she would not get better overnight. He sent Riley to St. James’s Square for some clean shirts and undergarments. When they arrived, he quickly bathed, put on fresh garments, and returned to Harry’s bedside with a hardened resolve to get more liquid into her.

  In the late afternoon, Hardcastle arrived and after he examined the patient, he bluntly told Thomas there was no improvement in her condition. “Her skin is very cold, but it is no longer clammy. Her body hasn’t enough moisture to even dampen her skin. If she continues to expel more fluids than she retains, there is no chance of recovery.”

  “Is there not something—anything—you can give m
e that will bind the bowels and stop the flux?”

  “Well, some apothecary shops sell bismuth or medicinal chalk, but these folk remedies are highly dangerous.”

  “They are more than dangerous. They are poisonous,” Thomas protested.

  “You are right. In conscience, I would not personally recommend them, Lichfield.” Hardcastle cleared his throat. “I shall come again tomorrow, but you must prepare yourself for the worst, your lordship.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” I won’t let her die. My will is far too strong.

  Mrs. Gilbert recommended chamomile, and Thomas, at his wit’s end, eagerly agreed.

  He patiently and unwearyingly held the cup of chamomile tea to Harry’s lips, tempting, enticing, cajoling, and finally ordering her to swallow the tepid fluid. When her face contorted with pain, he placed his hands on her abdomen, willing the warmth from his body to seep into her flesh and ease her pain.

  The following day, she began to suffer from leg cramps. Each time, he rubbed them away, but by evening, he began to suspect she was losing the feeling in her limbs. When Hardcastle came, he confirmed that the problem was caused by the body’s dehydration. He gave Thomas a solemn look and told him that paralysis was the next stage.

  After the doctor left, Thomas redoubled his efforts to get liquid into his wife, and he refused to take no for an answer. He got into her bed, cradled her in his lap, and held the chamomile tea to her bloodless lips for two full hours until drop by drop she swallowed the whole cupful. Then he replenished the chamomile and did it all again.

  In the middle of the night, Thomas could see she was trying to speak. He put his ear close to her lips so he could hear her faint whisper.

  “I’m dying. . . . Please take me . . . to Shugborough.”

  He masked the dread in his eyes, and gently touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “My precious love, you are not going to die. I won’t allow it. But the moment this flux subsides a bit, I promise to put you in the carriage and take you to Shugborough.”

  Thomas clutched her hand, fearing that if he let go, Harry would slip away. Though his words to Harry were strong and reassuring, his thoughts were filled with doubts. For the first time he admitted to himself that his wife’s chance of recovery was almost nonexistent. Her life hangs by a thread. I must fulfill her wish to take her to Shugborough.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Early the next morning, a knock came on the bedchamber door. Thomas’s eyes flew open as he realized he must have dozed off. Fear stabbed its fangs into his throat as he gazed down at the small, still figure in the bed. “Harry, Harry, open your eyes!”

  My God, don’t let her have slipped away. Thomas held his breath for what seemed like endless minutes, and then finally he saw the flicker of an eyelash. Relief washed over him. He heard the knock again and called, “Come in.”

  The door swung open and Riley stood there holding a paper packet. “Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lord, but in Ireland we put a lot of faith in alkanet. I took the liberty of getting some from the apothecary. In the old country, we put it in wine. Will ye try it, sor?”

  “I will indeed, Riley.” Thomas took the packet and mixed the powered alkanet in some watered wine. He moved his wife up against the pillows, gently opened her dry lips with his thumb, and poured a few drops into her mouth.

  Harry choked and coughed. She raised her lashes and gave her husband a beseeching look that implored him to make it stop.

  She looks to me for strength. I would give my life to make her better. “My love, at last we’ve found the cure.” If he was lying, he was beyond caring. “Alkanet is an Irish remedy to cure the flux, and the wine will give you strength.”

  For answer Harry closed her eyes and opened her lips. He put a few drops into her mouth. “Swallow for me, sweetheart. Swallow the wine.”

  Little by little, as the hours crawled by, Harry was able to keep the herbal concoction down without retching it back up. And no one was more surprised or thankful than Thomas when her flux stopped. In the afternoon, she fell asleep. He reasoned the wine probably induced it, but he didn’t have the heart to awaken her.

  While she slept, Thomas bathed, and ate the first meal he’d had in days. He dispatched Riley with a note to Norton at St. James’s Square asking him to pack enough clothes for a trip to Shugborough.

  When Harry awoke, he made her drink another cup of alkanet in wine. Then he gave her a sponge bath and changed her bed linen. She was far from recovered, but at least she was no longer losing her vital body fluid, and Thomas believed the very best medicine would be to get her to Shugborough, in spite of the long carriage ride.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and took her small hand in his. “Your condition is greatly improved, Harry. Tomorrow, if I wrap you up and put you in the carriage, will you let me take you to Shugborough?”

