“Is she sweating at all?” Daphne asked.
“Not that I noticed.” His confidence in Daphne only grew as they climbed into the Kielder carriage, Fanny along for propriety. Daphne knew just what to ask and did so with an undeniable expertise. His worries eased simply having her there.
She did not hover at Mother’s door when they reached it but walked inside and spoke to the abigail directly. “I understand your mistress is ill.”
The abigail’s chin quivered a bit. She needed to keep herself in one piece, but James feared she wouldn’t manage it.
Daphne crossed to the distraught woman and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “If you will tell me all you have seen and observed of this sickness, I promise to do all I can to help her. I give you my solemn word.”
The abigail rallied a bit. “She has lost most of her voice and finds even drinking water nearly too painful to endure.”
Daphne nodded as she listened. She drew the abigail to Mother’s bedside once more. “How long has she had this fever?”
“She was a touch warm when she woke this morning.”
James didn’t like how that admission drew Daphne’s mouth into a solemn line. He stood but a few paces away, watching anxiously.
“The fever has not broken at all the entire day?” Daphne asked.
The abigail shook her head.
“Has she slept?”
“Only fitfully.”
Daphne turned her full attention to Mother. “I wish to help if I can,” she said, “but first I must know as much as possible about your illness. May I have permission to very gently feel your neck? I promise to be as light in my touch as I can be.”
Mother opened her mouth to say something, but no sound emerged. Had she lost her voice entirely? James stepped closer, wishing he knew how to ease her pain.
Daphne waited patiently for an answer to her question.
“She can help, Mother,” he said.
Mother at last nodded.
Daphne sat on the side of the bed and pressed her fingertips with utmost care along Mother’s neck. James knew not what she hoped to feel or find but prayed she could do something. For a long moment, she moved her fingers about, feeling and watching Mother. She pressed the back of one hand to Mother’s forehead, then her cheek.
“I am certain you find swallowing very painful.” Daphne’s voice alone was soothing, calming. “I do know of a very useful tonic for a painful throat, but you will have to swallow it. Can you do that?”
Mother nodded.
“Then I will see to it immediately.” Daphne rose and nearly bumped into him, so close had he come to stand by her.
He might have apologized for getting in her way, but the concern he saw in her face silenced him.
“Will you walk with me a moment?” she whispered urgently.
He followed her to the far side of the room where Mother’s writing desk sat.
“I will write out the recipe,” Daphne said, keeping her voice low. “But, James, she needs a physician. Her throat is terribly swollen. Fever has clouded her eyes. She ought to be seen by a professional.”
He paced away, then back again. “Father will not allow one to be sent for. He’s given instructions to the staff not to, and I know they will not defy him on my account.”
“Might your brother be sent?”
“Ben could go, but Father would likely refuse to pay the physician for his services.”
Daphne’s brow knit in thought. She’d wasted not a single breath, not a single moment in outrage at Father’s edict nor expressing horror at the coldness of which his sire was capable. James was inexplicably grateful. Any other lady of his acquaintance would have washed her hands of his problems.
“If we both put our minds to it,” she said, “I am certain we can think of something. We cannot simply allow her to be neglected when she is so ill.”
She wrote in clear, concise lettering a recipe for her healing tisane. James checked on his mother once more. Her eyes were heavy with illness. Something had to be done. Father had to be dealt with.
A moment later, Daphne handed the recipe to Mother’s abigail with strict instructions that were any of the herbs in the recipe not on hand, she was to be told at once so a suitable substitute could be found. The lady’s maid rushed off, obviously anxious to help her mistress.
“Try not to worry, James.” Daphne laid a hand on his arm. “I do not believe your mother is in imminent danger. We have time to think of a means of getting a physician here.”
“I can only imagine what you must think of my family.” He’d seldom felt more ashamed.
“Every family has its difficulties.”
He pressed his hand to hers where it yet lay on his arm. “Thank you for all you’ve done.”
That dimple of hers reappeared. “I am happy to be of help.”
“Might I ask another favor of you, then? Will you stay here with my mother until her abigail returns?”
“I mean to stay until she is well again.”
James took her hand in his and pressed a grateful kiss to her fingers. He’d come to her with a crisis, and she’d responded with a cool head and a giving heart.
“I will go see if I can talk some sense into my father. Wish me luck.” He released her fingers and moved to the door.
James glanced back once only to find Daphne already engaged in cooling Mother’s forehead. His heart tugged at the sight even as guilt twisted more painfully inside. She was so willing to give with no idea of how selfishly she was being used by them all.
Chapter Twenty
Lady Techney was sleeping but not resting. The honey and licorice-root tea Daphne had instructed the cook to prepare had eased the lady’s pain. Her fever, however, continued to rage.
Daphne dipped a cloth in the bowl of water and dabbed at Lady Techney’s forehead and flushed cheeks. The water had warmed, so she’d sent the abigail to get ice from the ice cellar. She alone remained in the room with James’s mother.
