“Nancy, you must go and eat, then retire early. I shall stay with Isobel until you come to relieve me. She is far too poorly to be left, even for a moment.”
For the next few days Sarah was fully occupied with her nursing; no sooner was Isobel on the way to recovery than one by one the other girls succumbed. Lorna was fortunate; within three days she was well enough to return to the bedroom allocated to her and Isobel. Lessons had been suspended until everyone was well. The only good news was Lady Fenwick was fully recovered and allowed to leave her chambers. The new baby was also in perfect health.
Almost two weeks after her arrival she was sitting in the fading light reading a Gothic novel she had found in the library. She intended to sit up all night in the sickroom. Although Beth was making a good recovery Charlotte had taken a turn for the worse. Her fever had risen steadily all day. Jo was sitting at the bedside sponging the little girl with cold water.
“Miss Shaw, come quick, Miss Lottie sounds mighty strange.”
Sarah immediately dropped her book and hurried over. “You are quite correct, her breathing is erratic. Go at once to the drawing room and fetch Dr. Moorcroft.”
Whilst she waited, she dropped to her knees beside the bed and asked God to intervene. The doctor was beside her in minutes. She straightened and stood to one side to let him examine the patient.
“I’m glad you sent for me, but I fear there’s little I can do. The illness has affected her lungs. You must prepare yourself for the worst.”
Beth, who was in one of the little beds on the far side of the room, stirred in her sleep.
“Shall I move Beth? I should not like her to be in the room if anything…” Sarah could not continue, her throat was too clogged.
“A good idea. Let me carry her through; she can return to the chamber she was sharing with Charlotte.” He nodded at Jo. “Come with me. You must take care of this little one now.”
Sarah sat on a footstool beside Lottie. The child’s skin was hot and dry, her breathing ever more laboured. In the flickering light of the candles, she detected a change in the child’s appearance: her complexion was pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. Sarah squeezed out the water from the cloth she was holding and continued in her attempt to lower the fever.
The doctor’s hand rested on her shoulder. “I should desist, my dear, it will do no good. There’s little either of us can do but sit and offer what comfort we can.” His voice was thick with tears. He was as moved as she by the plight of the child.
“Do we need to send word to Bentley Manor? Should not her parents be here with her?”
“No, I don’t believe we have sufficient time to send word.”
Sarah scrambled to her feet and tenderly lifted Lottie into her arms, then leant against the wall. At least she could hold Lottie. She didn’t want her to be frightened. Sarah prayed a miracle might happen, that the child would open her eyes and smile at them.
The bed dipped as he joined her on the other side. He slid one arm behind her, gathering her and the dying child within his embrace. Tears dripped unheeded down her cheeks. She murmured loving words and the tiny fingers closed around hers for a second, and then slackened.
The room was hideously silent, the painful breathing stopped forever.
Chapter Six
Sarah turned instinctively to the comfort of Adam’s arms. She rested her face against his shoulder, unable to contain her sobs; life was so unfair. Charlotte had all her life ahead of her, but had been taken at the tender age of seven.
“My dear, you must leave her now. There are things that have to be done, and I must go and give the dreadful news to her parents.” Gently he mopped her face with his own handkerchief and then lifted her from the bed.
“Do I have to tell her sisters? They will be devastated, especially Isobel.”
“I think it’s better to keep the news to ourselves for the moment, my dear. I’m sure Sir John will wish to break it himself. It’s fortunate they’re all fast asleep. They need know nothing until the morning.”
Sarah needed his arm at her waist in order to remain on her feet. She had been there at the death of her father, but to see a child breathe her last was far worse. Lottie looked as though she was asleep. Her eyes were closed. She looked peaceful. Small comfort to know the little girl was in a better place, for she would be sorely missed by her family and Sarah.
“Will the shock of this tragedy cause problems for Lady Fenwick?”
“I hope not; her heart condition does not appear to be adversely affected by stress. It is only the strain of childbirth that seems to cause her problems. When I attended the previous birth I became aware of this. On occasions her heartbeat would become irregular and she had difficulty breathing.”
