Thomas lunged at his thrashing nephew, finally catching him about the waist. Then he pushed toward the edge of the river where Carmilla held a weeping Prudence.
The ice cracked again, loosening the small rowboat. It crashed down, righting itself in the dark water.
Thomas gripped solid ground, then pulled himself and Parnell out.
“My leg!” Parnell shrieked. “My leg!”
Edward and Alice were rushing toward them.
“Parnell!” Alice ran faster than Thomas would have thought possible and snatched her son from his arms and held him close.
Edward had his coat off in an instant, wrapping it around his wife and child.
“My leg!” The shrill words came over and over.
Edward took Parnell’s foot in a gentle embrace.
The boy squealed in agony.
“I think he’s broken his ankle,” said Edward.
“Quick,” said Thomas. “Let’s get him home.”
Prudence wept into Carmilla’s skirts, unable to look at her brother.
The nanny herself appeared nonplussed. “Lady Alice,” she said as she fluttered to her side. “I am so sorry this happened.” Then she looked at Thomas. Her eyes were fire.
Thomas stared at Carmilla, stunned by her theatrics. There were no words for the sudden fury he felt.
Broken Ankle
Parnell lay in bed in the room he and Prudence shared at Thomas’ lavish townhouse. Edward had gone to fetch the physician, Dr. Archer.
Thomas stayed near his nephew, holding his hand and watching the boy. Alice held his other hand. When Alice and Edward’s month-old babe, Celia, had disappeared last February, Alice had nearly died of sorrow herself and had looked pale and wan for many months. Ravencrest’s physician, Dr. Lanval, finally helped her find herself again; when the family had arrived at the townhouse yesterday, Thomas had been delighted to see Alice looking and behaving like her old self. Her eyes sparkled when she looked at her children - and at her husband. Thomas quelled a selfish wish that she would look at him that way, but it was not meant to be. Now, her eyes were dark and haunted once more. If something happened to Parnell, he doubted she could withstand the pain.
Parnell turned his head to look at him. “Thank you for helping me out of the water, Uncle Thomas.”
Thomas fought back tears. This never would have happened had he not allowed his nephew near the rowboat. The sound of the cracking ice seemed to move down his spine. He shuddered as his mind again replayed the moment his nephew had disappeared into the black water.
“Try to get some rest, young master.” Thomas reached over to brush the boy’s sweat-matted hair from his forehead.
Parnell closed his eyes.
Momentarily, Edward returned with Dr. Archer and Alice stood to greet them.
Dr. Archer was a tall, stern-faced man with angular features, dark graying hair, and an outdated mustache. After inspecting young Parnell’s ankle he informed them it was broken and needed to be set.
At the news, Alice buried her face in Edward’s chest and wept. He hushed her tears and smoothed her hair. “Why don’t you join Carmilla and Prudence, Alice? Thomas and I will remain with Parnell.”
She looked up at him. “I will do no such thing.”
Edward sighed and nodded.
“I am fine, Mama.” Parnell’s words were confident though he looked frightened.
Alice smiled at her son as a tear slipped down her cheek. “I will not leave you, Parnell. I will not.”
Parnell’s relief was evident; he was being brave for his mother. Thomas’ respect for his nephew rose another degree.
“Very well,” said Dr. Archer, pulling a bottle out of his coat pocket. “Let us first give him something for the pain.” He then produced an oral syringe, uncapped the bottle, and pulled some of the reddish-brown liquid into it. “This is laudanum,” he said in Edward and Alice’s direction. Then he looked at Parnell. “Be prepared. It is very bitter.” He administered a few drops and Parnell made a face. “Good boy.” The doctor placed the bottle back into his coat pocket. “Now, I will need the assistance of one of you gentleman,” he said, looking from Edward to Thomas.
Edward took a step forward, but Thomas spoke. “Let me do it.”
Edward hesitated, then looked at his wife, returned to her side and nodded at his younger brother.
“What do you need me to do?” Thomas asked the doctor.
“Secure the boy while I pull the broken ankle back into place. And then we’ll let some of his blood, of course.”