A debate raged in her mind. She knew several treatments to break a fever but hesitated to use them. A fever could at times be beneficial. She would feel more confident if she had a physician’s assessment. If James could not convince his father to send for one, she would simply have to do her best.
That had always been the hardest part of being her family’s only medical resource. She’d worried endlessly that she would make a mistake. She had borne that weight as a very young child, too young for such a responsibility, and felt it again in that moment. In the years she’d lived with Adam and Persephone, she had always been able to consult with a physician or surgeon or apothecary.
She gently dabbed Lady Techney’s neck with the damp cloth, hoping to cool her as much as she could. Footsteps sounded from the doorway. Daphne breathed a sigh of relief. That would be the abigail returned with much-needed ice.
But it wasn’t. Mr. Bennett Tilburn stepped inside, mouth pulled in worry.
“James said Mother was ill.”
Daphne nodded. “She is sleeping now though.”
Bennett’s eyes did not leave his mother’s face as he crossed to her bedside. He didn’t reach out to touch her nor sit on the edge of her bed. Perhaps these were things sons did not do when their mothers were ill. She hardly knew if daughters did such things. Her mother died so long ago. She had no experience with mothers.
Daphne dipped the cloth in the water again and rang it out. How she wished the water were cooler. Where was the abigail?
“James sent me to see if there was anything I might do for you. He has some business with our father and said the matter was taking longer than expected.”
That was not a promising turn of events. Perhaps James had been unable to arrange for the physician they needed.
“Would you take over for me here?” She indicated the cloth she was using to
cool Lady Techney’s brow. “I think she would benefit from a fever reducer, but I’ll need to prepare that myself.”
“You’re an apothecary?” His tone was not doubtful, not quite teasing. He did take the cloth and the seat Daphne relinquished to him.
“I am something of an amateur apothecary, yes.” She smiled in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. Few people had ever heard of her passion for herbs and responded with anything but dismissive amusement, as though she’d declared an undying interest in watching water boil.
Bennett nodded. “That explains James’s lack of panic. He usually looks ready to burst with tension when Mother is ill.”
“I hope I can live up to his confidence in me.” A tiny bubble of pride grew inside. James had faith in her.
“Tell me how to do this.” Bennett held the cloth with no degree of expertise. “I’m afraid I am a little useless in the sickroom.”
That struck her as odd. “I thought I understood Lady Techney’s health is often poor.”
Bennett shrugged. “But James always does everything himself.”
It was little wonder she seldom saw him. James’s responsibilities stretched him far too thin.
“If you will dab gently at her forehead and cheeks and neck—anywhere that is flushed—the damp cloth will help cool her off until her fever can be brought down.”
He nodded his understanding and followed her instructions. He could not have been more obviously unsure of his ministrations. His brow creased with concentration.
Daphne watched him a moment. “When the cloth grows too dry or too warm, dip it in the water again. But be certain to ring out as much moisture as you can so she’s not soaked by it.”
He silently nodded and kept at his efforts.
“Her abigail will return shortly with some ice to cool the water.”
“And I should keep at this until then? After, even?”
“Until her fever breaks, we must make every effort to keep her cool.” Daphne laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Just continue as you are.”
He gave her a quick smile and set back to work.
“I will return in a moment.” She wasn’t certain he heard her, but she left just the same.
Daphne stepped out into the corridor, hoping to catch sight of James. She followed the sound of tense, raised voices and found him and Lord Techney eyeing one another across a desk in what appeared to be a library.
“We are not a wealthy family, James. If I sent for a doctor every time that woman gets the sniffles, it would beggar me.”
“This is no simple case of the sniffles,” James returned. “She needs a doctor.”
“She must learn not to be so dramatic.”
Time to use the skills Adam taught you, Daphne. She rallied her courage. “If you two are quite finished, I would like to address the current difficulty.” She kept her tone stiff and unyielding. Both gentlemen turned and faced her with matching expressions of shock. “Lord Techney, your wife is ill. Quite ill, in fact, and I mean that in the least dramatic way possible. If you will not send for a physician, I will and have the bill sent to my brother-in-law labeled ‘services rendered on behalf of Lord Techney.’ You can do what you feel necessary to settle your debt with the infamous duke, but I must warn you, he is not particularly fond of people who owe him money.”
The thinly veiled threat sank in with all the force Daphne could have hoped for. Lord Techney swallowed audibly. “I hadn’t meant to be cruel,” he insisted in choked tones. “She is simply so often unwell.”
“All the more reason for concern, sir. Am I to assume, then, a physician will be summoned?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
Daphne gave a quick nod. “Very good. Now, Lord Tilburn”—she turned to James—“I believe your mother would appreciate your calming company.”
“Of course.” James moved without hesitation to the doorway where she stood.
To Lord Techney she offered a simple “Good day to you” before following James’s path out of the room.
He was waiting for her when she stepped into the corridor.
