Mrs. Simmons turned her attention from the health of the child to more practical matters. “About the coin for the room. We always expect our guests to pay in advance.”
She then quoted a rate that far exceeded the value of the tiny, barely furnished room, and would likely go a good way toward paying for every bedchamber on that floor.
“I’ll pay half that,” said James, knowing even the reduced rate was twice what it should be.
“But I’m giving it to you for the whole day and night.”
“We only asked for an hour.”
“But I’ve no one to clean it after you leave. You wouldn’t want to deprive me of income if I cannot rent it out when you leave.”
“Yes, madam,” he said dryly, “I would not be able to sleep for a week if it were to come to that. Very well, I will pay your price.” He hated giving in, but he wanted the woman gone so he could turn his attention back to Anna. He gave her the last of the coins in his pocket. He realized he would have no choice but to borrow money from Irene from that moment on. “Do be so good as to close the door on your way out.”
Mrs. Simmons showed shockingly good sense in taking the hint and leaving, thereby avoiding the embarrassment of having James order her out.
He looked at Irene sheepishly when Mrs. Simmons was gone. “I did not want to give in on the price, but felt I had no choice.”
“The money is not important. Anna is.”
James and Irene stood shoulder to shoulder, studying Anna as she slept. The girl was restless, shifting from side to side.
“I would like to get her out of that gown, then put her under the covers,” said Irene. “She’ll sleep better if she’s more comfortable.”
James nodded, unable to speak from the fear growing inside him. They worked to take off Anna’s gown, leaving only the shift beneath.
“Oh, dear,” whispered Irene, as she looked at the girl’s shoulder. “Bring a candle closer.”
James did as she said. “What is it?” he asked.
Irene studied a spot on Anna shoulder. “I believe….I believe she has the chicken pox.”
As she pulled back the shift, three more spots came into view.
James looked at the spots, then sat heavily in the chair.
“I’m so sorry, James,” said Irene. “Chicken pox can be extremely uncomfortable, but at least now we know what is wrong with her.”
“You don’t understand. Smallpox devastated the Indian tribes in North America. Whole nations were all but wiped out.”
“But this isn’t smallpox. I know the difference.”
“But the two diseases are related. We do not know how she will react to it.”
“That is true, but I also know there is no point in thinking the worst.”
“I want to go home,” said James.
“She cannot make a sea voyage at this time. Perhaps in a few weeks when she has recovered and has her strength again…”
“No, I want to go to Ridgeway Manor. I want her to be with family.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
It had been almost two hours since Irene had found the first spots. Half a dozen more had already appeared. James went downstairs to inform Mrs. Simmons they would be staying the night.
“You’ll need to pay twice the rate, plus a cleaning surcharge,” said the woman.
“But we are already paying the overnight rate because you said no one was available to clean the room.”
Caught in her earlier lie, Mrs. Simmons did not have the grace to blush. Instead, she became even bolder. “Why are you staying the night? Is it to spend more time with your so-called ‘wife?’”
“Do not insult my wife again, Mrs. Simmons, not even by implication. We will not be paying a shilling more. I also need you to summon a surgeon.”
“So the girl is sick, just as I thought. I hope she hasn’t brought some foreign disease down upon us.”
“We believe she has the chicken pox.”
“That’s terrible!” said Mrs. Simmons.
“Yes. We fear she may have an uncomfortable night ahead of her.”
“I meant it’s terrible for business. Won’t nobody want to stay here if they know we have chicken pox in the place. You’ll have to leave.”
“While I would like nothing more, it will be dark soon and too difficult to travel, given the icy condition of the roads. But we shall be gone by first light and no one need know we were ever here, unless your innate sense of honesty forces you to announce it.” James felt certain that would never happen. “Now do be so kind as to summon the surgeon.”
“There’ll be a charge for that.”
Barely restraining his temper, James gave her a few shillings – anything to get the surgeon there as soon as possible.
“I think it’ll take more than that,” said Mrs. Simmons.
“No, it won’t.” James was through negotiating.
Mrs. Simmons must have sensed it, as well, for she pocketed the coins, then turned away. “You’ll get your surgeon. But do not bandy about the girl’s condition. No use putting everyone in a panic.”
James went back to the room, proud of the restraint which had kept him from breaking a few chairs in frustration.
“How is she?” he asked, as soon as he entered the room. Anna was sleeping fitfully and Irene was wiping her face with a damp cloth.
“About the same. More spots have appeared, but the cool water seems to help.”
“Mrs. Simmons will send for a surgeon.” He watched Irene care for his daughter. “I did not inquire about a second bedchamber. I didn’t want to raise Mrs. Simmons’s suspicions.” He didn’t add that the old biddy was already suspicious enough. “It might seem odd for us to sleep separately. Not to mention, she would have been sure to price the room at an extortionist’s rate.”
Irene bit her lip, but did not pause in her ministrations to Anna. “I would prefer not to leave Anna’s side. And I daresay you would not want to, either.”
“Absolutely not.”