Thomas swallowed.
“Bloodletting?” Alice cried.
“Yes, m’Lady. In a situation like this-”
“I will not hear of it,” said Alice. “He fractured his ankle and I’m sure the setting of his bone will be quite enough treatment for today.”
“He may catch fever, m’Lady.”
Alice moved toward to doctor. “Then we will consider bloodletting. With no evidence of illness, I hardly think it is necessary. Our family physician, Dr. Lanval, would never perform bloodletting for such an incident as this.”
Edward placed a calming hand on Alice’s shoulder. “This is true, Dr. Archer. You will set the leg and we will return to Ravencrest where we will have our own physician oversee any further needs our son might have.”
“Very well.” The doctor shrugged.
Alice relaxed visibly and returned to her husband’s embrace.
The doctor looked at Thomas. “Are you prepared?”
Thomas nodded.
The doctor showed him how to hold his nephew still. Thomas complied, then the doctor looked at Parnell, who appeared to be relaxing under the drug’s influence. “Count to ten and take a deep breath.”
Parnell began to count and when he reached the number five, he slurred. Immediately, Archer gave the boy’s ankle a hard yank.
As long as he lived, Thomas never forgot the screams.
The Return to Ravencrest
December 11, 1788
The morning dawned, frozen and gray. The team of four coal-black horses blew steam from their nostrils and stamped against the cold. Thomas helped Alice into the coach then assisted Edward in lifting Parnell, fur-wrapped and sobbing despite the laudanum, into the cab, settling his head in his mother’s lap. Edward climbed in and sat on the same bench, laying his son’s legs across his own with great care in hopes this would help ease the bouncing of the carriage. Thomas lifted Prudence and she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him. The ice crystals on her hooded cloak sparkled like tiny diamonds. “Can’t you come with us, Uncle?” she asked.
“If only I could.” He lifted her into the carriage then bent in, blocking the door, keeping Carmilla Harlow waiting in the cold. “I will see you all no later than Christmas Eve,” he said. “And sooner if I am able.”
Parnell focused on him. “Please come soon, Uncle!”
Thomas’ heart broke. He had fallen down in his duty to his young nephew by letting his baser urges take precedence. He’d tossed and turned all night over it. He thought of the nanny standing behind him, knowing that young Parnell’s injury was by her instigation, but it did not make his own actions any less neglectful. Uncle and godfather, he was, and he knew his duty. He loved this little boy whose hair was golden like his own. He liked to imagine that he really was his own son, and Prudence his daughter. His eyes found Alice’s face, but she had no time for him. She kissed her son’s forehead, feeling for fever, and hummed a tune to him in her sweet voice. I wish that she were mine.
“We will see you Christmas week, Brother,” Edward said, his face tired, but his voice hearty for his son’s sake. “All of us. We will sing carols and greet Father Christmas, won’t we Parnell?”
The boy smiled weakly and closed his eyes under his mother’s loving caresses.
“Indeed we shall,” Thomas said. “We shall feast and sing and play games all the night through!” He stepped back. Carmilla stood there in her dark brown cloak, staring at him,
waiting for him to help her into the carriage. Instead, he bowed to his family and retreated, nodding at the coachman to assist Miss Harlow.
The nanny stepped into the carriage and, as the coachman closed its black door, she stared at Thomas through the window. If looks could kill ...
***
They made it to Hertfordshire before a short but intense blizzard required them to take shelter at a roadhouse until the skies cleared. Then they continued on toward St. Albans. At long last Alice recognized the moonlit hills and moors that had belonged to the Mannings for centuries. The horses trotted onto the road that led across the thousand acres of farm and forest, past moor and pond, knowing they were nearly home, recognizing each standing stone and cottage they passed, their relief obvious. Soon they would be warm in their stalls, brushed down and fed.
