Chapter Thirteen
“Rosy! Rosina, what ails you?” Her head turned at the sound of his voice, and Raith dropped to one knee beside her, reaching to cradle her. She was ice cold. His voice gentled.
“Rosy — sweetheart!”
His voice seemed to penetrate. One hand left off from holding her abdomen and came waveringly up to touch his face that hovered so close to her own.
“You came,” she whispered. “Help me, Anton!”
“You may be sure I will.” He became aware again of her frozen limbs, and glanced swiftly about at the shock-ridden faces of the servants. “Someone run to the village for the doctor! Prepare the bed — a hot brick. Something to drink. Anything to keep her warm. Go!”
They scattered as Raith stripped off his riding frock, and wrapped it about her.
“Come, Rosy. We must get you into the house.” Rosina looked to have drifted off into a half-swoon. “Rosina!”
The sharp tone jerked her back into consciousness. She glanced wildly round, and her eyes found his face. “My lord! Pray don’t scold me.”
He drew her close again. “No, sweetheart, no. Only tell me what has happened to you?”
Rosina groped and he closed his hand about hers. “I scarce know. I came out — I know not why. F-flowers, Anton.”
“Flowers?” he echoed blankly, rendered stupid from fright. Then, with memory of the blood, the meaning of the slang term sank in. “You mean the monthly flux?”
She clutched his hand. “I was not expecting... it took me unawares.”
“It is that only?” The frantic tenor of his heart was steadying. “Thank God!”
“I could not… find my way. And there was... too much pain.” As she spoke, she cried out, her hand shifting out of his to press at her abdomen again. “Like this. I cannot move...”
“Hell and damnation!” Raith swore, and without more ado, set his arms under her, and lifted her from the ground.
She groaned as he did so, but his heart warmed as she huddled into his chest, throwing her arms up and clinging with desperately clutching hands about his shoulders. She murmured his name, and he was brought near to weeping by the hint of a knowledge of deliverance that it contained.
“Anton...”
“I will have you safe in no time,” he promised, and set off for the mansion as speedily as his burden would allow.
Rosina lay with eyes closed, but she was not asleep. The pain had dulled, due to a judicious dose of laudanum administered by Dr Barcliffe.
This worthy had arrived in haste, having been summoned from his little house in Radey Grange village, somewhat flustered at being requested to attend her ladyship of Raith Manor. He was of too humble a station to be used to giving his services to any but the lesser gentry and the poorer folk hereabouts, most landowners in the area preferring to call upon his more affluent colleague in Kington.
Through the fogging effects of pain, Rosina had vaguely heard him speaking, in a nervous undertone, to Mrs Fawley, who had taken charge of her sickroom.
“I am unacquainted with his present lordship, ma’am. I know him only by sight. Do you think he will wish to speak with me?”
“Undoubtedly,” had returned the housekeeper quietly. “But for this present, I pray you be good enough to attend to her ladyship.”
“Of course, of course.”
Next moment, Rosina had felt a cool hand on her brow, and thrust her eyes open to find a bewigged and bespectacled face bent over her. It was of indeterminate years, but pleasant enough, if a trifle plump.
“It is not her head, doctor,” protested Mrs Fawley with impatience.
In a daze, Rosina heard the housekeeper explaining her predicament, and thought how grateful she was this once for her new status. She had suffered from a girl, and had been caught out more than once, although never in thus compromising a situation. But not since Mama died had she had the luxury of giving herself over to the ministrations of others. Mrs Fawley and Joan took care of her needs with sympathetic efficiency, and the stained clothing, which she would have had to deal with herself in the past, was mysteriously removed.
A hot brick wrapped in flannel afforded considerable relief, and the application of two additional down coverlets upon her bed at, it transpired, Raith’s orders, rapidly re-warmed her frozen blood.
She was a trifle put out when Dr Barcliffe plagued her with a series of searching questions which she answered with an increasing feeling of impatience.