An hour later, a girl came in to bring supper, as well as start the fire. Judging from the way she scurried about, Mrs. Simmons had evidently warned her about Anna’s condition. It was growing dark and colder by the moment. Irene had ordered beef tea for Anna and from time to time they tried to get her to take some, but to no avail.
“I can change Anna into her night clothes, if you could please get them out of her valise.”
James did as she suggested, thankful to have a task, even as nothing could stop his mind from worrying. He gave the gown to Irene, then stepped back to stoke the fire.
*
Irene had never cared for a sick child before. Indeed, she didn’t have much experience with sick adults. What little she knew she’d gleaned from visits to the Ainsworth servants when they’d been ill. She knew fevers were dangerous and were especially so for the young and elderly. Her priority was to make Anna as comfortable as possible, then pray the surgeon could help.
That second hope was thoroughly dashed when the surgeon, Mr. Phelps, finally showed up, reeking of a terrible combination of body odor and spirits. Though Irene figured there probably wasn’t a good combination of those two things.
Mr. Phelps had been in the room for less than a minute when he announced, “There’s nothing to it but to bleed her.”
“No!” said James adamantly.
“Mr. Phelps,” said Irene, who was just as firmly against it. “We will not be pursuing that course of treatment. Anna has the chicken pox. More spots are appearing hourly and causing her discomfort. What can we do for her?”
“Chicken pox, eh?” said Mr. Phelps, right before belching. “Then we should definitely bleed her.”
“Never!” said James, taking a step toward Phelps, forcing Irene to step between the men.
Irene realized the surgeon must truly be foxed because he did not perceive the danger he was in. Which was substantial. “Mr. Phelps,” she said firmly. “We will not be bleeding her. Now or ever. What other remedies do you have for
a fever and the chicken pox?”
“Are you sure it is chicken pox?” asked Phelps, taking a step backward. “Could be smallpox.”
Irene heard James’s sharp indrawn breath. She could feel his panic before she even turned around. She took one of his hands in hers. “It is not smallpox,” she said firmly. “I know the difference.” That wasn’t exactly true, since she’d never actually seen either disease. But she’d read about the distinction and it appeared that Anna had the lesser of the two ailments.
At least Irene prayed that was the case.
“Examine her, Mr. Phelps,” said Irene.
Phelps squinted his eyes from where he was. No doubt the drink was not making the task any easier.
“I must ask that you get closer to her,” said Irene. “If nothing else, you’ll want to know for your own health which of the diseases she has.”
“I suppose you have the right of it there,” said Phelps. “But I ain’t going to touch her.”
“I believe that is wise on all accounts,” said Irene, since the man looked none too clean.
Phelps drew closer to Anna, but still maintained a distance of about six feet. “Give me more light.” Irene and James both complied, though from the way James’s hand was shaking it would be a miracle if he didn’t drop the lantern and set the inn on fire.
Finally, Phelps drew near enough to examine one of the lesions, being careful not to touch it. “It is chicken pox, after all,” he said.
Irene breathed a sigh of relief.
“Are you certain?” asked James.
“Quite. But she’s in for a painful few days or so. Each lesion will last a day or two before it crusts over. And she’ll keep developing new spots for another week or so, mayhap ten days. Are you sure you don’t want me to bleed her?”
“Our daughter will not be bled,” said Irene emphatically and, hopefully, for the last time.
Phelps narrowed his eyes. “She can’t be your daughter. She’s too dark.”
“She is our daughter, regardless of the color of her skin,” said Irene. “We love her. Nothing else matters. Now, Mr. Phelps, can you give her something for her fever or to make her more comfortable when the spots begin to appear in earnest?”
“Don’t know what would work for someone like her,” he said. “Though, I reckon, we can always dose her with whisky. I hear those people like it.”
“I hear some of you people like it as well,” said Irene.
Phelps took offense. “What do you mean by ‘you people,’ madam?”
“Arses,” said Irene. “Leave now, Mr. Phelps before my husband escorts you out via the window.” She dropped a few coins into his hand. “This is for your time, as worthless as it was.”
He looked at the coins, squinting yet again. “You ain’t got more than this? I missed my supper, I did.”
James began to move toward Phelps menacingly, but Irene held him back, though just barely. “No, Mr. Phelps. As it is we are being quite generous. Do not press your good fortune by remaining.”
Phelps grumbled as he left.
Irene bolted the door after him, in case Mrs. Simmons tried to evict them from the premises.
When she turned to face James, she was not prepared for what she saw. He was shaking and had gone white as a sheet. She went to him immediately.
“James, we’ll get through this. I know it.”
“But what if she doesn’t have the ability to fight this like other children? What if she…”
Irene pulled her to him and was immediately overwhelmed by a tall, muscular male holding on to her as if she were his only hope. She prayed that Anna would make it through the illness. For while she might have seemed calm in reassuring James, inwardly she was anything but.
She’d never heard of a child with the chicken pox being this feverish. And since the spots were only beginning to appear now, she feared the worst was yet to come.
