“What is this,
Letitia?” he asked. “Why is the house in such a furor?”
“Emily has a fever,”
she said. “I am sorry, Cousin, but I have no time to debate my future just now.
You had best go, especially with the chance of infection so high. You may do as
you choose in relation to my situation; I am considering no marriage proposals
at all until my daughter is well.”
To Letitia’s
surprise, Bainstall showed no outward signs of panic. “The child has a fever? How
unfortunate,” he said. “Does it seem to be serious?”
“The doctor is not
certain,” said Letitia. “We hope for the best, of course, but she is very ill,
and being so young she cannot tell us what the problem is.”
“The boy cannot
stay here,” observed Bainstall, “or he may become ill as well. He must come and
stay with me at the inn.”
“I thought you were
leaving Ramsgate today,” said Letitia. “I cannot ask you to stay because of me.”
“I had intended to
return home, of course,” replied Bainstall. “But I cannot abandon my relatives
at such a time. A very pretty notion you seem to have of me, Letitia.”
Letitia colored. She
realized that her cousin’s interfering and sanctimonious manner did not mean
that he did not sincerely have her welfare at heart. It was unfortunate that he
demonstrated his concern for her in ways she found excessively unattractive.
She bit her lip. “You
would be doing me a great service if you were to keep him with you,” she
admitted. “I own I have been most concerned about his health. I am already so
worried about Emily...” her voice trailed off.
“As well you should
be,” said the Baron. “A fever can be dangerous. I only hope she did not
contract it through some carelessness of yours. You should not take the child
to common places, where these diseases are all too frequently contracted.”
A great deal of
Letitia’s new found goodwill for her cousin evaporated with this speech. “I
will have James readied,” she said. “Please wait here.”
A short time later
she returned with James in tow. The child had been less than willing to leave
his mother and accompany his cousin, who he disliked. He had acquiesced,
however, when Letitia explained to him how worried she was about his sister. He
walked solemnly over to the Baron, and took his hand rather self-consciously.
“I have explained
to James that he must be very good,” said Letitia. “I do thank you again,
Cousin, for your concern.”
“It is of no
matter,” said the Baron. “Tell me, Letitia, do you have enough money to pay the
doctor?”
“I have enough for
some time,” she replied. “I am sure I will manage.”
“Do not stand on
your pride, but apply to me if you have need of further funds,” instructed
Bainstall. “It will not do to have you worrying about such matters while the
child is ill. There will be enough time later to settle our differences.”
“I thank you,” said
Letitia. It cost her something to do so, but she had been desperately afraid
that she would not be able to retain a good doctor's services for long. She
realized that her pride had no place beside Emily's health, which was steadily
deteriorating.
To Letitia's alarm
and horror, it became obvious that the sickness was going to run its course and
that it would be a long time, if ever, before Emily was well again. The child
was fretful and uncomfortable, tossing and turning in her bed and unable to
find a comfortable position. She did not want to take the medicine the doctor
had prescribed for her, and was reluctant to drink the milk Letitia urged on
her. She wasted away at an alarming rate, until the chubby child seemed
reduced, in Letitia's terrified eyes, to skin and bones. Despite the doctor's
assurances that Emily would almost surely recover, Letitia began to fear that
she was going to lose her child.
Bainstall wrote
daily, missives full of detailed medical advice and admonitions to prepare
herself for the worst. He stopped at the house on occasion, but as James was
not allowed inside he did not stay for long, which Letitia could only consider
to be a blessing. He assured his cousin that James showed no signs of
contracting his sister's illness and was benefiting from the company of a sober
gentleman. Letitia had a small smile for the knowledge that James was well, and
could only hope that he was not suffering excessively in his cousin's company.
Time passed slowly
for Letitia. Her days and nights were spent with Emily, for the child was
restless when only her nurse was present. Only her mother, it seemed, could
coax the little girl into swallowing her medicine, or convince her to lie still
with a compress on her forehead.
