The Wrong Woman (16 page)

Even as she lifted Izzy's head, sweating from the effort to keep her still, Cat prayed that it was not fever. She prayed with everything in her soul that her sister would recover.

Don't die, Izzy. Don't die.
The words repeated over and over in her head. Cat could not stop the tears that poured down her cheeks. Tears of pain and tears of frustration. Izzy would not drink. She would not take the tea that she so desperately needed. If only there was some way to let her know that she needed to drink. She needed to fight the fever.

Cat had to call the doctor. She knew she could deny it no longer. He would come and he would tell them what to do.

Yes, the doctor. Cat stood up from the bedside.

And Aunt Hetty. Aunt Hetty would know what to do.

* * * * *

Davenport was secure. Jack had returned an hour ago to say that the man was in police custody. His wound was not serious and he would be charged quickly. As a gentleman he could command the luxury of speed at least.

Jack had just left again to give more evidence to the police. But Miles didn’t want to miss any message that might come about Isobel. If she needed him and he wasn’t there…

The valet knocked on his door and Miles sprang to open it.

“Yes? What's happened? What's wrong?” Miles could feel his panic rising.

“Sir,” the valet spoke tentatively, “there's been a note from Miss Masters. And you said to come find you...”

“Yes, yes,” Miles interrupted him impatiently. He would apologize later for his rude behavior.

Miles wrenched the note out of his steward's hands. He ripped it open and read it by the light from the hallway.

Lord Revere,

Isobel has developed a fever. I do not believe that we need you, but you asked to be informed.

Harriet Masters

A tear had nearly blotted out the signature, but Miles hardly read that far before he was moving down the hallway and calling for his coat and a horse.

He had already traveled the route to Aunt Hetty's house so often that he did not pay much attention to it. He did notice that the sun was now fully up and other people seemed to be going along their way not knowing that Isobel Masters was dying and his heart was breaking.

He arrived at the door and handed his horse to a groom who was just leading away what must have been the doctor's horse. Miles squared his shoulders, bracing for what he would find. A few steps took him into the house. The butler met him in the hallway.

“Miss Masters has asked that you wait in the front room.”

“The doctor has arrived?”

The butler nodded. “Yes, sir. Just a few moments ago. He is upstairs now.”

Miles nodded and made his way to the front room. He waited impatiently for someone to find him there. Miles needed news. How was Isobel? What had happened in the time that he had wasted getting here? He should have been here already. He should have stayed.

His whirling thoughts were finally interrupted by the sound of a sniffle behind him. He turned around to see Cat standing in the doorway. She had clearly been crying. Was it the worst?

On instinct, Miles stepped toward her and enclosed her in his arms. He pulled her tight to his chest. For a moment she stayed stiff in his arms, but then she relaxed. He breathed deeply, glad to have done something right.

It comforted him, too, the physical contact with someone who needed him. It was an odd kind of reassurance that he might still do some good.

“The doctor?” He spoke softly, not wanting to disturb the moment of peace that had enveloped both of them. He felt Miss Catherine nod her head.

“He is here. He is with her now.”

Miles broke the embrace and led Cat to the sofa. They sat down.

“Tell me,” he commanded softly.

“She woke up about two hours ago. Well, not woke up... But she was very restless, as if she was struggling with something. And I tried to help...” Miles saw tears well up in her eyes. He took her hands. She swallowed hard and looked gratefully up into his eyes.

“I am
sure
that you helped her,” Miles tried to be comforting.

“I hope so. But she would not drink her tea and she was so hot... her skin was like she had been put in a fire... So I sent for the doctor...”

She stayed silent as his heart pounded in anticipation. “And so the doctor is here now?” He prompted.

“Yes. He came just before you arrived.”

“And what does he say?” Miles asked the question breathlessly.

“He says that she is in the midst of a dangerous fever, just as he had feared.”

“Oh God,” Miles gasped. Then, in a steadier voice he asked, “Does he say what he can do?”