He finally pulled back from her and looked in her eyes. The moment was so intense Irene almost had to look away.
But didn’t.
“Thank you for being here,” he said. “For caring for her.”
It had never even occurred to Irene that she had a choice. Anna was sick. She would do whatever was necessary to help her. She was telling the truth when she told Phelps she loved Anna. She wasn’t sure how it had happened, but Irene had come to love the girl in just a few short days.
And she was afraid she was also falling in love with James.
She couldn’t think about that now.
“There is no need to thank me for caring for Anna. Now, let us get back to our patient.”
The ensuing night was a long one. Spots began appearing all over Anna’s body, and whenever she’d awaken, she’d try to scratch them.
“No, sweetheart,” said Irene sometime after midnight. “Please don’t scratch.”
“But I have to,” said Anna.
“Please, poppet,” said her father. “Try very hard not to. Would it help if I held you?”
With tears in her eyes, Anna nodded. James sat on the bed, then pulled Anna onto his lap. She curled into him, even as he began to rock her to sleep. It was a sight so sweet, yet so sad, that Irene was overwhelmed. She went to the basin to splash water on her face as she choked back tears.
After a few moments, Anna was asleep once again.
“You should go to bed,” James whispered to Irene.
“If she awakens, she’ll need someone to help her.”
“And I shall do it.”
Irene lifted her chin. “I would like to assist.”
“You already have. More than I can ever repay you.”
“I do not look for repayment.”
“Nevertheless, I am in your debt.”
The words hung in the air, all the more so for how quiet the room was, save for the crackling fire. Even the courtyard was still, though they could hear the howling wind.
“Get some sleep, Irene. And before you argue further, I expect I will be of little use to Anna tomorrow from lack of sleep. I hope you’ll be able to watch over her on the journey.”
“You know you can depend on me.”
“Thank you. Now get some sleep.”
When she looked to the chair, he said, “In the bed. Do not argue. Just get some rest.”
Irene did as he said, removing only her boots as she did so. There was something terribly intimate about the situation. But it wasn’t the same intimacy of kisses and physical attraction. It was more than that.
It was the intimacy of being a family.
With that unsettling thought she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
*
As James rested against the headboard, he felt Anna fall into a deep sleep. She was still dreadfully warm, despite the cold room. But he felt that if he held on to her long enough he could somehow save her. He prayed Irene was right and that Anna would come through the illness unscathed.
Irene. His gaze landed on the graceful figure inches away from him. She’d fallen asleep almost as soon as her head had hit the pillow. She’d been of invaluable assistance to him. Her sense of calm had helped keep his panic at bay. It wouldn’t do for him to show Anna just how scared he was.
As he sat there in the dark he realized he was comforted by having Irene so close. In that moment, well after midnight in a cold inn far from home, he felt the warmth of family.
He reveled in that as he let a light sleep take him.
*
As soon as the sky began to lighten, James awoke. He was still sitting against the headboard, holding his daughter. Every muscle in his body ached and the room was freezing. He felt Anna’s forehead. It was cooler than the night before, but still too warm.
He tried to slip out from beneath her without waking either her or Irene.
He only halfway succeeded.
“Are you going to awaken the awful Mrs. Simmons?” Irene asked quietly.
James turned to her and immediately wished he hadn’t. She looked deliciously disheveled, ris
ing from the bed.
Irene reached over to touch Anna’s forehead. “She feels cooler. Though it might be the temperature of the room. But the poor girl certainly has the chicken pox.”
Spots covered her face. They could not see beneath her night clothes, but James had a feeling the rest of her would look much the same.
“I am going to order breakfast and make sure the carriage is ready for travel at first light,” he said.
“And I shall pack and help Anna with her, uh…” She darted her eyes at the screen, beyond which lay various basins. “I shall simply help Anna.”
“Thank you. I do not know how long we shall remain at Ridgeway Manor, or, rather, the dower house. But I suspect it won’t be less than a week. I do not wish to worry your family if they learn you are not at Lady Lancaster’s. I can send you home in Layton’s carriage, then rent another conveyance to take us to Wiltshire. Though I will, of course, have to borrow the money.” He wished the lying, stealing Cedric Wallace to perdition for leaving him in such straits.
Except for the fact that had it not been for Cedric and his lying, stealing ways he never would have met Irene.
“You cannot think I would abandon you at this juncture,” said Irene. “If you will recall, I am charged with looking after Anna today while you sleep.”
“Truth be told, I doubt I shall sleep until we get home. And you have already done more than enough.”
“Yet, I would still like to see this through. Though, it occurs to me I have not yet received a formal invitation to the dower house at Ridgeway.” She smiled at him.
She was exhausted. He was exhausted. But her smile gave him hope for the day.
“Then Miss Irene Wallace, please allow me the honor of escorting you to the Ridgeway estate, the longtime home of some of England’s worst scoundrels, and the current home to its greatest earl and countess, along with two excellent sisters and two loyal servants.”
“Thank you, sir. I will be delighted to accompany you.”
Always True to Her (Emerson Book 2) Page 12