Carola Dunn (22 page)

“Fetch him,” Rebecca murmured to Rowson. Their eyes met and she saw that he feared the same diagnosis as she did. An infected wound might mean losing an arm—or it might mean death.

The carpenter-apothecary inclined to the latter. “‘Tis too ‘igh up ‘is lordship’s arm, you see. Belike the poison’ll already be up in ‘is shoulder. I’ll take the arm off anyways, if you like, miss,” he offered with gruesome cheerfulness.

John looked at her with fever-bright eyes and wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Whatever you say, Beckie.”

Rowson was silent.

Rebecca reached for John’s good hand and held it tight. She could not make such a decision! But she had to, they were all waiting.

Then she noticed the faint red line running up across John’s shoulder to the hollow of his throat. With one gentle finger she traced it. It was too late for amputation.

“No. We shall fight it. The captain must put us ashore to find a doctor.”

Captain Hardy was very sorry but he had seen too many men die of blood poisoning to be sanguine. The least delay would increase the risk of his ship being caught in the Baltic ice, and all for nothing. He refused.

* * * *

John’s fever mounted until he was delirious. He was in no state to lay down the law. Rebecca helped Rowson bathe him with cool sea-water and slept on the floor beside him at night. While Rowson held his flailing arms she forced him to swallow a bitter decoction of willow-bark provided by the captain, and poured broth and weak tea into him by the gallon. In his rare lucid moments his dark eyes never left her face as she battled for his life.

She reached the edge of exhaustion, passed it and went on.

Chapter 18

“Beckie.”

The single word that was more of a croak brought Rebecca instantly out of her light sleep.

“John?” She rose to her knees on the thin mattress and, in a gesture that was automatic by now, felt his forehead. It was cool and dry. “John!”

She reached for his wrist, so thin now that the bones seemed too big for it. His pulse was weak but steady.

“Oh John!” Tears of joy rose in her eyes.

“Fetch Rowson,” he whispered. “Quick.”

She realized why he had awakened her and hurried from the cabin, a smile of pure delight on her lips. The return of modesty was surely a sign that recovery was on the way.

She knocked on Rowson’s cabin door and he was with her in an instant.

“He’s not…?”

“The fever has broken. He needs you urgently.”

“Needs...?“ Understanding dawned and a beam spread across his face. “Right, miss.” He sped to John’s cabin.

Rebecca peeked round the door of the room he had left. Esperanza was fast asleep but Annie was easing herself into a sitting position on the bed, her expression fearful in the dim lantern-light.

“What is it, Miss Beckie?”

“He’s better.” Rebecca sank down on the bed beside her and hugged her. “He’s going to be all right.” She burst into tears.

Annie held her, soothing her like a child until she was calm. “Now off to your own bed with you, miss, and you get a proper night’s sleep for once. There’s going to be plenty to do the next couple of days.”

* * * *

The
Rochester Rose
was two days out of London. As the maid predicted, they were busy days though John no longer needed constant watching. He was too weak to talk and slept a great deal, but the way his face brightened when she entered his room persuaded her to spend with him as much time as she could spare. Everything had to be packed into their various trunks and portmanteaux and boxes, which must be carefully labelled so as not to go astray in the confusion of unloading. Then the captain had to be interviewed.

Since the Duke of Stafford’s son had unaccountably survived, Captain Hardy was most anxious to do everything in his power to make up for his earlier lack of sympathy. He agreed that the first priority on docking must be to send one of his crew for a couple of carriages. He agreed that men should be detailed to help Miss Nuthall’s party ashore. He agreed to stand surety for them so that they would not be delayed by customs officials, to see their trunks through customs, and to have them sent on by carrier to Stafford House.

In fact, Captain Hardy was so agreeable he even offered to send a messenger ahead on horseback to warn the duke’s household of their arrival.

As the ship sailed up the Thames estuary, Rebecca sat back, satisfied that everything had been done that could be done to remove John with all possible speed to the safety and comfort of his own home.

At three o’clock on a crisp, smoky November afternoon, the
Rochester Rose
at last reached her berth in the London docks. That was the moment when Annie’s pains started.

If anything, their arrangements were expedited by this. Neither the captain nor the customs men wanted a woman in labour on their hands. Sooner than Rebecca had believed possible, the carriages pulled up before Stafford House.