Several days into
Emily’s illness, a letter arrived from Isobel that seemed to Letitia to
represent a world wholly apart from her own. It spoke of picnics and dances and
Isobel’s archaeological work. Not once did Isobel reproach her friend for not
coming to Scotland, but she did say that if she chose to visit them, she would
be most welcome.
“Perhaps it was
wise of you not to come,”
the letter continued,
“for Eynsford has arrived to
stay with us for some little time. Brighton, it appears, palls on him and he
can find no enjoyment there. I own, my dear, that I think he still loves you,
though it is a matter we never discuss. He has asked after your well-being in a
polite way, but never mentions your name otherwise. I wish you may forgive him
for his foolish behavior and find
happiness with him. He is a very kind
man.”
Letitia sat for
some moments after reading the letter, pondering its contents. Emily’s sickness
had quite driven other thoughts out of her head, but now she thought how
wonderful it would be if Mr. Markham were present and she could confide her
worries in him. He, she felt sure, would support her without moralizing, and
she knew James would have been delighted to stay some time with his good
friend. She lost herself for a moment in a reverie, picturing herself, Mr.
Markham and the children strolling at the seashore in perfect companionship.
Her daydream was
interrupted by the entrance of the maid, who informed her that the doctor had
come for his daily visit. She arose, flustered. “Tell him I will be with him
directly,” she said and turned away, her hands pressed to her cheeks. Her child
was at death’s door and she was dreaming of a man who had cruelly deceived her.
Better, she thought, to accept Bainstall’s uncomfortable brand of help; at
least she knew exactly who he was.
She sat down and
scribbled a hasty note to Isobel, informing her of Emily’s illness. “As for
Lord Eynsford, I no longer think of him at all,” she added, heavily
underscoring the last two words. “It would be gross folly on my part to pretend
that we could ever have feelings in common. He would do best to forget we ever
met, as indeed I have.” She sealed the letter and gave it to the maid to post
and then marched upstairs, prepared to devote all her thoughts to Emily.
The next afternoon
Letitia was catching a few moments of sleep on the settee in the sitting room,
when the door opened and a gentleman entered the room. Letitia sat up with a
start and then sank back with a sigh when she saw exactly who her visitor was.
“My dear Lady
Morgan!” exclaimed the Bishop of Mainwaring. “Surely you are not surprised to
see me? When Bainstall apprised me of young Miss Winwood's condition, I came as
soon as the business of my diocese permitted.”
“How thoughtful of
you,” said Letitia. “But it truly is not necessary. There is little you can do
in a situation such as this, I am afraid.”
“On the contrary,
there is much I can do to aid you,” observed the bishop. “You need
companionship to keep your spirits up during this time of travail, and as your
cousin, who I am sure would be glad to brighten your days, is much occupied
with the boy, I am willing to take on this task. I hope, of course, that you
look on me as more than a mere friend, Lady Morgan.”
Despite her aggravation
with the bishop and her fears for Emily’s health, Letitia was hard put not to
laugh at Dr. Wolfe’s apparent belief that his presence would soothe her mind.
“I thank you for
your concern, Dr. Wolfe, but I cannot ask you to put yourself out,” she said as
solemnly as she could. “There is, of course the risk of infection involved in
your presence here, and I myself am so very busy that I fear I have no time to
entertain.”
“As a man of God, I
have no fear of infection, Lady Morgan,” said the bishop. “And in the matter of
the child’s care you must allow your servants to shoulder more of the burden. Emily
must not think that you will come at her beck and call; that is not the correct
lesson for a child to learn. When Margaret and Druscilla are ill I ration my
visits to them carefully so that they will not come to think of illness as
something to be rewarded.”
Letitia controlled
her temper with an effort. “Emily does not have a mere cold, Dr. Wolfe,” she
said. “She is extremely ill and may...may die. I do not feel that giving my
time to her is indulging her whims.”