Miss Catherine began to cry again. “There is nothing we can do but watch and wait. We must keep trying to get her to drink. But even that is no guarantee that she will...” She could not finish the thought. She broke down crying again. Miles took her in his arms and let her weep.

Over her head, he stared at the mantelpiece. The clock ticked away there, but he could not tell what hour or minute it was. All he could think of was that last sentence. No guarantee that she will live... Isobel might die because of him. That fact blocked out everything else.

“I am sorry, Lord Revere,” Miss Catherine said after she had spent some moments crying.

He held her away from him and smiled down at her. “I wish that you would call me Miles. We are far beyond the point where titles matter at all.”

She nodded. “Then you must call me Cat, as my family and friends do.” She smiled sadly at him. “There is nothing that you can do, Miles You might as well return home.”

“No,” he said it firmly. “No, I will stay here. One way or another I will help and do what I can. This is my fault. And I could not bear it if...” He stopped. “Your aunt is with her now?”

“Yes. The doctor says he must leave, but he has told us exactly what to do. We cannot force him to wait until... to wait until something happens.”

“Then I will stay. I will help you watch and care for her.”

“Oh, Miles,” Cat sighed. “It is too much. You need your rest.”

“I am fine. But I beg of you to rest
yourself
. I will go up and make myself known to your aunt. When she is ready, I will take over watching for awhile. You must rest so that you can care for Isobel when the time comes.”

“Miles,” she could hardly speak. She seemed so grateful that he had laid out a plan for her next few hours. Miles was grateful, too. He could be useful.

“Go,” he was ushering Cat toward the door. “Go and rest, Cat. We will wake you if something happens.”

He pushed her up the stairs, following her until she reached the bedroom where Isobel currently lay. When she hesitated, turning as if she would go inside again, Miles pushed her gently on past the doorway. “I promise,” he whispered.

Miles watched as Cat turned into what must be her own bedroom. He hoped that she would get some rest. Her trust in him gave him a new sense of the good he could do while he was here. It gave him hope that he could help.

But as soon as he stepped into the room where Isobel was, all of that confidence vanished. Miles did not even see that Aunt Hetty was moving toward him. All he could see was Isobel writhing on the bed. She appeared to be in pain, pain that she was trying her best to escape from. Her skin looked pale. As white as the ghosts he and Wesley and Jack used to scare each other with as children.

And she was sweating. Her hair was matted and spread out across the pillow even as her head twisted from side to side. She was drawing heaving breaths, as if something was sitting on her chest. He could not look away from her, afraid that if he did she would stop breathing.

Miles might have stood there for an hour, unable to do anything to help, had not Aunt Hetty come over to him.

“Lord Revere.”

“Miles, please.”

She nodded and looked at him curiously. “The doctor is just going.”

Miles finally noticed that the man was in the corner of the room. The men nodded to each other in acknowledgment and the doctor made his way past Miles and out of the door. Miles still watched Isobel, unwilling to look away.

Aunt Hetty spoke again when he was gone. “I think that Cat has told you of the situation?”

Miles finally switched his gaze to her and nodded. “Yes, I have just sent her to rest. I promised her I would watch while she slept and would come to wake her if anything happened.”

“Good,” she said. “I am glad you are here, though I know it is not proper. It will do you good, I think. And it will do me good to have extra help.” Miles was oddly pleased that Miss Masters accepted his presence so entirely.

“And you must get some rest, too,” he added.

“I will. The doctor has said we must only try to keep her as comfortable as we can. She must not jostle her shoulder too much or it may start to bleed again. And she can ill afford more loss of blood. We must feed her tea and broth as often as she will take it.” Miles nodded at all of this. Aunt Hetty looked so tired and worn out.

“Miss Masters – Aunt Hetty –“ she did not respond to her use of the familiar name, “you must rest now. I will watch for awhile.”

She nodded wearily. “Thank you, Lord Revere.”

“Miles,” he smiled softly at her. “But it is I who must thank you for letting me help...”

Aunt Hetty returned him a weary smile and tried out the familiar name. “Miles, I could hardly keep you away, could I?”