The front door swung open and a swarm of footmen raced down the steps. Their livery, green with red trim, reminded Rebecca of the uniform John had been wearing when he rescued her from the fortress. How strong and sure of himself he had been then. Now he was emaciated, exhausted by the short journey, lying patiently on the carriage seat waiting for help.

The moment the carriage door opened, Esperanza jumped out and darted up the steps shouting, “Gr’uncle Duke, Gr’uncle Duke!”

As Rebecca stepped down into the street to direct the servants, she caught a glimpse of a grey-haired gentleman in the hall, who caught the little girl in his arms. A short plump lady trotted past them and stood at the top of the steps, her hands clasped anxiously. Rowson was emerging from the other carriage, helping Annie down with tender care. A pair of footmen rushed to aid them.

“Canaille!”
shrieked Gayo, the sight of the familiar house reminding him of his old vocabulary. “Hello,
hijo de puta,”
he addressed the butler. “Slimy son of a sea snake!”

Rebecca supervised another four footmen in lifting John onto an improvised stretcher. She watched as they carried him up to the front door, the elderly lady fussing alongside, then she turned back to see that the few pieces of luggage they had brought with them were unloaded.

The last of John’s bags was just being borne away and only her own two portmanteaux were left. There was a sudden dearth of servants. She looked round just in time to see the front door of Stafford House close.

The great mansion with its pillars and pediments had embraced its own. There was no room for the outsider.

Dusk was already falling. Rebecca swallowed her hurt, squared her shoulders, and told the coachman to take her to Hill Street. Lady Parr was her cousin, she would take her in.

* * * *

As the carriage turned the corner from Park Lane into Upper Grosvenor Street, the front door of Stafford House swung open again. The portly butler, his bald head shining in the light of the gas street-lamps, stepped out onto the top step and peered up and down the road. Shrugging his shoulders, he retreated to the shelter of the magnificent marbled hall and gave the porter a sharp dressing down.

“Lucky for you the young lady went off to her own home,” he concluded severely, and forgot the matter.

* * * *

Cousin Adelaide’s house was not precisely what Rebecca would have called home. But then, she reflected drearily as she trudged up the well-known stairs, nor was any other place on the face of the globe entitled to that name.

“Lady Parr and Miss Curtis are in the small parlour,” the sturdy footman who was leading her up had told her. At least he had not said he would have to see if her ladyship was at home, thus giving her the chance to deny herself. But then Donald had always had a soft spot for Rebecca when she lived here. It did not mean that he was sure of her welcome.

She wondered what sort of person Cousin Adelaide had found to take her place when she departed for Russia.

“Miss Nuthall, my lady,” Donald announced, then stood aside and gave Rebecca an encouraging nod.

While Lady Parr’s drawing room was decorated in the elegant, if uncomfortable, Egyptian style, the small parlour was not intended for entertaining company. The olive green curtains were drawn against the dusk, and her ladyship was seated by a roaring fire in one of the heavy brownish-red armchairs she had inherited with the house from her brother. She was reading aloud from her favourite book of sermons. She paused in mid-word, looking up in astonishment as the footman’s announcement sank in.

“Rebecca! Heavens above, what are you doing here?”

The faded wisp of a woman sitting opposite, untangling silks, stared in alarm, as if she thought the visitor might be a ghost.

“We arrived today from Russia, Cousin Adelaide. I hope I find you well?”

“Yes indeed, Emma and I go on excellently together. Miss Emma Curtis is my companion. Emma, this is my young cousin whom I told you of.”

Miss Curtis seemed unsure whether to stand up and curtsy to her employer’s cousin, or merely nod to an ex-employee. Her internal dithering was clearly visible on her face. Rebecca took pity on her.

“Pray do not get up, ma’am, you will spill your work. I am happy to make your acquaintance.”

“Delighted…that is, so happy...I’m sure...” She cast a nervous glance at her ladyship then buried her nose in her silks again.

“Sit down, Rebecca,” Lady Parr commanded. “You are thinner than ever, I declare, and no wonder, rushing off to foreign parts as you did, without notice.”

