So Elizabeth was alone with her first-born son, holding him tight as the post-chaise rolled along. She continued to weep, worried for both of her boys, but more particularly for their father, who had chosen to put himself in harm’s way. His reason for doing so was honourable, she could not deny, but occasionally her worry gave way to intense bouts of anger, that he should remain behind in a sick house to look after such a woman. Elizabeth thought of him as she had seen him last, waving farewell grimly to the carriage, and was seized with the fear that this would be the last she ever saw of him.
James did not like to be held so tightly by such an overwrought mama, and Elizabeth thought it almost a blessing when he began to fuss. It was a distraction, and a sorely needed one. For now, she would cease worrying over everyone’s health, and take on the comparably simple task of trying to calm her son.
Chapter 27
Elizabeth took three of the quality apartments at the York Hotel and two of the servants’ rooms, for her male servants. It seemed the poor weather had prevented all but the most unfortunate of invalids from coming to Margate thus far in the season, and she was able to have her choice of rooms. She requested that the apartments for the women were beside each other, so that if she could not see the other women, at least she could hear them, and her request was met with an officiousness that indicated the proprietor, Mr. Wright, was very happy to accommodate a woman who arrived with a retinue of three very fine carriages and requested so many apartments for an indeterminate amount of time.
The hotel’s servants might not have understood why the woman who was mistress of this retinue took the smallest space of all of them, but Elizabeth did claim the little apartment that seemed to have been squeezed in beside the stairwell. She needed only a table and a bed for herself – James would continue to sleep in his basket, which he had seemed content enough with during their journeys thus far. Indeed, he seemed rather unaffected by this latest journey; his mild tantrum in the carriage had dissipated and now he was playing on the blanket Elizabeth had laid down on the floorboards, attempting to edge himself forward with his pudgy little arms.
Elizabeth could not watch him without focusing on his cheeks, looking for the tell-tale rash that would indicate he was ill, but James continued to play, oblivious to any concerns of hers, and without any signs that his health was anything less than what it should be. He did not seem to mind that his mother’s focus was split between his own innocent and unconcerned countenance, the health of his younger brother in the room next door, and that of his father, back at Rosings.
Elizabeth wrote a brief note to her husband to inform him they were all well and settled into the York, at Margate. She rang for Henry, who would attend her and James as needed, beginning with giving the letter over to the groom who had been instructed to find a fresh horse, so as to return immediately to Rosings; Samuel, her second footman, would aid the women caring for the other boys. Then she forced herself to eat a little and readied herself and James for bed.
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The next morning, she awoke from a shallow sleep – interrupted once by James’s needs in the night – and rang the bell to order her breakfast. Henry answered and said he would bring it up as soon as it was ready.
Elizabeth was struck, once Henry had returned and deposited the food and tea things on the table, with a strange sense of loneliness. In the course of a usual day at Pemberley, she had seen Darcy, Sarah, both of her sons, and better than a half-dozen servants by the time she sat down to breakfast, and at that meal she was assured of at least Jane’s company, even if Darcy and Charles had already gone out for the day. Yet today she had only a few moments of conversation with Henry, and then the rest of the day to face in the company of James, whose present happiness over her presence was merely because it provided his own breakfast.
Once she and James had broken their fasts, Elizabeth was faced with a strange day where she did not feel comfortable leaving the hotel and had absolutely no purpose. She did not bother to dress – her stays would only be an obstacle, when James next needed to nurse – but did change nightgowns, particularly missing Sarah’s presence as she donned her dressing gown. She pulled open the window, thinking a little sea air would do her and James no harm and possibly some good, then laid down his blanket and placed him there.
He played happily enough upon it, but soon Elizabeth came to see that the greatest challenge to their combined contentedness laid in the state of his tailclouts. She had, very occasionally, changed him under tutelage from Mrs. Nichols when he required it, mostly because it seemed something his own mother should not be totally incompetent in doing. Now, she was required to be the sole provider of his not-infrequent changes. Elizabeth managed these well enough that James did not complain, but she found herself wondering how Mrs. Nichols could manage such matters for three young children. Even with the assistance provided her by Rachel, managing the twins must have been an all-consuming task, yet one about which Mrs. Nichols had never complained. Elizabeth vowed to increase her wages, although Mrs. Nichols had already thought herself well-paid.
The presence of soiled clouts was never a pleasant one, and Elizabeth was glad the hotel had recommended a Mrs. Taggant, for washing. Upon learning there were several babies in Mrs. Darcy’s party, and that the gentlewoman desired the most unpleasant of their smells should be dissipated as much as possible, Mrs. Taggant had promised she would come by thrice daily to collect soiled linens and then launder them, for which Elizabeth promised to pay her exceedingly well.
Thus there was, at least, no concentration of foul scent to make the matter of changing James more unpleasant, and Elizabeth spent her day generally as he did: playing with him when he desired to play and attempting to nap when he wished to sleep. At her most bored, she endeavoured to get him to laugh as he did with his brother, but decided to cease her attempts when she realised the occupants of the room beside hers might well think her mad, sitting in a little room and laughing continuously at a baby. Elizabeth, it seemed, could be a participant in this pastime of her sons, but only one of them could be its instigator, and he would only do so in the presence of his brother.
