“Yes!” Lillian said, realizing that it was the truth. “Very.”
“Excellent! Your own constitution and good food should take care of the rest of your recovery, as long as you stay inside and cover up well. But you are not to touch a book or fine needlework, no matter how bored you might be. The Duke has said he will look in on you later, to see how you are coming on. I spoke with Mr. Evans on my way up.”
“Oh. His Grace is not here?”
“Gone out checking on things. It is bitter outside, and the snow is still coming down. He’ll be back in directly, I don’t doubt. Probably out checking the barns and the corn cribs.”
“Is it so very bad outside then?”
“Bad enough to make snuggling in a warm bed by the fire a very attractive proposition, Miss Doyle. Count yourself lucky, for nearly every able body available has been pressed into service for nursing. Even that little blind girl that lost her sight to measles two years ago is doing her bit. She is busy making squares from bits of yarn too small for weaving.”
“What will be done with the squares?” Lillian asked.
“Made into blankets, I don’t doubt. The parson’s wife has her circle of cronies sittin’ by the dining hall fire, an they are sewin’ up blankets and coats an the like at great rate.”
The physician held Lillian’s wrist for a few minutes while looking at a great watch that hung from a fob on his waistcoat. Then he took out an odd looking wooden tube and held it to Lillian’s chest.
“Do you think you could sit up a minute?” he asked.
“I think so.”
Dr. Gavril helped her into sitting position, then moved the odd tube around on her back. “Lungs sound clear. Still, best not to take any chances. Keep warm and stay in bed until the very last of your spots disappear. That includes the ones on your tummy. No cheating and pretending they are gone.”
“Yes, Dr. Gavril,” Lillian said meekly.
“That’s what they all say,” the physician commented. “Then they go behind my back and do just what I say not to do. If you want to get completely well, you will follow my directions, Miss Doyle.”
“I’ll see that she does,” Martha Louisa put in. “We’ll save taking long walks for when the weather is warmer. Goodness knows, with the snow blowing past the windows as it is, it’s enough to make anyone glad to stay indoors.”
“The people,” Lillian asked suddenly. “How are the widows and the farmers on the edge of town?”
“Here. In the castle, didn’t you know?” Dr. Gavril asked. “No,” he answered himself, “I suppose you didn’t. When the fire started last night, Lord Sebastian ordered everyone up to the castle, just in case it got out of bounds. Now, he is encouraging them to stay close so’s to save on firin’ and food. Specially since some of the houses were robbed while they were empty of people.”
“Oh, no! That is dreadful.”
“Bad enough, that’s for sure. So the Duke has told the householders to bring what is dear to them, and he’s settled as many as he can in the guest rooms. But a good many of the families and young women are bunking in the dining hall, while he has sent the young men to the barracks an’ asked that they help the guard.”
“This . . .is all very disturbing, Dr. Gavril. I feel as if I should get up and be doing something.”
“Now, that is just what we do not want. Your young charges are not themselves well enough to study, so . . .”
“The boys have been ill?” Now Lillian felt a thrill of alarm run through her.
“Not to worry. Neither of them were half as sick as you. They are playing with their tin soldiers on their bedspread and worritin’ Mr. Gardener, who has charge of them at the moment, with askin’ for nonsensical stuff, like having their ponies brought in.”
“Oh, dear. That does sound just like them. How I long to see them for myself, and make sure they are well.”
“You’ll get to see them soon enough. Let those spots go away, and you’ll have your hands full keeping them in line. Best rest while you can. Lie down now, you are healing nicely, and we want to keep it that way.”
Martha Louisa helped Lillian settle back against the pillows. “How about a nice luncheon while you are awake? We’ve a good beefy soup here, with mashed turnips.”
Even though mashed turnips were not Lillian’s favorite dish, she managed to eat every bit of both turnips and broth. The meal was followed up by a very odd tasting tea.
“What is this?” Lillian asked.
Martha Louisa laughed. “That is just what His Grace asked, in just that same way. It’s a restorative tea that Dr. Gavril prescribed for everyone.”
“Everyone? Dear Lord, it tastes like old socks. Or muddy water strained through old socks.”
“Well, Miss Doyle, that’s the mullein in it. My granny swore by it, an’ she lived to be ninety and eight years of age, so you just drink it right up, dirty socks an’ all.”
Lillian took another sip. “That’s almost enough to put one off drinking tea altogether.”
“Best to just gulp it down, then I’ll make you a nice cup of mint tea to wash the taste away. You only needs one cup of the stuff a day, or so the physician says.”
“Thank goodness for that!” Lillian closed her eyes, took a deep breath and drank the noxious brew completely down. “There! All gone. Perhaps I will live to be one hundred and two, and shall sprout a wealth of chin whiskers. That is truly vile.”
“Well, now, tis not so bad as all that, Miss Doyle. Your skin is still as smooth as a baby’s, or will be when the last of the spots are gone. They are already starting to fade.”
“I feel such a fool for coming down with a childhood disease at my age.”
