"Hold on there, yer work ain't finished yet." Harry started after her, but Cedric stepped between the man and the hallway that led to the back.
"I'll be needing several things, my good man, and I'll pay well for them." For emphasis, he produced several gold coins from his breast pocket.
Harry stopped, the girl forgotten. "Whatever ya need, guv'ner, I got it."
The small room glowed golden, images of flames dancing on the far wall, as steam curled above the simmering kettle, making the heat damp and thick. When Cedric carefully closed the door behind him, Regina did not notice. She sat on the edge of the bed, spooning drops of a foul-smelling liquid into the child's small, birdlike mouth. Most of the concoction dribbled down the tot's tiny chin. He shuddered, thinking the cure must be almost as severe as the illness. Setting the bowl aside, Regina looked up, her weary eyes meeting his.
"Is there any change?" he inquired softly.
She shook her head. "She's alive and she's warm. I suppose that's all we can hope for right now."
"Reggie, please come down and try to eat something. You've been up here for hours," he begged softly, his heart breaking for the woman he'd admired for so many years. "You can't continue like this. I'll send Katy to watch the child. You must have something to eat, and then rest."
Regina smiled, but her eyes were filled with worry. "I can't leave. I want to be here when she awakens." Not if. She refused to acknowledge that her granddaughter might not awaken. Tenderly, she smoothed the coverlet. "What time is it?"
"Almost daybreak." Cedric came to stand beside her and looked down at the pathetic child. Regina's son had written that the child favored the Winslow side of the family. And Reggie had boasted about her granddaughter, showing the small hand-painted miniature portrait James had sent to anyone remotely interested. Truthfully, Cedric saw no resemblance to Reggie or James in the pathetic creature bundled in the oversize bed, a child so small she seemed to disappear in the voluminous folds of the covers. He supposed it was possible she favored her mother more. He'd never met Anne Winslow. She and James had married in America. Ill health had prevented Cedric from attending the ceremony. The physician's words came back to him. What if the child was from one of the surrounding hamlets? Could Reggie bear to face the truth?
"What about the men from the village?" Regina whispered brokenly, her fingers tenderly stroking the matted hair back from the child's small face.
"They've promised to take up the search again at first light. Perhaps they'll reach the ship today—" he broke off, not saying what he was thinking. TheVenturerwas almost completely submerged. Even if the searchers did reach the ship, it was certain there was no one left alive.
His gaze fastened on the child. In two days of frantic searching, only this small girl had been found. Each winter along the Cornish coast it was the same. When a ship went down, her cargo was salvaged, but there were seldom survivors. This was a wild and forbidding stretch of land. The crew of the brigantine had made a fatal error and had paid for it with their lives and the lives of their passengers.
Cedric looked down at the child. When they'd brought her to the inn, her skin had been a terrifying shade of grayish-blue, her breathing so shallow it was hardly there. Now, her color had brightened to crimson, and her breathing was hard and labored due to the fever that raged through her small body. He'd seen such fevers and knew even the stoutest of those afflicted often didn't recover. He gently laid a hand on Regina's shoulder, trying to comfort her. Through the long night he'd been trying to think how he could express to her the doubts the physician had left in his mind.
"Regina, you need rest. And we must talk," he coaxed. She spoke as if she hadn't heard a word he'd said.
"I want Dr. Crestwell in London notified. He's the finest physician in England. And I want specialists to look at her, the best. Only the best for Elyse."
"Reggie," he said uncertainly. It was as if her mind was in that same faraway place that seemed to claim the child. She hadn't heard a word he'd said, or if she had, she'd chosen to ignore him.
"I want Mr. Quist to return to London immediately." She asked him to inform her coachman. "And I want the townhouse opened. Everything must be ready when we arrive." She faltered. "I hate to leave. There might be word of James or Anne..." Her voice trailed off, for she knew in her heart there was no hope.
Chatsworth seized this opportunity. "The physician said there are accidents every winter. Regina, listen to me," he implored. "The child may not be your granddaughter. Katy told me children wander down on the rocks all the time."
"No!" Regina turned on him, the storm in her dark blue eyes more threatening than the one beating against the shuttered windows.
"I know my own granddaughter! ThisisElyse!" She turned back to the child, her shoulders trembling with anguish. Then she crumpled onto the bed, burying her face in the folds of the coverlet.
"Dear Reggie." Cedric reached out to her, but his hand fell limply to his side. He knew her only comfort was to be found in the child, whoever she was. Cedric slowly closed the door. After giving Regina's instructions to her coachman, he slumped wearily into a chair downstairs and kept a vigil beside the fire. When first gray light of a new day seeped through the paned windows, the search party had already left to return to the rocky coastline. He knew they no longer hoped to find survivors. Their interest lay in the cargo that would wash ashore.
For three days and three nights, Regina refused to leave the child's room. Cedric spent long hours with her, placing fresh wood on the fire, conveying messages to Katy through the door, or waiting downstairs for word at the end of each day when the salvagers returned.
Their mumbled replies were always the same—no survivors.
The hours slipped into yet another day, the child's condition remaining unchanged, fever raging through her frail body. But Regina refused to leave her side. Her elegant gown was wrinkled now, spotted with stains made by the foul-smelling medicine Katy prepared in the kitchen. The young maid refused to leave the inn even when her work was completed, saying she wanted to be near the child. And Quimby, who'd found the little girl on the rocks, refused to return to the rocky cliff, giving the excuse that it wasn't fit weather out for man or beast. Though a drinking man, he hadn't touched a drop since he'd pulled the child from the sea.
Cedric jerked upright from his dozing, his bloodshot eyes focusing slowly on the stairway.
"Regina?" His senses cleared. "My God, what is it?"
She smiled wanly, as she slumped into the chair across from him.
"She isn't...?"He couldn't say the words. So many days they'd waited.
"The fever broke almost an hour ago. Katy's with her." Tears welled in Regina's eyes, and she buried her face in her hands. "She's going to live."
Cedric was out of his chair and beside her in an instant. He wrapped an arm about her shoulders. "Has she regained consciousness?" he whispered hopefully. Regina shook her head. "No, but she will." She turned determined eyes up to him, clinging to his comforting hand. "Ceddy, she has to live. After all this time, I know there's no hope for James or Anne, but I couldn't bear to lose that little girl, too."
