Mr. Lowden grimly shook his head. “He and Mrs. Parrish have been away all night, attending a difficult birth. Edgar Parrish has gone on horseback to bring him back or at least his instructions until he can come himself.”
“Oh no.”
Mr. Lowden knelt before the rocking chair. He laid his wrist on Danny’s little forehead and frowned.
“He’s too hot. Get that blanket off of him.” He rose. “And let’s open some windows.” He tugged off his coat and, dressed only in trousers and shirtsleeves, began throwing back shutters.
Mrs. Turrill spoke up from Becky’s bedside. “Won’t they take a chill?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that we need to bring their fevers down.”
He surveyed the room until his eyes landed on the housemaid, standing huddled in the corner.
“Bring all the cold water you can carry. Is there any ice remaining?”
“Maybe a little, sir. Mostly straw by now.”
“If there is any, bring it quickly.”
Kitty scuttled off to do his bidding. He returned and knelt once more before Hannah’s chair. This time he lifted his hand toward her. She recoiled in surprise before she realized his intention. His mouth tightened but he made no comment as he laid cool fingers on her brow.
“You are overly warm yourself. Not a fever, I don’t think, but overheated from nerves, no doubt. You will only make him warmer.”
“What do you suggest?”
“A cold bath. He shan’t like it, but it will help him.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been down this path before, I’m sorry to say.”
“Oh?”
“My younger sister.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“I don’t. Not any longer. We learned only after the fact what we should have done.”
“I am sorry,” Hannah whispered.
“So am I.”
For a moment their gazes locked in fearful understanding.
From the bed, Becky groaned and cried out, “Hannah, oh, Miss Hannah. It’s the fever!”
Mrs. Turrill, sitting on the edge of the cot, looked across the room at her mistress, her eyes glistening in confusion and pity.
Hannah soothed, “Shh ... there now, Becky. It’s only the fever talking. You’re all right.”
Mrs. Turrill picked up the thread. “That’s right, Becky dear. Mrs. Turrill is here with you. God, too. Nothin’ to fear. There now, sip this.” She lifted a cup to the girl’s lips.
Hannah felt Mr. Lowden’s knowing look on her profile but avoided his gaze.
She peeled the blanket off Danny, and then pulled his small fists through the sleeves of his nightdress.
Becky thrashed side to side. “It’s the fever what took the Jones boy and little Molly. We’ve got to get out of here.”