Finally, they reached the cobblestone road at the gates of Ravencrest Manor itself, barely two miles from the mansion. Despite her worries, at the sight of the tall iron gates topped by the Manning ravens, Alice caught her breath. Oliver, the driver, pulled the coach to a stop, horses stamping and snorting against the cold. Smoke curled from the stone gatehouse and two servants came out and pulled the gates wide for them. One, Long Stephen, their first footman, hitched himself up onto the rear coach box for the ride to the mansion. Puffs of fog hung like ghosts around them, one pressing to the window. Alice stifled a scream as she saw a face begin to form, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Even so, she could smell the dank chill wetness outside.
She wiped perspiration from Parnell’s pinched face. The last of the laudanum had worn off an hour before and the boy had moaned his pain ever since. His cheeks were flushed and as Alice kissed his forehead, she knew beyond doubt that a fever had arrived.
Beside her, Edward cradled the boy’s legs, trying to keep the splinted ankle from bouncing. Her husband was a saint, barely moving during the long drive lest his son feel more pain. Across from her, Prudence slept, leaning against the padded interior of the coach rather than surrendering herself to her nanny’s arms. Why did I not notice such things as this before? The children had never complained about her, but neither had they claimed to like this woman. Alice and Edward knew only that they learned well from her and had thought she might later serve as governess. Foolish. We should have considered their hearts as well. Alice promised herself she and Edward would do better by their children. After the holidays they would find a new nanny. Meanwhile, even if they did not let Miss Harlow go immediately - it seemed a cruel thing to turn her out during the holiday season - she would ask Mother Johanna if she would help see to the children. Her mother-in-law, Alice knew, would gladly set aside her artwork a few hours a day for her grandchildren.
The coach hit a bump - a cobblestone disturbed by the winter storms, no doubt - and Parnell moaned. “Shh, we’re nearly there, my love. Edward, have the driver slow a bit.” For an instant, she imagined she heard the hollow cries of her lost Celia, echoing across the moors, but it was only the high lonesome call of an owl.
A cloud moved past the moon, revealing a doe watching them from a small tor. Alice began to smile, then something hulking and black leapt from the shadows and took the graceful deer down. She shivered, wondering if it was a wolf or perhaps a rare sighting of the horrible black mastiff that was said to roam the Manning lands. The coach horses saw it, too, and whinnied nervously. The whip cracked and the driver yelled something.
The black geldings slowed from a trot to a walk as they approached the manor. Alice caught her first glimpse of the mansion, aglow with lanterns, its great greystone face solemn, yet welcoming. As they came around the last curve and pulled up, Long Stephen jumped down and opened the coach door the instant Oliver halted the horses. “Debark Miss Harlow first,” Alice ordered.
“Yes, m’Lady.”
Carmilla Harlow, who had been silent for most of the long drive, nodded curtly and allowed Long Stephen to help her down. The nanny waited as he lifted Prudence down, then briskly took the girl’s hand and escorted her to the entryway.
Welcoming light spilled from the house as the heavy front doors were opened. An instant later, Mother Johanna and Bran Lanval, the physician, appeared at the coach door, the latter towering behind her mother-in-law. Johanna’s plump pink cheeks and sparkling blue eyes warmed Alice’s heart. “Your grandmother is here, Parnell!” She kissed his fevered forehead.
“And Dr. Lanval,” added Edward. “He’ll have you feeling better soon, my boy.”
“We have fresh hot gingerbread, Parnell, just for you.” Johanna beamed at her grandson as the boy was carefully passed out the coach door to Long Stephen and Pershing, their strapping butler. The two gently carried him into the manor, old Bran Lanval behind them, giving orders. “I’ll bring it to you, my darling,” called Johanna, “and hot milk, too, as soon as the doctor has had a look at you.”
Parnell was in good hands. Alice relaxed for the first time since the accident, but her muscles were stiff and sore from tension and the long carriage ride. Oliver helped her from the coach and Edward followed.
Johanna caught Alice up in a warm soft hug, murmuring soothing words in her native German as she escorted her into the house. It was good to be home.