“I am sorry if I offended you with my sharp words.” She and James made their way toward Lady Techney’s bedchamber. “I could think of no other way of getting through to your father.”
He shook his head. “You were wondrous.”
Relief surged through her. “Go sit with your mother,” she instructed. “Bennett is with her now, but she cannot help but be soothed by having both of her sons at her side.”
James disappeared into the bedchamber. Daphne remained behind in Lady Techney’s sitting area. She pulled out the small trunk she’d brought with her in which she kept those herbs crucial enough to travel with. How often she’d wished for a better means of organizing and storing them. They sat in small boxes, cloth bags, and glass vials packed in protective straw. A true apothecary would have the proper traveling trunk. She did not even have an apothecary chest at Falstone Castle. The castle, along with Falstone House, had a room for drying kitchen herbs and other plants, just as most houses of any significance did. But an herb room was the domain of a cook, perhaps an undergardener, and was a far cry from the space needed for properly preparing more delicate medicinal herbs and for appropriately storing and organizing the oils and mixtures she painstakingly created.
She took from her trunk those things she needed in that moment. Feverfew leaves. Black-elder flowers. She set both bags to the side. Her very own mortar and pestle sat in a custom-made box, an extravagant purchase she’d saved her pin money to buy several years earlier. She’d never regretted the expenditure, especially in moments such as this.
She pulled out a small vial of lavender oil. A drop in the water used to cool Lady Techney would help her rest.
Daphne tucked her supplies under her arms and returned to Lady Techney’s room. Everyone looked at her as she stepped inside. She nodded and motioned for them to continue their efforts.
After clearing the writing desk of papers and pens and inkwells, she set out her things, then pulled out the stone mortar and pestle and prepared to get to work. She waved over the abigail, who had returned with the ice. “We will need a kettle of hot water, a teacup, and a tea strainer. Can you see to that?”
“Yes, miss.” She dipped a quick curtsy and hurried off.
Daphne took a moment to add a single drop of lavender oil to the water Bennett used. “This will help her rest,” she explained.
As she crossed back to the writing desk, James followed.
“I hope the footman sent to retrieve the physician can do so quickly,” he said. “Mr. Cathcart is often away from home seeing to a sick patient.”
Daphne knew in that moment she would do best to continue with her treatment. If the physician arrived quickly, so much the better.
“How does Mother seem to you?” James asked.
“Her fever worries me.” Daphne opened the bag of dried feverfew leaves and added the right amount to her empty mortar.
“Another tea?” James asked.
Daphne added a generous pinch of dried black-elder flowers. “It is extremely helpful but tastes terrible. I only hope we can convince her to take it.”
He stood mute at her side as she ground the herbs together. She’d learned over the years just how fine to make them. The crushing released necessary oils, but if she ground them too much, they would not steep properly to make the tea.
A kettle of boiling water, along with a cup and strainer, arrived in the next minutes. Daphne worked at the tea but looked a few times at James. His thoughts seemed miles away. Lines of tension creased his face.
“Perhaps you should sit a moment, James,” she said. “You look ready to drop.”
He shook himself. “I am tired is all. And worried.”
“Your brother is doing a fine job of tending to Lady Techney. This tea will b
e ready shortly. And I have complete confidence in the timely arrival of your physician.” That last bit was something of a stretch, but reassuring him seemed more crucial in that moment than blunt honesty.
“I will be more at ease if you can give me something useful to do.”
Heavens but he looked near to bursting.
Daphne took his hands in hers. For just a moment, the feel of holding his hands paralyzed her. Though she’d dreamed of having his attention and affection, she’d not been truly prepared for this closeness. She pulled her thoughts together and led him to his mother’s bedside, opposite Bennett. “Your assignment,” she said, “is to sit here and think of a way to convince Lady Techney to drink the foul concoction I am about to bring over for her. Are you up for the challenge?”
He managed a halfhearted smile at her teasing. “I will put my mind to the puzzle.”
He pulled off his jacket and hung it over the arm of his chair, clearly preparing to settle in. She’d not had to tell him the night would be a long one; he seemed to understand without words. How many such illnesses had he seen his mother through?
Lady Techney objected to the tea as much as Daphne had expected and as quietly, considering her lack of voice and energy. James spoke patiently and quietly to her, easing the steaming liquid past her lips a sip at a time.
Daphne stood out of the way, watching him. His kindness to her so many years earlier had not been an oddity, it seemed. He treated his mother with the same consideration. A woman would be fortunate indeed to win the devotion of such a man.
He looked back at her. “There is only a bit of dregs left in the bottom. Does she need to drink that?”
“No. Let her lie back and rest.”
She took Bennett’s place at Lady Techney’s side, insisting he go get his sleep. James sat a bit limp in his chair, head resting in his upturned hand. He looked spent. Just how bad had his argument with Lord Techney been?
The feverfew tisane had not yet taken effect. Daphne would see to Lady Techney when it did. In the few minutes until that happened, she would do what she could for James.
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