Her cheeks were wet. She could barely speak. “This is so tragic…I do not…Oh dear! I beg your pardon, Dr. Moorcroft. I am making no sense. I shall wash my face and then take a turn in the garden to recover my composure.”
Adam wanted to gather Sarah back in his arms, she looked so sad. “Why don’t you come with me to Bentley Manor? It would be better if you broke the news to Lady Fenwick, and I shall speak to Sir John.”
Her remarkable eyes widened. He thought she was going to refuse, and he wouldn’t have blamed her.
“I will come if you believe it will help,” she said instead. “I cannot think of anything worse than hearing of the death of a beloved child. I know children die every day, but I didn’t know any of those. Lottie was such a sweet girl.” Her voice trembled, her fists clenched, and she swallowed several times before being able to continue. “I shall be ready to leave in ten minutes. Will that be long enough for you to make your arrangements?”
As she was speaking he gradually led her from the room. “I shall call for you when the carriage is outside. You may tell your abigail, but she must keep the information to herself. It is still on another hour before full dark, quite long enough to travel the two miles to Bentley Manor.”
“If Nancy and Jo are not to be told, there will be no one to sit with Lottie. She should not be alone, even though she is…though she is…” Unable to continue she held his sodden handkerchief to her mouth as if trying to keep back her sobs and rushed into her own chamber.
He must speak to the housekeeper, Mrs. Taylor. She knew what was required at this difficult time. She had been with the family since he was a boy, had dealt with such tragedies on more than one occasion. He would inform his mother, who would be waiting most anxiously downstairs. Miss Shaw would be better for some sympathetic female company.
He wasn’t sure why he was so concerned for the welfare of a young woman he’d only met a few weeks ago. She wasn’t particularly pretty—apart from her eyes, that was—but he was beginning to think his feelings towards her weren’t strictly professional. Today was certainly not an appropriate time to be thinking of romantic matters.
His mother stood quietly in the centre of the room, her expression grave. “There’s no need to explain, my boy. I knew at once from your expression you bring the worst possible news.”
“Miss Shaw has taken it very badly. Do you think you could go up and speak to her? I have asked her to come with me to break the news to Lady Fenwick. I cannot think what possessed me to do such a thing. It will be too harrowing for her. If you can keep her occupied, I shall slip away on my own. Unfortunately, I have had to be the bearer of bad tidings many times over the past few years.”
“I shall go upstairs at once. Do you wish me to speak to Mrs. Taylor?”
He shook his head. “I shall do it, thank you, Mama.” He rubbed his eyes; it never got any easier, and every time he lost a patient he was deeply upset. Medical men were supposed to remain aloof from the people they treated, but he found that impossible. “Don’t wait up for me. I have no idea how long I shall be. If you can persuade Miss Shaw to come downstairs, she will be better away from what must be done in the bedchamber adjacent to hers.”
Sarah looked up tiredly as Betty ushered Mrs. Moo
rcroft into the bedchamber.
“My dear girl, you must not distress yourself. Elizabeth and the twins will need you to be strong. If you give way to your grief, how are they to cope?” Mrs. Moorcroft patted Sarah’s shoulder.
“Madam, you’re right to chide me. I have been sitting here crying when I should have been getting ready to go out.”
“Adam has decided to go on his own. He apologises for having asked you; it’s not your task to break bad news. Why don’t you come downstairs to the drawing room? I shall order the tea tray. A hot drink will do us both good.”
The last thing Sarah wanted was to sip tea in the drawing room, but she could hardly refuse the kind invitation. With a clean handkerchief held firmly in one hand, she followed her hostess through the house and into the grand room. Mrs. Moorcroft had paused to speak briefly to a footman; no doubt the tray would arrive imminently.
“I have been wondering how I am to arrange for the children’s mourning clothes. I have a black dress I wore when my father died. Although somewhat dated, it will be perfectly adequate. But the children?” Sarah rubbed her eyes.