  He saw the light of hope in her eyes for the first time since she had come down with the contagion. “Please,” she whispered softly.

  True to his word, the next morning Thomas had Riley ready the coach. He loaded his own and Harry’s trunks, as well as Rose’s baggage. He dressed his wife in a warm flannel nightgown and knit slippers, then wrapped her in an eiderdown and carried her down to the carriage. Rose brought a bucket and a bedpan, just in case.

  Though Thomas showed great enthusiasm that Harry was able to undertake the journey, on the inside he was racked with silent worry. His wife’s legs were paralyzed, and he agonized over whether she would ever regain the ability to walk. He hoped against hope that once Harry got to Shugborough, her happy spirits would miraculously make her whole again.

  They set off from London, and when they reached the countryside, Thomas was tempted to bare his conscience and confess to the reasons why he had leased a house on Half Moon Street and turned it into a gambling establishment. More than anything, he wanted to assure Harry that he’d sold the lease and was no longer involved. He longed to apologize to his wife, beg her forgiveness, and assure her it would never happen again.

  But he could clearly see the fatigue written on her face. She was being extremely brave just tolerating the rigors of the carriage ride and summoning the strength it would take to reach Shugborough. Thomas decided he could not salve his conscience at Harry’s expense. It would sap her strength and leave her in a state of utter exhaustion.

  It was after dark when Riley drove through the gates of Shugborough Hall, and Thomas saw that both Rose and his wife were asleep. His heart overflowed with relief that she had not been taken from him. Before he disturbed her, he whispered, “I love you, Harry.”

  When he picked her up and carried her up the steps of the grand portico, through the elegant columns to the front door, Harry opened her eyes and breathed a sigh of pleasure.

  “Mrs. Stearn, you remember Riley, the Abercorns’ coachman. He will need a room plenished. And this is Rose, my wife’s personal maid. She’ll need a room close to our bedchamber.” He sat down on an oak settle in the reception hall, holding his wife in his lap. “Please call the household servants. I need to explain something to them.”

  Thomas waited until the butler and all the maids were gathered. “Lady Harry has been extremely ill, and is still not well, so I have brought her to Shugborough to recover. What she has is not contagious, so you need have no fear. She cannot walk at the moment, but with time, that will be remedied.” He stood up. “I’ll take her upstairs now and Riley will carry up the luggage. Thank you all for your understanding.”

  When Thomas carried Harry into their gold and black master bedchamber, he watched her glance lovingly linger on the brass-monkey andirons and the chess set with its carved animal pieces. He set her down on the edge of the bed, and went down on his knees to remove her knit slippers. Then he massaged the muscles of her legs, and didn’t stop until he saw her pale flesh turn pink. “Are you happy, Harry?”

  For the first time since she’d been ill, Thomas saw her eyes smile.

  When the luggage was brought up, Rose found H
arry a clean nightgown. She helped Thomas fold up the beautiful bedcover with its golden dragonflies, and then he lifted Harry into the wide bed. “I know you’re exhausted, sweetheart, but I still need to get a cup of alkanet wine into you.”

  Just then, there was a loud meow. “Here’s Kouli come to see you. Would you like me to put her up on the bed?” The Persian cat rubbed her head against Harry’s shoulder a few times and then cuddled down beside her.

  The following day, Harry overcame her biggest hurdle. Mrs. Stearn made her some barley water, and not only did the patient keep it down; her retching disappeared and her flux did not return. The barley water quenched her raging thirst, and Mrs. Stearn set the kitchen maid to preparing a beef broth that would bring back Lady Harry’s strength.

  By afternoon she was restored enough to talk. “I want to see the daffodils.”

  “And so you shall.” Thomas directed Rose to bring a day dress and stockings. The dress fit Harry loosely because she had lost so much weight. He brushed her hair and covered her head with a sun hat. He wrapped her in a cloak, picked her up in his arms, and carried her downstairs. Kouli trotted after them.

  He strode outside and did not slow down until he reached the water. The riverside garden was a mass of yellow, and beyond the flowers, the swans and waterfowl glided.

  “Thomas, the daffodils are breathtaking, and look! The cygnets have hatched.”

  He sat her down on the river wall so she could look her fill. “Breathe deeply and fill your lungs with the unique scent of daffodils.”

  Harry lifted her face to the sun and inhaled deeply. “I won’t just fill my lungs; I shall fill my soul.” She closed her eyes and smiled. “Thank you for bringing me.”

  “Nay, I thank you for sharing Shugborough with me. It makes the enjoyment a thousand times sweeter. Are you ready to go to your walled garden?”