“A mother’s love is
a wonderful thing,” intoned the bishop. “It does my soul good to see you
sacrificing yourself so freely for your child. This is what women are intended
for, I believe.”
Letitia decided
that it was not the time for a debate on the nature of parental love. “Thank
you for your concern Dr. Wolfe, but I fear that I will not be able to spend
much time with you,” she said.
“I shall call
daily,” declared the bishop. “I’m sure that you will come to look forward to
the diversion. It will take your mind off your troubles.”
Letitia marveled at
the remarkable degree of obtuseness that Dr. Wolfe managed to achieve, which
seemed far beyond the realm of normal men.
“I must return to
Emily,” she said. “Thank you for your concern.”
“I will call again
tomorrow,” promised the bishop, and Letitia could only hope that he would not
be as good as his word.
But Dr. Wolfe
proved to be a singularly punctual visitor. He arrived at Letitia's rooms at
two o’clock each day, usually bearing a gift that proved to be utterly useless.
There was a book of improving sermons, which Letitia had no time to read even
had she been so inclined, a potion which he assured her had been made by his
own mother but which the doctor greeted with scorn, and, one day when Emily was
particularly fretful, an extremely complicated puzzle which would have been far
beyond the child's capabilities had she been healthy. Letitia accepted these
gifts solemnly and, while Dr. Wolfe's presence could be very aggravating, she
at times looked forward to the visits for their occasional humorous aspects. There
was little enough else for her to smile about, for Emily was entering the third
week and the worst phase of her illness.
The doctor
attempted to reassure Letitia that her daughter would recover, but he could not
hide the concern on his face when he examined the child. Letitia had to school
herself not to burst into tears at the sight of the flushed and emaciated girl,
nothing at all like her rosy babe of just a few weeks before. She was touched,
however, when Bainstall hired a nurse and sent her to Letitia with a note
saying he was aware of how tired she must be and that she would need to be
rested and prepared should the worst happen. It was a kind gesture, despite the
note, and she received the nurse thankfully, though it did not appreciably
reduce the number of hours she spent with Emily.
One day the post
brought a letter from Isobel. Letitia opened it when she was deeply fatigued,
and the words of her friend almost reduced her to tears. Isobel was horrified
to hear Emily was so ill, and desperate to aid her friend. Only Francis'
representation that guests were very likely the last thing Letitia needed at
the moment had prevented Isobel from flying to her side. But, she promised, at
the slightest sign from Letitia she would be immediately on her way.
She assured Letty
that if she had any needs that exceeded her abilities to meet, she and Francis
would be only too glad to help her in any way. James was most welcome to come
to stay with them if Letitia wished; a carriage would be sent at her word. Lord
Eynsford also sent his hopes for a full recovery and begged Lady Morgan to
remember him to Emily, of whom he was very fond. Isobel assured her friend that
their thoughts were with her, and, if she should have need, they would come to
her as quickly as they might.
Letitia put the
letter down with tears in her eyes. She was desperately tired from weeks with
little sleep and her nerves were much shaken by Emily's still dangerous
condition. It warmed her to know that Isobel, Lord Exencour, and even Lord
Eynsford felt for her, but she was determined not to take their help. She could
not be forever turning to others for aid, or she would surely drive them away.
That very afternoon
a carriage pulled up and a delivery was made to Lady Morgan's rooms. It came
during Dr. Wolfe's afternoon visit, and Letitia was amazed when the maid
entered with a basket containing some very fine pears. A note tucked into them
revealed that they came from the pinery at Lord Eynsford’s country estate. Letitia
read the note and folded it away before turning back to Dr. Wolfe.
“Very fine, very
fine indeed,” said the bishop. “Doubtless they are a gift from one of your
tonnish
friends. I find the fashion among the nobility of forcing fruits to ripen at
unnatural times to be contrary to the laws of nature, but they are still very
fine fruits.”
“Emily will enjoy
them very much,” said Letitia. “It has been difficult to tempt her appetite
these past days.”
