The hours crawled by, and Deirdre found her eyes growing heavy as the night went on. She yawned as she changed the cloth on his brow, and then finally gave in to the sleep threatening her. She slipped from the chair to the other side of the bed. Her eyes closed almost immediately, and, afraid she would miss some change in Jeremiah’s fever, she laid a hand on his chest.
Satisfied that he felt no warmer than before, she fell asleep.
Chapter Ten
SUNLIGHT STREAMED THROUGHthe window, and Deirdre woke with a start.
Her hand was hot against Jeremiah’s chest, and she yanked it away as she bolted out of the bed. What time was it? How long had she slept?
Fear sank through her as she rounded the bed. She pulled the cloth off his forehead and laid her hand in its place. He was still warm, but no worse than before. She let out a breath and leaned against the wall for a moment before dipping the cloth in the water and placing it on his head again.
Miss Darby knocked on the door a few moments later, asking if there was any change.
“There isn’t,” Deirdre said. “But do you mind checking in on him for a little while? I need to go to the hotel and speak with his parents. They’re expecting us in a few hours.”
“Of course, but I could send someone for you instead?”
“No, I ought to go in person.” Jeremiah had worked so hard to convince them to help him, and she wasn’t about to let that slip through his fingers. She needed to speak with them directly and explain what had happened.
She quickly dressed and made her way to the hotel, worrying about Jeremiah the entire time. The young man at the front desk was kind enough to give her the Wileys’ room number, and she raced upstairs. Pausing for just a moment to consider the early hour, she decided it didn’t matter. The most important thing for her to do right now was to speak with them and get back to Jeremiah.
No one answered her first knock, or her second. Just as Deirdre began to wonder if they’d already risen and gone downstairs to breakfast, she heard the lock turning. It opened just slightly.
Deirdre wrinkled her forehead. “Mr. Wiley?” she called. “Mrs. Wiley? May I come in?”
No one answered, but the door finally opened a little more.
Deirdre slipped inside, blinking into the darkness. Mrs. Wiley’s pale face looked back at her. The older woman was still dressed in her nightclothes, and she swayed suddenly, taking hold of the back of the desk chair.
“Deirdre,” she whispered.
Realization swept through Deirdre as her gaze went from Mrs. Wiley to where Mr. Wiley was still slumped in bed. “Are you ill?”
Jeremiah’s mother nodded, just barely.
“Let’s get you back into bed.” Deirdre wasted no time in taking the woman’s arm and assisting her back to her bedside. When Mrs. Wiley was tucked back under the bedcovers, Deirdre felt her forehead.
