Chapter Eighteen
Daniel sat and stewed at his desk, imagining what kind of nonsense Alistair was filling Ruth’s mind with. He knew she could fend for herself but the mere thought of her being with Alistair worried him.
He heard quick footsteps headed upstairs toward the nursery. He knew Ruth had escaped Alistair, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He wanted to go to her but knew Rose would resume her duties and Ruth would mind Matthew. He heard the women’s voices murmuring in conversation and soon Rose left the nursery.
Curiosity got the better of Daniel and he left the paperwork for later, heading toward the nursery. He smiled and felt a wave of tenderness when he saw Ruth playing with trains and blocks alongside Matthew on the floor.
Daniel gave a small knock on the door and grinned, “Can I join you? It looks like fun.”
Matthew’s face beamed and he waved his arms, “Da-da-da,” and Ruth’s laughter was like a melody to his ears. The sight warmed his heart and he marveled at how beautiful she was—in fact everything about her was beautiful. He felt a deep attraction toward her and realized how awful he’d been to her and felt ashamed. He vowed to make it up to her and prove that he wasn’t all bad, that he did care.
As Daniel was about to sit next to Ruth and ask about her conversation with Alistair, Rose appeared at the doorway. She looked as if she’d been running and her face was pale, her blue-gray eyes panic-stricken.
Daniel was instantly sober. “Rose, what is it?”
“It—it’s Mr. Bloomer—it’s Richard,” she said, her voice tremulous. “He can’t breathe! Dr. Nagle is with him and told me to come find you.”
Daniel, already on his feet and on his way out the room, heard Ruth gasp and ask Rose to stay with Matthew. Her light footsteps were fast behind him. From the entrance to the ward Daniel could hear Richard heaving and dread filled him.
Daniel noticed Alistair’s pale face as he stood at the bedside holding a bottle of medicinal whiskey to Richard’s lips, assisting him to take small sips of the liquid. The bed’s frame had been elevated and Richard was propped up by pillows behind his shoulders to help him breathe.
“What happened?” Daniel was horrified to see his friend gasping for air. He heard Ruth’s sharp intake of air and saw her hands cover her mouth in shock.
Richard’s rapid gasps for air slowly lessened and his breathing, though labored, improved.
Alistair appeared self-satisfied as he placed the whiskey bottle on a nearby table. He cleared his throat and color slowly returned to his pallid face.
“I had just turned on the Bunsen burner when Rose called me,” Alistair remarked. “She insisted I attend to Richard, who couldn’t breathe, which I did. I told her sit him up with pillows and to call you while I fetched medicine.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Daniel said and ran his hands through his hair. “How did this happen?”
“I don’t know. I was in the laboratory,” Alistair asserted. “Maybe Rose will know what happened.”
Daniel noticed beads of sweat gathered along Richard’s forehead indicative of fever.
“He said he had a sore throat. He was also hoarse and had a cough. There was a sweet smell.” Ruth’s expression was concerned. “Today when he arrived, he was flustered, and I told him to rest.”
“Yes,” Alistair acknowledged dismissively. “You did mention you thought he looked unwell. So, you were right, good work.” He said with a wave of his hand. “Dr. Grant and I will handle this matter now.”
“May I check his throat?” Ruth asked suddenly, her concern still prominent.
“What?” Alistair huffed. “You’re not a doctor, miss.”
Daniel noted her worried countenance. “Why, Ruth?” he asked curiously, absently rubbing the side of his cheek.
“Daniel, really now, don’t entertain—” Alistair looked at him with a raised brow and his jaw tensed as Daniel ignored his words, interrupting him.
“Why do you want to check his throat, Ruth?” he asked her gently.
She took a deep breath and he noticed she was trembling. “Then you do it, please, Daniel,” her voice was strained. “See if he has a thick gray mucus membrane or coating at the back of his throat and tonsils.”
“You’re a nursemaid, not a doctor!” Alistair exclaimed, appalled, and turned to face Daniel, “Surely, you’re not entertaining this farce, are you?”
Daniel pressed his lips together and glanced at Richard, whose chest was still wheezing. He remembered the young boy earlier that day.
“Ruth knows something.” He told Alistair, frowning. “A man’s life could be in danger here and if we—ifI—do nothing, I might never forgive myself.”
Daniel heard Ruth’s sigh of relief as he began to examine Richard while Alistair observed quietly from a distance.