For some weeks Rebecca had had no leisure to think of her looks, though she had been vaguely aware that her clothes were hanging loosely on her. However, the second part of this speech was of more immediate interest, containing as it did a scarce hidden rebuke for her abrupt departure.

She was too tired to continue fencing. Sinking into a chair, she leaned forward and said, “Cousin Adelaide, I have nowhere to stay in London at present. I must beg your hospitality for a little while.”

“The Graylins have dismissed you? I am sorry to hear it. I fear I have no position to offer you, for I am perfectly satisfied with Emma.”

Miss Curtis looked at her with timid gratitude.

“The Graylins have not dismissed me!” Rebecca retorted sharply. “However, they are travelling by a different route and are not yet arrived and I do not know when to expect them.” She kept to herself the fact that her charge, Esperanza, was already in London. “I have no intention of attempting to usurp Miss Curtis’s place. All I ask is your charity to a relation, however distant, in allowing me to stay here until I can make other arrangements.”

Lady Parr was not noted for her charity, so perhaps it was her strong sense of propriety which prompted her to agree to this appeal. “I believe the blue bedchamber is made up,” she said, ringing the bell. “You will wish to go up and put off your travelling clothes, I make no doubt.”

Rebecca stood up and curtsied. “Thank you, Cousin Adelaide. If you do not object, I believe I shall retire. I am a trifle weary.”

“Have you dined? I thought not.” The urge to issue commands came to the fore. “You shall have a tray in your room, and I trust you will eat every bite. You must put some flesh on those bones.”

Tears smarted in Rebecca’s eyes as she remembered how John used to pile her plate with delicacies. She blinked them away, glad that her cousin was distracted at that moment. Donald had come in answer to the bell, and Lady Parr was giving him orders for the housekeeper, the chambermaid, the cook. On his way out the footman winked at Rebecca. His friendliness gave her courage.

She followed him from the room. The blue chamber was where she had slept when she lived here, which meant that little Miss Curtis had been relegated to the back chamber. There were advantages to being a relative, even a poor one.

She could not stay here forever, though. As she undressed and washed in the hot water promptly sent up from the kitchen, Rebecca tried to begin planning her future. Thoughts kept slipping away from her into a haze of memories.

Fortunately it was not long before the chambermaid brought in a tray laden with cold meats and bread and cheese and apple pie, clearly intended to “put flesh on her bones.” A slice of chicken, a few mouthfuls of pie and half a cup of tea (a strange, dark brew after the amber Russian liquid she had grown used to) were all she could manage. She set the tray aside and moments later was fast asleep.

When she woke next morning, she lay drowsily wondering why she felt so peculiar. Of course, it was the absence of motion. She was ashore at last. She had brought John safely home to England and now…and now what?

He was not to blame for her predicament. He had been in no state to see that she was invited into Stafford House. In the confusion of the arrival of a sick son and a maidservant about to deliver her first baby, Rebecca had simply been overlooked. They might send for her at any moment to resume her duties in the nursery.

Or they might not. John was by far too much the gentleman to abandon her without thanks, but perhaps he would be glad that she had been inadvertently removed from his immediate vicinity. It was the easiest way to end the growing intimacy between them. No doubt he would call on her when he was fully recovered, to express his gratitude. If she was here still she would reject it, as he had refused hers. It would be much too painful a substitute for the love she craved.

And if she was not here, where would she be? There was no knowing when Teresa would return. Muriel Danville might be glad to employ her in the nursery, but to apply to her was as unthinkable as to go to Stafford House and request reinstatement as Esperanza’s governess.

Whatever she did, she must not let John think she was setting her cap at him. Nor, she resolved, would she ever consider going back to her uncle’s house.

Only one course seemed possible: to seek a new position. The prospect was enough to make Rebecca bury her face in her pillows, as if she could escape her fate that way like an ostrich with its head in the sand.

It would not be so terrible, she persuaded herself. She had discovered that she liked children and dealt well with them. Besides, nothing she might encounter as a governess could possibly equal in horror what she had been through in St Petersburg and aboard the
Rochester Rose.
She sat up and reached for her dressing gown. Lady Parr always had the latest issue of
Ladies’ Magazine
with its advertisements for genteel young persons to take charge of children. That was the place to start, and then there were agencies she could apply to.