The rain came, and she was required to close the window, which made her feel even more shut away from the world than she had before. She wondered what Darcy was doing, and whether he was still well. She wondered whether Jane was yet going through the ordeal of helping Caroline Harrison through her ordeal. She ordered a small dinner, and some time after she had completed what little of it she had appetite to eat, found Henry knocking at her door, desiring to give her a letter that had just arrived, from Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth thanked him, closed the door, and tore open the seal, for James, certainly, was not to judge her for the manner in which she consumed the letter. She tore the paper, as well, in her zealousness, but this had no effect on the legibility of the message, which was:
“My darling Elizabeth,
“I am still well. Mrs. Jenkinson has proven afflicted with a sore-throat since you departed, and I am glad she had the good sense not to go with Anne, who I expect would have easily succumbed to it, had she remained in her care. I fear for Anne’s health, for I do not see how a woman of her constitution could leave this house without catching ill.
“Lady Catherine’s physician has come in from Tunbridge Wells, and seems confident that the disease can be combatted. He drew off ten ounces of blood from each of his patients, in the hopes that it should ease the plethory that has afflicted them. I must admit this seemed excessive to me, and your friend Charlotte – who I have been remiss in saying is also still well – came to Rosings in concern over the effect it had on Mr Collins, but at this stage, I know not what else to do. Dr. Gibson has attended Lady Catherine’s family for many years, and one must assume he knows his occupation.
“He did not have an explanation for why Mr. Collins had no symptoms of the sore-throat, but confirms it is undoubtedly scarlet fever. Both he and Lady Catherine have a suspicion that Mr. Collins lied about ha
ving a sore-throat. Lady Catherine thinks he did not wish to lose his dinner invitation. Yet if he did lie over it – and I think this very possible – I believe it is more likely that he did not wish to contradict Lady Catherine when questioned by her at the table. Whether he lied or not, Dr. Gibson does think his case a strange one. He has never seen the rash erupt in such a way as it has on Mr. Collins’s hand, while Lady Catherine and Mrs. Jenkinson still only show symptoms of the sore-throat.
“I pray you and the boys are well. Please ease my worries as soon as you are able and tell me of their health and yours, and how you have settled in.
“Yours, with all love,
“DARCY”
Elizabeth read the letter again, and then refolded it, her eyes filled with tears of relief. She smiled over at James and said, “Your papa is well, James! He is still well!”
James smiled, and cooed, and Elizabeth prayed that this event would be repeated for many more days to come. Then she went to get her writing things, to pen her response. Before she did so, Elizabeth decided she would ask after the health of everyone down the hall, so as to assuage her own concern and send Darcy a more complete account. She went one door down first, and knocked, calling out: “It is Mrs. Darcy, so pray do not open the door. I only wished to check on you all.”
“We are all still well, Mrs. Darcy,” came Sarah’s voice from inside the room. Normally soft-spoken, it seemed she could be as loud as her sister when required, for Elizabeth heard her quite clearly. “I’ll let you know if anything seems amiss in the slightest, but Master George is content at present.”
Exhaling in relief, Elizabeth went another door down, knocked, and explained herself. Anne’s more muffled voice informed her that she and Rachel were also still well, which was a shock to Elizabeth, but an uplifting one, although she supposed she would have been informed if Anne had taken ill. Elizabeth gave Anne what little update on her mother’s condition she had to give, informed her she could slip any correspondence for her mother under Elizabeth’s door, and returned to her chamber to write an hopeful letter to Darcy.
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Elizabeth was awakened in the middle of the night by the shrieking of her child. It was not James, who had been sleeping quietly up until the noise woke him, but it was surely George, her George. She picked up James and distractedly attempted to soothe him, listening as George’s shrieking continued without stopping. Most things that troubled George could be resolved in less than a quarter-hour, but she had never heard him sound this troubled before.
“This is how it would begin, is it not?” she thought. “His throat has become sore, and he has no way to tell us but to cry out in his pain, the poor little dear.”
James, at least, had quieted in her arms and desired to nurse, which she was glad of, for she had always found it soothing. He seemed to be his usual self, and she was struck with the thought that Darcy had been right to suggest they be separated.
The quarter-hour passed with no abatement of the screaming. Some time after James had consumed his fill, there was a knock on the door.
“‘Tis me,” Sarah said. “I thought you’d wish to know what I can tell you of Master George’s health. He’s a trifle warm, and there is some redness to his cheeks. We’ve sent for a physician.”
Elizabeth bowed her head. It was exactly as she had feared.
“Ma’am, I don’t wish to raise your hopes too much, but we think there is a chance it isn’t the scarlet fever. He’s of an age for teething, and George Nichols had redness in his cheeks, with some of his teeth.”
“Will he take his coral?” Elizabeth asked. The coral stick she had given Mrs. Nichols as a gift had brought that woman’s son great relief. George and James had more elaborate silver rattles, with a long piece of bright red coral on the end meant for teething. George had always liked his rattle, and if it was teething – oh, how she hoped it was – the rattle might become even more important to him.
