Claudia smiled faintly.“I think I shall be rather an odd vicar’s wife.I’m not good at sympathy and charity.”
“Practical help can be much more useful,” April said.
Claudia seemed struck by that.Mrs.Hubb and Meg both nodded thoughtfully.
April, deciding not to push her luck in one evening, set her book aside and excused herself to look in on Edward.
In the kitchen, the servants were clustered around the table enjoying a cup of tea.They all sprang to their feet at sight of her.
April signed them to sit again.“I’m just going to look in on our patient.”
“He was still sleeping five minutes ago,” Becky said quickly.
April nodded.
“You ready for tea, my lady?”Mrs.Riley demanded.
“When you have finished yours.We’re in no rush.”Leaving them to their well-earned tea, April walked into the housekeeper’s room.
Edward was indeed still asleep.She wet his lips with the sponge and poured a trickle of water into his mouth from a spoon.She almost imagined he swallowed it.Even if he did, surely he could not live much longer in this state, with so little to drink and nothing to eat?
She sat a moment longer on the edge of the bed, frowning at him in some consternation.Although he looked perfectly comfortable and clean, there was stubble on his chin, and at some point, he had turned his head to one side.She was glad to see no blood on the bandage at least.
She rose to her feet.And that was when she saw his eyes open, gazing right at her.
For an instant she thought he had died.She had seen eyes open in the moment of death.But he definitely blinked.
She sank back down on the edge of the bed, her heart hammering.“Edward?Are you awake?”Why the devil am I whispering?
Edward parted his lips.April spooned some more water into his mouth, and this time he definitely swallowed.“How do you feel?”she murmured.
He didn’t answer, just closed his eyes again.In fear, April took his pulse.It still beat, though she wasn’t sure it was any stronger.
She rose again, ready to impart the good news to the kitchen.Then, at the bedchamber door, she paused.Awake, Edward could tell who had struck him.Would that not galvanize his attacker into finishing the job?The would-be assassin was most likely in this house or had a close connection to this house.If April told, was she not putting the footman in further danger?
She needed to speak to Piers.Very badly.
Until she could, she closed the bedchamber door, and the sitting room door.
“As you say, no change,” she told the servants.“Once you’ve served tea you can all go to bed, or to your own homes.Dr.Fosterson will look in on Edward when he gets back, so you don’t need to worry about him anymore this evening.Oh, and don’t forget Lady Temperley...”
***
GRANT FOSTERSON PROBABLYenjoyed the evening at the King’s Arms more than anyone.He liked nothing better than to laugh.In the last couple of years, caught up in serious medical studies and hard work, he had almost forgotten that, so he had been hugely delighted by Withy’s reunion invitation.
Playing darts and drinking ale with friends in a tap room reminded him of undergraduate evenings, with a certain poignancy.He regretted the loss of those carefree days, when life had seemed to explode in all its glory, new and wonderful, from abstract knowledge and theory to the friendship of fellow spirits.
He hadn’t really expected everything—everyone—to have changed so much, to be so much more settled than he was.Hubb was married.Withywas married.Hale was about to be, and even Mal seemed to have fallen into the next best thing.Hale had embraced the church and a respected career.Hubb had become quite the worthy merchant.Withy was a damned viscount, if a somewhat eccentric one with a pretty little wife of mysterious origins.
In truth, Fosterson felt a little left behind.If he had never behaved quite like Edward the footman, his love affairs had all been of the most temporary variety.His medical qualifications were brilliant, but his future was still uncertain, with very little money to start his own practice, and even less inclination to apprentice himself to an old-fashioned physician whose medicine appalled him.
He needed the laughter of his friends.He’d found it, too, in odd moments.That mad game with Withy when they’d first arrived.The first evening together in the library with too much brandy and too much to say—that had been just like the old days.
As was darts at the King’s Arms, although Fosterson quickly realized Withy’s mind—and aim—were not on the game.He kept sloping off to engage various people in conversation.
“He’s asking questions again,” Hale said, as though amused.“You know, I don’t remember him being that...worldly.”
“He always noticed things,” the professor said.“And people, even when he couldn’t tell them apart.”
