Dr Kapoor came before dawn, and if Phoebe had suspicions as to how he was able to attend so swiftly, she kept them to herself. Josephine’s breathing had worsened, and one look at Dr Kapoor’s countenance was enough to know he was worried.
‘Has she had consumption? Or pneumonia?’ he asked rapidly, listening to her chest through a piece of apparatus that looked a lot like one of Uncle Higglestone’s pipes.
‘Consumption, when she was perhaps six years of age?’ Phoebe murmured, holding her sister’s limp hand. ‘My memory of that time is sketchy, though I do recall her going to Brighton for a time to convalesce.’
Dr Kapoor nodded, examining Josephine’s bloodshot eyes and counting her pulse.
‘Your sister’s shortness of breath has quite possibly been exacerbated by the fever, so we are battling both, so to speak.’
Phone nodded anxiously.
‘But I do believe if we ease her breathing, her body can fight the fever. I see you have already opened a window,’ he observed. ‘And as you already know, I believe changing the air temperature can sometimes ease the lungs…’
She nodded again, suddenly bereft of words as she conjured a memory of Florence, struggling for breath.
‘Fear makes mortals of us all, does it not, Miss Fairfax?’ he murmured.
She raised her eyes to his, wondering if he was talking of Florence, or his own predicament, as she replayed the viscount’s incandescent rage. Could it have been fuelled by her rejection in the garden? Or his own disbelief that he’d ever admired her?
‘Have you tried steam to ease the laboured breathing? And does your aunt have anything likeDatura Stramoniumin the garden?’
Phoebe blinked at the doctor’s gentle face, his dark eyes brimming with concern.
‘Thorn apple,’ he clarified. ‘I would rather burn eucalyptus leaves, but I haven’t seen too many eucalyptus trees in Bath.’
Phoebe smiled wanly.
‘I don’t know, but I know someone who will,’ she returned, already halfway to the door.
Much to Phoebe’s relief, Dr Kapoor remained until morning. Twice, they lifted Josephine from her bed to the open window, where she could gasp for air between coughing spasms and moments of lucidity, and once Phoebe thought they’d lost her completely.
The prescribed thorn apple turned out to be a weed Uncle Higglestone pulled from his peony borders and, without uttering a word, he pulled on his boots and procured more than enough for Dr Kapoor to burn for a week.
Slowly, it filled the room with a sweet, pungent scent that eased Josephine’s fits.
‘It relaxes the muscular fibres of the bronchia,’ Dr Kapoor explained.
‘You know how I feel, I love you and won’t give you up on a maybe…’
She watched as the gentle doctor tended her sister, quite convinced that not only was he one of the most gifted doctors she’d ever known, but that he was also a good and kind man who deserved to live the life he wanted.
‘Trying to freeze time … before life catches up.’
Did he fear it would, in the end?
Josephine’s fever refused to abate for a further two days, and while Phoebe and Sophie had nursed their sister through episodes before, they both knew it was more serious this time.
‘So much for Bath’s healing waters!’ Sophie scowled, sponging Josephine’s listless arms again. ‘The air and waters have done nothing for her! I think we should take her home.’
Phoebe agreed, but she also knew Thomas would insist she remain in Bath for her presentation and betrothal announcement, which would mean separation from Josephine at her most fragile. This she couldn’t allow, and by the time her sister’s delirium and breathing finally subsided, Phoebe felt she would willingly agree to a thousand weddings, if it meant her dearest bookish sister was spared any further illness.
‘Stay close by, keep her warm and elevated and burn plenty of Datura Stramonium. I will call on the patient daily to check her progress.’
Dr Kapoor had proven to be as good as his word, supporting them all through the worst of Josephine’s fever until the days and nights started to separate again, which had also hurried the approach of her betrothal announcement. And while her aunt could talk only of the Assembly Ball, Phoebe’s thoughts were consumed by the phaeton race that followed.
Where one obtained a high-perch phaeton at very short notice was her most pressing challenge. There was no chance of appealing to Fred as he’d only blurt it to Thomas, and then she’d find herself garrisoned in some remote turret of Knightswood. Which left one distinct option – and it was this idea that occupied her thoughts until she finally felt confident enough to leave Josephine in her aunt’s hands, and retire to her own bedchamber.
6th May 1820