“He won’t, so far. Sometimes he’ll give it a little chew, but it doesn’t seem to aid him much.”
Some of Elizabeth’s hope dissipated. Perhaps it was the fever. James was older than his brother, even if just by a few hours, and showed no signs of teething.
“I’ll bring the physician here, ma’am, after he’s seen Master George. We won’t let him do any physic without your approval.”
“Thank you, Kelly.”
Elizabeth waited, and listened. Bootsteps in the hall could just barely be discerned between George’s wails, and then the sound of knocking next door. She could hear nothing of the examination going on in that room, however, and spent a quarter-hour in tense waiting before there was another knock upon her own door.
“‘Tis me again, and the surgeon, Mr. Lock,” said Sarah.
“Surgeon? I thought you had sent for a physician,” Elizabeth said, before realising this might well be taken as insulting by the man who must have been standing beside Sarah on the other side of the door.
“Dr. Andrews is gone to town, and not like to be back for three days, maybe four. I’m all that’s to look after his patients ‘till he returns, unless you want the apothecary,” said a rather gruff male voice, in a tone that indicated she should not want the apothecary.
“No, thank you, Mr. Lock, for seeing to my son at this time of night. Please tell me what you think is afflicting him.”
“Too early to tell,” Mr. Lock said. “I don’t see any irritation of the throat, and I’ve not seen a case of scarlet fever in one so young before, but I can’t say for sure it’s not the fever. I’d advise we wait and see if he shows other symptoms, and if it is the fever, we’ll give him physic for that, and if it is the teeth, I’ll lance his gums if he’s still in need of relief.”
Elizabeth shuddered at the thought of George going through such a procedure, but still found this preferable to his being afflicted with fever.
“For now, I’d advise a very little laudanum for one so small – two drops – to bring him a little relief. I’ll return tomorrow noon and see if a diagnosis can be made then.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lock, I think that the best course.”
“Very well. Your nurse has my direction – send for me if he worsens.”
“We will, thank you.”
Their footsteps left her. A few minutes later, she could hear Mr. Lock leaving the hallway. After a time, the laudanum did seem to lessen the intensity of George’s cries, but they never stopped, and Elizabeth felt herself wracked with a pain unlike any she had ever known before. She trusted Sarah and Mrs. Nichols thoroughly, but it was not the same as being there herself, being able to see her son and take him up in her own arms and comfort him.
Since she had borne twin boys, Elizabeth could not count the number of people who had referred to her having an heir and a spare. But George, although he had been unexpected, was not a spare to her; as soon as she had been aware of his existence, he had been as much her son as his brother, every bit as loved as James. To hear his distress, to think he might die without her seeing him again, made her understand fully the most difficult part of a mother’s love: a mother’s pain.
She went to check on James and found he had returned to sleep, then walked over to the side of her chamber nearest her second son. Kneeling down beside the wall, she laid her hand against it, the plaster cool beneath her palm.
“Oh George, my poor little George,” she whispered, and she wept.
Chapter 28
Elizabeth awoke late in the morning, to the sound of seagulls cawing outside her window. She could not remember falling asleep, but knew she had still been awake, listening to George’s cries of distress, well after sunrise. So her first panicked thought was that he had died in the night. This was followed by every rational argument her mind could present – that they would have woke her, if this was the case, that a baby could not die of scarlet fever or teething so quickly – and yet she knew her heart would continue to race until she learned what had been the cause of this present silence.
S
he rose, pulled on a dressing gown, and checked on James – still asleep – then strode to the door of the other apartment, knocking softly. Her knock was heard, nonetheless, for audible footsteps were followed by the sound of Sarah’s voice: “Is it you, Mrs. Darcy?”
“Yes – what is happening? Why is he so quiet?” asked Elizabeth, tremulously.
“He never took to the coral, but Samuel told John of his distress, and John made up some pieces of saddle leather for him. They’re clean, I promise – never been used, John said, but I washed them with soap and water, just in chance. Anyway, they seem to have brought him relief. He chewed on them for better than two hours, and then fell asleep. He’s sleeping now, still.”
“Oh, thank God. Thank God for John and his saddle leather.”
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Lock came and said he thought it teething, if something for that purpose brought him so much relief. He said so long as Master George was comfortable, there was no need to lance the gums.”
“Mr. Lock has been here already? Is it that late?”
“Yes, nearly one o’clock.”
Elizabeth had not realised she had slept so late, and she felt a little concern as she and Sarah spoke their parting through the door that James had not woke her. He had awoken periodically during the night and early morning, wishing to be nursed or changed, but he must have allowed his mama at least three or four hours of uninterrupted sleep. She fled back to her own apartment but found James did wake soon enough and seemed his usual self, so Elizabeth could now fully feel her relief, that both of her sons seemed well.
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She broke her fast after two o’clock, in the blessed silence that meant George was still comfortable, and was interrupted in it by a knocking on her door. She went thither, thinking it to be Sarah, with another update, and was surprised to hear, “Mrs. Darcy? It is me – it is Miss de Bourgh.”
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