“This has arrived.” He handed it to Juliette, who tore it open the moment she saw who had sent it. Her eyes scanned the page. “It is from Miss Saunders’s aunt. Apparently Vivien has caught a chill, which explains her reason for missing our meeting this morning. Her aunt believes she ought to be well in another couple of days, provided she gets enough rest.”
“Oh dear. Poor Miss Saunders.” Gabriella’s brow knit with concern. “Perhaps you ought to send a care basket her way? She and her aunt are not in the best financial state, so I am sure some good food, tea and honey would be welcome.”
“That is an excellent idea,” Juliette agreed. She would deliver the basket herself so she could check on her friend and maybe offer her help.
Rolling up his sleeves, Florian plunged his mop into a pail of vinegar solution and spread it across the deck, drenching the wood planking. The air, heavy with the putrid stench of human suffering, had also been filled with the pungent smell of tar water fumigating the air. Around him, stretched out on cots, were the people who continued their fight for survival, two of the five nurses who’d been brought onboard to care for them, and Haines.
The physician had been tending to patients when Florian had arrived, the poor man barely keeping himself upright while he coughed and sputtered his way around. A sheen of sweat had been visible upon his brow, his eyes red from exhaustion and fever. Florian had promptly thanked the man for his commitment and then ordered him to get some rest and focus on his own recuperation.
Sloshing more of the vinegar solution onto the floor, Florian cursed Blaire again and then chastised himself for not taking Haines’s place. But the man had told him he’d had the disease as a child so Florian had thought him immune. Unless of course Haines was wrong and he hadn’t had typhus at all but some other ailment instead, like measles. Both produced similar rashes and could be confused with each other if the physician diagnosing the illness lacked competence.
In any case, there was no denying the gravity of the situation currently facing everyone onboard this ship. With only himself and two nurses to care for the sick, they lacked the necessary workforce, which could potentially lead to worsening conditions. As it was, Florian had been horrified to find lice present in some of the bedding. He’d promptly demanded that every scrap of fabric recently used be boiled in hot water and replaced by fresh ones. This had required the undressing of the thirty people who remained onboard, rubbing them down with mercurial ointment and providing them each with clean gowns and clothing—something which had not been done in days.
“I am sorry,” Haines told him as Florian passed by his cot. “The infection progressed so fast I”—he coughed—“could not keep up. My negligence—”
“You are not at fault here,” Florian told him sternly. It was difficult for him to hide all the anger he felt, all the fear for these people now under his care. “Blaire was meant to offer support. He is to blame for what has happened. Not you.”
Haines closed his tired eyes on a groan. “What will you do?”
“Whatever I must.” Florian glanced toward the deck where one of the nurses was hanging the recently washed clothing to dry. “Right now I am going to finish cleaning the floor, and then I intend to prepare some food. Soup will do everyone good, I should think.”
Haines’s only response was a sigh and a nod. He turned his head away as if preparing to sleep, so Florian left him in order to see to his chores. Twenty people had perished so far while only five had experienced a full recovery. They had returned to land the same day Haines spotted his first symptoms.
“Another life lost,” one of the nurses whispered close to his ear so nobody else would hear. She pointed toward the unmoving figure some short distance away. “Will you help me remove him so he can be buried?”
What a delicate way of describing how the man would be wrapped in his sheet along with a weight and then dropped feet first into the Channel. There would be no priest to say a prayer, no loved ones to shed a tear.
The depressing thought brought to mind his last encounter with Juliette. He missed her, he realized, her radiant laughter and the way she took charge. She was like a shining star in the darkness, showing him the way home, and he couldn’t help but wonder how many tears she would shed if the worst were to happen to him.
She’d be devastated.
He felt it in his gut without even thinking. And the truth was that he’d be crushed too if anything bad were to happen to her. He’d grown accustomed to having her in his life, to sharing his thoughts and ideas with her, to the excitement he felt whenever they met. It was what he looked forward to most right now, the prospect of returning to London so he could share his experiences with her, so he could confide the fear he’d felt for his patients and let her soothe and comfort his soul.
What he’d said to her at the theater about sending a note when he got back was absolute rubbish. It wouldn’t do at all. Not when he longed to be near her.
His muscles flexed. He’d treated her poorly by keeping her in the dark for this long. It felt dishonest in light of how truthful she’d been, all because he feared losing her even as he refused to claim her. It kept them apart, prevented them from moving forward, which wasn’t fair to either of them.
Witnessing the burial, he stared down into the rolling waves for long moments after and clutched the railing. The salty air licked his face and pulled at his hair, and as he stood there, it occurred to him how much he not only wanted Juliette in his life, but how much he needed her. She pushed him when he needed pushing, showed him that there was more to life than work, that he was allowed to enjoy himself too. She wasn’t just good for him. She was right for him, and as this sank in, cementing itself in his core, he knew he had to be brave. Sharing an honest future with her depended on it. Which meant he would have to start by telling her everything.
This decision brought some measure of ease with it. It loosened the tightness that had been constricting his chest since their parting. It gave him additional purpose. Because the truth of it was she’d been right when she’d said she deserved to make her own choice. Life was fleeting. He was surrounded by the evidence of it. So if there was a chance he might share some happiness with her, perhaps it was time he decided to grab it.
Taking a large basket of goodies with her, Juliette went to check on Vivien. In addition to the food, tea and honey Gabriella had suggested, she had also included a bottle of red wine, a pile of clean handkerchiefs and a copy ofThe Female Quixote, which had been given to her by Lady Everly for her birthday and which Juliette was sure Vivien would enjoy. Since she did not want to subject Sarah to Vivien’s cold, she’d left her behind at Huntley House with some mending.
The carriage ride was not particularly long. Juliette arrived at Lady Arlington’s modest home without incident, paid the driver and strode toward the front door, basket in hand. She rapped the knocker three times, waited and then rapped it again before Lady Arlington herself finally appeared, as was expected since she had long since let her entire staff go in order to save the expense.
“Good afternoon, my lady.” Juliette offered her most polite smile. “After receiving your letter, I thought I would come to pay a call. Vivien could use the distraction and the food I have brought along. As could you, no doubt.”
Lady Arlington opened the door wider and stepped aside so Juliette could enter. “That is very kind of you, Juliette. Vivien is fortunate to have such a good friend, especially now when she is feeling so horribly unwell.”
“You mentioned a chill, so I trust she must have a cough and a runny nose.” Juliette reached inside her reticule and pulled out a length of linen.
“Indeed the cough has proven quite a nuisance for her, poor thing. But I do not recall a runny nose.” She invited Juliette to leave her basket in the small parlor just beyond the entryway. “If you ask me, she caught the ailment from that scruffy child she brought home with her a week or so ago. The lad had the same sort of cough, and naturally, Vivien insisted on caring for him herself once she learned he had no parents. Honestly, her heart is too big for her own good sometimes.”
Juliette considered this information. A cold without a runny nose was quite unusual. “Are there any other symptoms besides the cough?”
“I do not think so.”
“And the boy?”