“No, you could not.”

“Of course.”

“I will do what I can. This is my fault and I must care for her until whatever happens will happen...”

“It is
not
your fault,” Aunt Hetty said firmly and placed her hand comfortingly on his arm. “The man was determined to hurt you. And he has done so, hasn't he? Not perhaps physically as he intended, but he has hurt someone you care deeply for...”

Miles' brow creased at the last. He repeated the words. “Someone I... care deeply for... yes...”

Aunt Hetty smiled. “You are welcome in this house. Perhaps you have forgotten what you were before your brother's accident, but I know that you are a good man, Miles. And I know that you will watch over my Isobel. Care for her today. Help us through this. And do not blame yourself for any of it. You may be sure that we do not blame you.”

With those words, Aunt Hetty left the room. Miles was alone with Isobel. And he did not know what to do first. He had promised to watch and care for her. But what did that mean?

For a few minutes Miles only stood near the door where he had entered and looked over the room. It was a comfortable bedroom with all the usual furniture. The heavy brown velvet curtains had been drawn, to block out whatever sunlight dared to penetrate the sickroom. Miles knew it had been daylight when he'd arrived at the house, but he had no idea of what time it could be now. Could the world still be going on outside?

It did not particularly matter how many hours passed. He would watch as long as he was needed. He settled into the chair next to the bed.

But her restlessness translated to his own. He needed to do something. He noticed cold tea next to the bed. Perhaps he should try to get her to drink something.

He moved to the side of the bed where there was enough free space that he could sit on the edge. He moved his arm underneath Isobel's head.

And he almost dropped her back on the bed. She was so hot. Her neck felt like it was burning through his own clothes and scorching his arm. He forced himself not to drop her. He knew that she needed something to drink. So he focused on sitting her up. But when he reached for the cup, he realized that it was just out of his reach. He carefully placed Isobel back on her pillow, took the cup in his hand, and attempted the task again.

“Isobel, please drink. You must...” He spoke softly as he brought the cup to her lips. A little of the cool liquid spilled down her chin.

“Please, Isobel,” he pleaded. “Please drink.”

Again he raised the cup to her lips. More of the liquid spilled as she turned her head away from the cup. Two more times he tried. Each time growing more desperate. But Isobel would not drink.

After the fourth time, Miles lowered her back to her pillow and retreated to his chair. He felt defeated. How was he to care for her if he could not even make her drink to save her life?

Miles leaned forward in the chair, placing his elbows on his knees. He looked at Isobel there on the bed. Really looked at her. The pale skin so different to the life he had seen in it just hours ago. Had it been only hours since the ball? How slowly time could move. What was he waiting for by sitting here at Isobel's bedside?

Life
.

The answer washed over him with a force he had not been expecting. His head fell and he let out a breath he did not know he'd been holding.
I am waiting for Isobel to live.

He must feed her tea. She must live. Miles stood quickly up from the chair. He must get her to drink. He must not allow her to die.

Miles poured more of the cool liquid into the cup and positioned himself on the bed again. He would not let her rest until she had taken some tea.

“You
will
drink this, Isobel,” he said it forcefully. Really it was to pluck up his own courage. She seemed so fragile. He did not want to break her or injure her further. But she must drink.

Miles held the cup to her lips. As before, some liquid spilled over them. Miles noticed how chapped they were, dry and cracking with the heat of her body. The tea wet them slightly, but still she did not drink.

“Isobel,” he said her name again, his command become more desperate. “Drink. Please drink.”

Again he tried. But she twisted her head at the same moment and spilled the rest of the tea down her chin. Some of it ran on to his leg.

Miles hurled the empty cup across the room and roughly drew his hand out from under her. Isobel's head dropped to the pillow.

“Dammit!” Miles yelled at her as he stood up. “Dammit, Isobel! You
must
drink. Why won't you drink?” He had the desire to reach down and shake her. Instead, he clenched and unclenched his fists as the anger coursed through him.