“Measles don’t respect age. In fact, the only reason they are a ‘childhood’ disease, as they say, is because onct you’ve had ‘em, you’re not like to take ‘em again.”
“That is good to know. Once is quite enough. Such strange dreams I had.”
“Yes. You kept babbling on about slow worms, an’ fire, an’ someone named Charles. Who was Charles, Miss Doyle?”
“Oh, someone I knew once. I feel very full and comfortable now. I just need to refresh myself a little, then I think I’d like another nap.”
After Martha Louisa helped Lillian to use the chamber pot, then settled her back into bed. Lillian has a very odd thought as she drifted back to sleep. Who was Charles, really? She already knew more about Sebastian than she had ever known about Charles. On that odd thought, she cuddled back into the comforters, and fell asleep again.
Chapter 35
Sebastian went down to the kitchen where he supposed he might find Mr. Tim Rowe. But when he spoke with Mr. Benjamin Rowe, Tim’s older brother he found the fellow to be very worried.
“Tim din’ come in last night. Mr. Timony, says he din’ see him neither, although that constable man has been poking around most ever’ where.”
“Did his hounds come in?”
“Tain’t been down to his kennels to look. Want I should do so now? We can take Bessie.”
Bessie was Sebastian’s favorite hound. She was an excellent tracker and had a mouth so soft she could carry a chick and bring it to him with only its feathers dampened. “Let’s do that. I’ll come with you. It is not like Mr. Rowe not to check in.”
“No it ain’t. My brother’s been pickin’ at me to get my own place, and he’s up here most ever’ day. I keeps tellin’ ‘im I likes it here, but he says, ‘you ought ta get yer own dogs, Ben.”
“You may have your own dogs, Ben Rowe,” Sebastian said. “You are a fine hound master, and I would rather extend the kennels than lose you.”
“Well I might take you up on that,” Benjamin Rowe said. “I have been admirin’ a l’il . . .Oh, my word!” The houndmaster dropped to his knees beside his brother’s kennels, and began brushing at the snow.
In a couple of moments, he revealed a red hound, then his brother’s face. Sebastian bent to help him, brushing the snow away from the man’s face. As
he did so, he placed two fingers against the side of Time Rowe’s neck, and felt the slow throb of blood passing beneath the skin. “Alive,” he announced.
“Praise the saints!” Benjamin Rowe said fervently. Between them, they got Tim Rowe up, each slinging an arm across their shoulders. Benjamin Rowe raised a hunting horn to his lips and blew the long, undulating note commonly called “blowing for home.”
People came running from the village, down from the chapel and in the distance figures could be seen pelting toward them from the castle.
“Would you stop that infernal racket?” Tim Rowe said querulously. “I bain’t dead yet.”
Benjamin Rowe dropped his horn, to let it dangle from the strap around his neck. “Brother! Oh, Tim, ya are alive.”
“I am all of that, but nigh deafened by yon horn.”
In moments they were at the center of a chattering, anxious crowd of people, both men and women. Behind them, Bessie set up a long, mournful cry of her own.
“My hounds!” Tim Rowe cried out. “They poisoned my hounds!”
Ben stopped, uncertain.
“I’ll go,” Sebastian said. “You go on and take care of your brother.”
“I’ve got ‘im, Yer Grace,” someone out of the crowd said. “I’ll go on up with ‘em.”
Sebastian let the speaker take Tim Rowe’s arm across his shoulder, and turned back to where Bessie was alternately baying and digging in the snow. Several other men joined him as he hurried to where Bessie was doing her best to help the red hound, who was trying to struggle to his feet.
As soon as one of the men picked the red hound up, she quickly went to another mound of snow. Sebastian realized that there were several lumps beneath the treacherous white blanket. He hurried to another, and brushed the snow away to reveal a silky coated pup. Other members of the crowd joined him and Bessie, brushing away the snow, picking up the helpless dogs, some of whom vomited and whined piteously.
It was a very odd cavalcade that entered the dining hall at the castle. First, Ben Rowe supporting Tim Rowe on one side, with a white aproned baker on the other, then a long line of men and a few women of various occupations who had been close enough to hear the horn call, each carrying a puppy or grown dog.
Dr. Gavril, who was just coming down the stair from examining his patients in the schoolroom, hurried across the room, pushing his way through the growing crowd so he could get to the stricken man, who now lay on a pallet by the hearth, amid his hounds some of whom were beginning to struggle to their feet and stagger about in bewilderment.
Children slipped through the crowd to help with the dogs. One of the men stopped and spoke to the blind girl, and gave her one of the younger pups to cuddle.
The orderly chaos dissolved into people quietly cuddling the stricken animals well away from the fallen man, and Dr. Gavril kneeling beside him.
After a time the physician said, “A knock on the head, followed by severe chill. Keep him warm, give him lots to drink, and we’ll wait and see. It depends on how badly his lungs got frosted while he lay there. The hound being next to him probably saved his life.”