“You spoil the
child,” said Dr. Wolfe. “A thin gruel might be better for her than these pears.”
“She will not eat
gruel,” observed Letitia. “If she will eat these it will do her more good than
eating nothing.”
“You shall do as
you think best,” said the bishop. “But it would be a great shame to give them
all to a sick child, who will not truly appreciate them.”
“Then perhaps I
will save one for James, as he is a well child,” said Letitia, a touch of anger
creeping into her voice.
“You will forgive
me for being so blunt and revealing that I think you are too indulgent,” said
Dr. Wolfe. “But I believe that is a good quality in a woman; the mother may
spoil the children and the father must discipline them. That is the way of the
world. When your children have a new father, they will be much happier. Bainstall
attempts to perform this service, of course, but he lives too far from you and
your children's exposure to him is infrequent.
“Bainstall has been
very kind to me in this time of crisis,” said Letitia carefully. “I am aware
that I owe him a great deal.” She did not wish to seem ungrateful to her cousin
for his aid, but she also did not want James to grow up to emulate him. Bainstall,
she felt, acted out of duty, whereas Letitia hoped her son would act out of a
generous heart.
“It is to be hoped
that you will listen to him more closely in the future, rather than to your
more volatile friends,” said the bishop. “I believe he has proved the more
supportive in these circumstances.”
“Lady Exencour has written
and indicated that she would come to me on a moment's notice, and she had
pledged any help she can give,” responded Letitia heatedly. “And these pears
come from Lord Eynsford, who has little reason to think of me now. You cannot
say I have no support but Bainstall.”
“But these ties are
not those of blood,” observed the bishop. “I know Lady Exencour is fond of you,
but she moves in very exalted circles, which you cannot do, and eventually she
will have children of her own who will occupy her time and attention. And Lord
Eynsford is doubtless merely attempting to assuage his guilt over his treatment
of you; you cannot expect a gentleman of his stature to spend much time
thinking of your cares. He will very soon find another woman to court. He does,
after all, need to sire children to continue his line.”
“I do not imagine
that Lord Eynsford still wishes to marry me,” said Letitia. “But it is a mark
of his generosity that he remembers Emily at such a time.”
“He no doubt feels
some guilt about to his deception, and hopes that he can buy your silence with
bribes,” said Dr. Wolfe. “You must not read more into this than is meant. The
differences between the two of you could not be greater, Lady Morgan.”
Letty bit her lip
and rose to her feet. “I suppose you are correct. If you will forgive me, Dr.
Wolfe, I will take these to Emily, in the hope that they will tempt her.”
Dr. Wolfe shook his
head, but stood as well. “If you feel you must. I will visit you again
tomorrow, and hope to hear good news.”
He collected his
hat and walked heavily from the room. Letitia stood for a moment, gazing after
him and wondering what exactly she had done to bring such a judgment down upon
herself. But then she hastened to the nursery, where Emily lay in her bed, her
tiny frame engulfed in the billowing white bedclothes.
“There you are, my
dear,” said Letitia, forcing cheer into her voice. Emily looked up at her, her
expression cross, and Letty pulled one of the pears from the basket.
“Look what
Lord—what Mr. Markham has sent you,” she said.
The child’s eyes
lit up at the sight of the fruit, and she made a sound that might be
interpreted as a laugh.
“Quickly, Violet,
bring me a plate and a knife,” said Letty.
When the requested
objects were produced, Letitia sat by the side of Emily’s bed and cut the pear
into tiny pieces, handing each to the child, who took them eagerly and
swallowed them down.
“Is that good,
darling?” she asked.
Emily nodded and
held out her little hand, and Letty placed another piece of pear in it,
watching with delight as Emily consumed it with every sign of pleasure. It was
the happiest she had seen the child in many days. Finally, Emily lapsed back
onto the pillows and closed her eyes, dozing off. Letty paused a moment and
laid a hand on her forehead. It was still warm, but Emily’s breathing was even
and slow, and she was reassured.