“It’s not your concern, my dear. Lady Fenwick will decide if she wishes her daughters to wear black. It’s not obligatory, you know. Personally I think children should be exempt from the custom. To put on the same black gown day after day for months cannot possibly allow them to move on with their lives. It would be a constant reminder of their loss.”
Sarah collapsed on to the nearest chair. Her limbs seemed to have little strength in them at the moment. She was weighed down by something heavy she could not see. It had not been this way when Papa died.
“But should I wear black?”
“Leave such decisions to your employers, my dear. After all, you have only been at Bentley Manor for a few weeks. You could not possibly be expected to anticipate their wishes after so short a time.”
The tea tray appeared, and Mrs. Moorcroft busied herself with the urn. Sarah closed her eyes. Would they all return home sooner because of this tragedy? Only Beth was unwell, and she would be fully recovered in a day or two.
“Here, my dear, sit up and drink this. You will feel better if you do.”
A delicate porcelain cup and saucer was placed in her trembling fingers. It took all her concentration not to drop it. Slowly she raised the cup and sipped the hot liquid. She almost spat it out again. It had been heavily sugared, something she could not abide. Somehow she swallowed the mouthful and put the drink down. Her distaste must have been written on her face.
“I know, my dear, but Adam is always telling me a hot, sweet drink is good for shock.”
“If I drink it, ma’am, I shall cast up my accounts. A most dreadful thought has occurred to me. Do you think Sir John will blame Isobel for his daughter’s death?”
“It’s a possibility. It would be a great shame if he does. The poor child will have enough of a burden to bear without being sent away to a seminary.”
The rattle of the carriage as it crunched across the turning circle in front of the house meant the doctor was on his way to break the news. Sarah decided she would wait up until he returned. She couldn’t sleep anyway. Her grief was too raw.
“Mrs. Moorcroft, if you will excuse me, I thank you for your kindness but I’m going to take a walk in the garden before it becomes too dark. It will clear my head.”
“Why don’t you walk down to the church? It’s no more than a mile from here, and the door is always open.”
Within half an hour Sarah and Betty were walking down the lane. The sudden cracking of twigs in the hedgerow on the far side startled them both. Betty clutched her arm. “Miss Shaw, did you hear that?”
“I did. I’m sure it’s no more than a night creature. A fox perhaps, hunting rabbits in the ditch. We have our lantern, and there are dwellings on either side of the lane. I’m sure there’s nothing to be bothered about.”
After spending a considerable time in the church in silent prayer, Sarah led the way back outside. She was glad she had the forethought to bring a lantern; there was no moon tonight and it was pitch dark outside. She could not help thinking about the strange noise in the hedge. She was certain it had been no animal, but a human lurking there.
In the feeble light, she set off briskly, her maid almost running at her side. What had seemed like a friendly place in daylight was now fraught with danger, and every snap and rustle made her jerk. Her nervousness was shared by her companion. Neither mentioned their fear, but she knew Betty was thinking about the noise. They would be passing the very place at any moment, just around the bend.
Should she march past in the centre of the lane as if oblivious, or slink quietly with their lantern hidden? The decision was taken from her hands as two rough figures loomed in front of them, one holding a cudgel, the other a knife.
Adam was glad to escape from Bentley Manor. He didn’t want to return in the carriage. He needed to stretch his legs. He could not recall a more harrowing interview than the one he’d just had with Sir John. Initially the news had been taken with stoicism; the details had been demanded and given. Miss Shaw and the children were not to go in to mourning, but they were to remain at The Rookery until after the funeral.
Sir John had asked him to stay whilst he broke the news to Lady Fenwick, and Adam had paced the drawing room awaiting the gentleman’s return. Twenty minutes had gone by before heavy footsteps approached the door. He turned and waited, his eyes narrowed at what he saw. Could this be the same person who had left him a while ago?