The Days Ahead
December 16, 1788
The gingerbread lay uneaten at Parnell’s bedside and Johanna said another prayer for her grandson. Alice, exhausted, had fallen asleep under a quilt in the high-backed Chesterfield chair that Edward had brought in for her. Firelight played over her face and Johanna said a little prayer for her daughter-in-law as well. Beautiful Alice looked old beyond her years, pale and drawn. Let the boy heal, Lord, and his mother as well.
Thankfully, Bran said the ankle was properly set and was going to heal well - the leg was not hot; the boy would walk again, at least if he survived the fever that was upon him now.
Despite the doctor’s ministrations, Parnell was in the throes of the grippe. Bran continued to eschew his hospital training, avoiding bloodlettings in favor of ice packs to cool the boy’s brow and hot teas and chicken broth to warm his belly and lungs. Parnell’s breathing had grown thick and there was a rattle in his chest now when he drew breath. Bran had confided that he feared the cough would turn into pneumonia.
“Lady Johanna,” he said as he entered the room. Johanna inclined her head toward Alice, so he would see she was sleeping. He came to the bed. He was tall and well over seventy years. Not only had he delivered Johanna’s own sons, he had delivered her husband, Charles, as well. Despite his age, he stood unstooped by the years, immaculate in his elegant but unadorned tan and brown breeches and waistcoat, his white hair tied back with a black ribbon, his bald pate gleaming in the lantern light. He remained a handsome man. Lifting the quilt, he placed his ear to Parnell’s chest, listened, then looked to Johanna. Taking her hand, he briefly squeezed it in his own. “He has not improved as yet, I am afraid.”
He reached into his coat and brought out a small cloth herb bag. “I’ve made an expectorant tea to help with his catarrh. He will like it; the main ingredient is peppermint. Have it brewed and give as much of it to him as he will take.” He passed the bag to Johanna then drew a tin from another pocket. “Do you have turmeric, cinnamon and ginger in the kitchen?”
“Yes, Bran, we do. And plenty.”
“Make him teas of it. It will help. You must keep forcing fluid into him, especially these teas and the broth.” He lifted the lid of the tin to expose a salve redolent of menthol and rosemary and something else Johanna couldn’t identify. “This will also thin the phlegm.”
She raised her eyebrows at the new scent.
“It’s eucalyptus oil,” he told her. “It is a strong curative, brought back recently by the First Fleet. The Surgeon-General himself gave me a sample.” He dabbed a bit of salve just under Parnell’s nose then opened the boy’s nightshirt again and rubbed it into his chest. “It’s thought to be far more efficacious than peppermint alone,” he added. “We must refresh this
every few hours.”
“Very well, Bran,” Johanna said.
Parnell stirred and looked from her to the doctor with fever-bright eyes, smiled slightly, then closed his lids. His chest rattled and he coughed.
“Are you considering letting his blood?” Johanna asked.
Bran Lanval looked thoughtful. “Johanna, despite my training, I have always felt that bloodletting, in cases like this, is futile. I have had many friends who were herbalists and midwives. I have as much respect for them as I do for my colleagues at Hospital.” He looked away. “In truth, perhaps more. None of these practitioners believe in bleedings and I must agree with them in this case. It will only weaken him.”
Johanna nodded. Bran Lanval was not a typical doctor, but he was the best she had ever known.
***
Days passed, Christmas week drew closer, Parnell grew weaker, and Bran Lanval had begun to consider bloodletting. He sat in his study in his chambers on the second floor, near the family’s own; he had finally taken up the invitation to keep quarters at Ravencrest two years ago when he reached his seventy-third year. He had finished training a younger physician and sold him his home and office in town. His old bones ached now, especially in the cold; it was time to retire, at least from running around St. Albans at all hours. Nowadays, his only patients were the Manning family and their multitude of servants; they were more than enough. And being so near to Johanna Manning warmed him.
Young Parnell’s illness was vexing. He had taken steps to avoid the grippe before the symptoms worsened. The boy was solid and healthy, never ill a day in his life and Lanval was sure the ankle was not the reason he was not improving. He had been well taken care of since the accident and should never have become this ill.
The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1) Page 12