The Widow Avery brought a tray with a steaming cup of tea and a cup of broth. “Very good,” Dr. Gavril said. “That will be excellent to start with.” He stood up as the widow sank down and began spooning broth into Tim Rowe’s mouth.
“I need to go down to the chapel and see to the people there,” the physician said. “I know you will send for me if anything happens here.”
“Of course,” Sebastian responded. He then squatted beside the injured man. “How are you feeling Mr. Rowe?”
“Like someone clonked me on me head an’ left me ta die,” he said roguishly, “But if I’d known that was what it took to get attention from a handsome woman, I’d a dun it sooner.” He winked at the Widow Avery.
The widow blushed, and said, “Go along with you, now. Eat up your soup, like a good boy.”
“If I eat it all will I get a cookie?” he asked.
“Only if Dr. Gavril says you can have one, and he won’t be back for a bit. You’ll need to drink your tea next, and I don’t think that will be quite as tasty.”
“Oh, that kind of tea,” said Tim Rowe making a face.
“You’ll do,” Sebastian said, chuckling at the face the fellow was making. “If it is any comfort, everyone has to drink it. But if you are well enough to flirt and fuss about the drinks, you are likely to make it.”
There was a universal rustle of soft laughter, then everyone went back to tending dogs, folding laundry or peeling vegetables, or some other similar homely task.
As the people in the room turned their attention elsewhere, Sebastian asked softly, “Did you find anything?”
Mr. Tim Rowe nodded. “There’s a clearing up above the hay meadows, and tracks leading away from it. Someone pitched a tent there not long ago, and there’s signs of a campfire not two days old. Looks as if someone has been watching the castle.”
Sebastian felt cold worry clutch at his heart. “Did you see anything else?”
“Sorry, Your Grace. That was all I saw before they whacked me over the head. Don’t know how they came to dump me back and my house. Did anybody check it for things missin’?”
“Not yet. We were more concerned with getting you and your dogs someplace warm and safe. As soon as the dogs recover, we’ll take them down to my kennels where your brother, Benjamin, can look after them.”
“I’ll take that as a kindness, an’ I’ll repay it gratefully, Your Grace,” Mr. Rowe said, tears gathering in his eyes. He blinked, but not before Sebastian saw one run down his cheek. “My pups are like fambly. Them an’ my brother is all I got.”
“Not true,” Sebastian said stoutly, “You have the village to see after you, and I as well. You may well have saved us all by alerting us to a serious danger that could be among us.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Mr. Rowe blinked rapidly. “Think I must have gotten some ice in me eyes. They’s all runny.”
The widow took out a clean handkerchief and gently wiped the man’s face. “I’ll look after him, Your Grace. He needs quiet now.”
Sebastian nodded, and stepped back. Benjamin Rowe paused nearby, carrying a puppy in each arm. “It’ll be fine, Tim,” he said. They’re all waking up all right.” Then to Sebastian he added, “I don’t know what they wuz dosed with, but it warn’t poison.”
“Some sort of sleeping potion, no doubt. This is a troubling thing, because it means that whoever they are, they came very close to the castle and they did it without alerting us.”
“I’ll ask about, Your Grace. Some ‘un is bound to uv seen something out of place.”
Sebastian stepped away from the fireplace, and the man lying there on the pallet. “I’ll just go down to the chapel and see how they are faring there.”
The last of the weak sunlight was waning as Sebastian left the chapel, much sobered by what he found there. The parsonage was poorly equipped to handle so many people, even though the women of the village and some of the men were doing their best to help.
As he walked back to the castle, Sebastian’s head was a jumble of his people’s needs. He thought of wood cutting, perhaps a hunting party, blankets . . .were there old blankets stored somewhere in the attics? He would ask Mrs. Blanchard, she would know. And soup. Huge kettles of soup. He needed to ask Mrs. Blanchard and Evans how their supplies were holding out. Foraging would be bad at this time of year, but if they could come upon a squirrel’s nest or two. . .
The constable stepped up beside him. “Your Grace, I hesitate to disturb your thoughts, but I really do need to speak with Miss Doyle. Some of the story of how she was snatched just isn’t matching up.”
“What is there that does not match up? She was attacked. Mr. Timony whacked her assailant with a shovel. He took her inside, and when he got back, the body was gone. There is precious little there to go on.”
“As stories go, it is simplicity itself. But who besides Mr. Timony saw this my
sterious man? And how did he come to disappear? Why were the footprints swept away with a branch? Really, Your Grace, you cannot be so naïve as to believe all of that.”
“Frankly, Constable, I do not like your tone. As for seeing Miss Doyle, she is just now today able to take food and keep it down. I will not allow you to worry her with your nonsensical questions. I hardly think she would have manufactured an attack upon her person. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to look in on my brothers and see that they are well.”
With that, Sebastian strode away from the constable, fuming. How dare the man. I sent for him, but I certainly was not looking for someone of such extreme impudence and lack of understanding.
The Untold Tale of the Winter Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 18