“I have come to a decision, Moorcroft. Isobel will not reside under this roof again. My beloved Lottie would still be alive today if it hadn’t been for that girl’s disobedience. Arrangements will be made in the morning. When Miss Shaw returns with Elizabeth and Lorna, Isobel will be collected and taken to a suitable school.”
Nothing Adam had said had been able to dissuade him from his harsh decision. Sir John could not accept that separating the three girls at such a time would aggravate their suffering. Even explaining to him his wife’s grief would be doubled to lose two daughters instead of one had done no good. He could only pray that as his grief lessened Sir John would reconsider. It would do no good to tell Miss Shaw, or the girls, of this decision at the moment.
He told his coachman to take the carriage home, and refused the offer of a lantern on a pole taken from the front of the carriage. His night vision was excellent; he preferred to walk in the dark, and it suited his mood at the moment.
He strode down the lane, trying to make sense of what had happened. Tonight the glorious song of the nightingales did nothing to improve his humour. He was wrenched from his reverie by a woman’s scream. He raced in the direction of the cry, recognizing the lady in distress. Sarah was in danger.
The ruffians loomed over her. Betty cowered against the hedge.
“Run, Betty, fetch help from the house we just passed.” The men wanted her; a maid servant did not carry a reticule full of money. They must have seen them passing and laid in wait.
The faces of her attackers were impossible to see; in her fright Betty had dropped the lantern. It would be better to relinquish her bag without protest. “I have little money, but what I have you may take.” She held it out, and the larger of the two snatched it from her hand.
“We’ll ’ave yer necklace and yer watch. ’And them over sharpish,” the larger of the two snarled.
They could not have her cross and chain. It had been a confirmation present from her father. She backed away, but they rushed at her and she could not hold back her scream.
The taller of the two brigands grasped her from behind. She lashed out with her booted feet, and several times her kicks connected with their shins and they swore viciously. A filthy hand grabbed her cross and tore it from her neck. She stumbled to her knees, gasping for breath. Another man had arrived and knocked down the footpad who had snatched her necklace. Sinking to the dirt, she buried her head in her hands. Too much had happened tonight.
Un
expectedly she was cradled in familiar arms. “You are safe now, my love, the men have run off. I have recovered your chain. Did they hurt you when they removed it?”
For a moment she rested in his embrace, waiting for her breathing to steady. “I am perfectly well now, sir, but if it had not been for your timely intervention I should have lost the most precious item I own.”
He seemed reluctant to release her, stroking her shoulders and murmuring words of encouragement. The sound of voices approaching from behind made her push him away.
“Someone’s coming to my rescue. Could you help me to my feet, please? I do not wish to alarm anyone by being on the ground when they arrive. Betty must have roused the nearest household.”
Lanterns bobbed as several gentlemen hurried towards them. She had no idea who was coming, but her rescuer greeted them by name. “Mr. Oxford, thank you for coming so promptly. Miss Shaw is comparatively unharmed. I was able to discourage them and the vagabonds ran off.”
For an unaccountable reason the figures approaching were becoming blurred, their voices sounded distant. Sarah swayed and blackness overwhelmed her.
Adam saw her sway and swept her up into his arms. “The shock has been too much her. I must get her home where I can take care of her.” Her maid servant hovered anxiously, her face tear streaked and pale. Thankfully he remembered the woman’s name.
“Betty, are you well enough to return to The Rookery? There are several stout men here who can assist you if you wish.”
“No, sir, I can manage. It can’t be far to your home from here.”
“Very well, Miss Shaw will require your assistance when we get back.” He turned to his neighbour and the three male servants he had brought with him. “Sir, I cannot think why those men should wish to attack anyone in this way. Do you think you could call in to speak to me tomorrow morning?”
They agreed to meet to discuss this extraordinary event the next day. The men conversed quietly amongst themselves. He could not think about the cause. His concern was for the young woman still in a deep swoon in his arms. He was almost running by the time he reached his own front door.
Miss Shaw and the Doctor Page 6