“I suppose that’s for the best.” Mrs. Phipps tipped Nora’s face with gentle fingers, assessing. “You look better,” she conceded, “but Daniel should examine you right away.” Her brow tightened as the corners of her mouth turned down. “If your mother-in-law hadn’t come to us, we would have never known where you were. What did you—”
“Latta’s solution.” Nora squinted, forcing order in her mind. The ice storm. The quill pens…
Mrs. Phipps halted. “According to Daniel, that’s all you would say when he found you. Do you remember?” Her stern disapproval didn’t match the tender touch of her hands, smoothing Nora’s hair.
“A little,” she half lied. It was as vague as a muddy dream.
Mrs. Phipps anointed Nora’s dry lips with a drop of olive oil, spreading it carefully. “I’ll go wake Daniel now. He just sat down to eat a sandwich and was asleep in less than three bites. But that only makes sense, I suppose, considering he’sbeen awake with you for two nights now without closing his eyes.”
“Two nights?” Before Nora could finish her question, Mrs. Phipps hurried out, leaving Nora’s confounded gaze nowhere to go but to Aunt Wilcox.
Aunt rolled her eyes. “You apparently put some mixture in my vein that saved me, so Daniel did the same for you. We’ve both had it done several times now.” She gave her bandaged arm a disdainful glance and sighed. “Bruised as a beaten dog.” Her voice dropped. “Daniel says I owe you my life.”
Nora couldn’t keep pace with the steady flow of information and had to wait with closed eyes for her head—or the room—to stop spinning. “I didn’t know you were ill. I was coming to apologize.” That much, she remembered clearly. She’d had a headache and nausea on her way over—most likely the beginnings of cholera. Stupid to mistake it for pregnancy symptoms.
“Perhaps we both should. I—” But Aunt Wilcox got no further. Daniel blundered into the room, stumbling on the rug in his haste.
“Nora?” He caught her up, kissing her forehead and groping for her wrist at the same time. He took her pulse and assessed her color before she could even murmur his name. “You have color in your face again.” He pinched her arm, watching the skin creep back into place. “Better.”
She was glad he didn’t kiss her mouth; it had never tasted so foul. He pulled back the silk bed cover, revealing an unfamiliar flannel shift.
“I’m not sure this is warm enough for you,” he said. “There might be a better one left behind by some maid—”
The word shook her, knocking something else to the forefront of her jagged, jostling thoughts.
“Where’s Miss Pritchard?” There were two beds here, but Daniel could have put in a third. There was space for one next to the window, and if he’d wanted his patients close together…
“You haven’t soiled this bed at all. The towels are clean. Can I help you to the water closet?”
He must have been too caught up to hear her question, and indeed, he didn’t trouble to wait for her answer before lifting her into his arms and pulling her close against his chest.
“You don’t need to…” she began, but it wasn’t the truth. She could barely focus her eyes or speak. Walking anywhere was out of the question.
Mrs. Phipps hovered at his side, putting a nervous hand on Nora’s arm.
“You can help me wash her up after,” Daniel said to the housekeeper, who nodded, appeased.
Cholera left one with very little dignity.
As soon as they finished, Daniel returned her to the nursery. Mrs. Phipps helped Nora rinse her mouth with rose water until the fishy tang of old vomit and dry tongue washed away. “We’ll leave your hair until tomorrow, when you’re well enough for a bath.”
Nora touched her head with a frown. “My hair?”
“Never mind.” Mrs. Phipps waved her off.
It must be horrid. Even worse with Aunt Wilcox observing only feet away. The woman must have sensed Nora’s distress.
“Well, we can’t walk into our own graves and reemerge still looking presentable,” she pointed out.
Instead of laughing at her quip, Daniel dropped his eyes, grief shrouding his worn face.
“It was that bad?” Nora whispered.
No one met her gaze. “For a bit,” Daniel informed her shoulder, unable to raise his eyes any higher.
“I’ll wake Horace and let him know she’s past the worst,” Mrs. Phipps said in the brisk tone she used to redirect wayward conversations.
“Please don’t.” Nora took a labored breath. She understood exhaustion. “Let him sleep. He’ll see me when he wakes.” She looked at Daniel with apologetic eyes. “I’m tired, too.”
