Gideon led Hannibalinto the stables in the gloaming, also leading the horse the Shaftsbury physician had ridden, grateful it was not yet full dark. The man appeared young, but he seemed sensible enough, understood lung fever, and answered Gideon’s questions sensibly. He suspected, however, that the wordWoodglenattracted the man’s interest, and he might have agreed to anything.
He dismounted, leaned his head against the great horse’s neck, and spoke words to soothe himself as much as his mount. Hector hurried up at the sound of his voice, but Gideon had time for the briefest ear scratch, anxious as he was to discover how matters sat since he’d left. All thought of the box of papers under his bed had gone from his mind entirely.
He reached the Selwyns’ room more quickly than he might have a month before. Woodglen’s expansive floors forced him to walk more than he had to at home, and the exercise had strengthened his back muscles, one small blessing in his mission there.
The housekeeper stood at the door, frowning. Dr. Standish, the new man, hovered over the bed, his back to them, while Euphemia Selwyn stood across from the bed, looking worried and fearful. Their maid stood at the foot.
“Did Gratis bleed her?” Gideon asked Mrs. Morrit quietly.
“Miss Euphemia tried to stop him, but Kerr insisted the viscount would wish it,” Mrs. Morrit retorted. “Doesn’t appear to have helped.”
Of course not. Daft practice.“Have we heard from Clavering himself?”
“Aye. He said we should call the doctor, as if we didn’t know that already. He’s staying safely away,” Mrs. Morrit replied sourly. “We’re to bear the brunt here. I don’t want my maids catching a fever.”
They waited in silence until the physician rose from his study of the patient and had earnest words with Euphemia Selwyn, who responded in kind, glancing over once toward Gideon and the housekeeper. Standish and Miss Selwyn approached, while Kerr wiped the patient’s brow and murmured words of encouragement.
“Your guest suffers from influenza, I fear,” Standish said. “There has been some in Shaftsbury and, I heard, the seaside towns.”
Mrs. Morrit paled. “I will keep my maids away from this room.”
“Wise. They can leave meals on trays by the door,” Gideon said. Mrs. Morrit stared at him before giving a sharp nod, as close as she came to agreement on anything.
“Yes. It is best if only Miss Euphemia and their maid remain in this room. They will need water regularly and tea as well—tisanes of willow bark, echinacea, or slippery elm—elderberry is ideal if you have it. Fluids are vital. Do you have ice?”
Mrs. Morrit blinked as if mentally reviewing inventory. “Aye. Some remains in the icehouse. I’m afraid our stillroom has been allowed to deplete, what with the duke gone.”
“Please send to Selwyn Court for slippery elm and willow bark to refresh your stores. I keep it well supplied there. Also, there are elderberries along the east pasture. Send someone to see if any berries remain. If found, I’ll need sugar to create syrup.” Miss Selwyn spoke with the confidence of a woman used to managing a household. Gideon wondered again about her role in Clavering’s house.
Standish beamed at her. “Good choices, Miss Selwyn.”
Mrs. Morrit, who had been absorbed in thought, glanced up at Gideon. “Will you still be wanting that nursery for your children?”
The children!Thank God he had not yet sent for them. “No. Not as long as there is contagion in the house.” Mrs. Morrit appeared relieved, but it was Miss Selwyn’s sad sympathy that touched his heart.
“One more thing, Kendrick, if I may suggest it. The patient would be more comfortable if she were raised up a bit, either by several pillows or, better, if the mattress were raised slightly.”
“I’m not sending footmen in there!” Mrs. Morrit snapped.
“I’ll do it. Will you please prepare a room for this gentleman, Mrs. Morrit? He’s had a long ride and won’t be returning tonight,” Gideon said.
“I will warn Mr. Tavernash and his lady mother. Will you warn Marshall?” Mrs. Morrit asked. Gideon nodded, relieved she took on the Tavernash pair. The entire household needed to be warned away.
Standish went off with the housekeeper, and Gideon took Miss Selwyn’s hand. “I’m sorry this burden falls to you, but you seem to know what you are about.”
“I nursed both my parents through their final illness and Selina’s mother as well. I know how to make a patient comfortable as can be, but I’m terrified I don’t know how to make them survive.”
The urge to take this courageous young woman into his arms, to comfort her, almost felled Gideon. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. But one hand came out as if of its own volution, and he touched her cheek tenderly. “I have confidence in you,” he whispered. Their eyes held, and he didn’t remove his hand for long moments. Even in a plain, slightly rumpled gown with her honey-brown hair coming loose from her braid, her beauty touched him. He broke the connection reluctantly, common sense coming to the fore. “Now let’s see about that bed.”
He spoke to the patient soothingly before giving the mattress a great heave. “Rest easy, Miss Selwyn. This will only take a moment.” He held it while Mia and Kerr slid bolsters and, he noted, the pillows from Mia Selwyn’s bed under it. He directed them to arrange them for the most stable position before gently lowering the patient, who succumbed to a coughing fit. Kerr immediately rushed to give the girl a sip of water.
“Miss Selwyn, perhaps you could write to your uncle with your needs from Selwyn Court. I’ll wait outside for it.”
Moments later she handed him a folded piece of vellum through the door. He tucked it in his coat and took her hand in his once more, rubbing his thumb across the top of it. “If you need anything you aren’t getting—anything at all—send for me,” he said.
Her face, worried but determined, embedded itself in his mind as he made his way, candle in hand, to the estate offices in search of Marshall. The steward’s office was closed when he got there. He gave it a tap and opened it without waiting for a reply.
Jem sat in the steward’s chair in a pool of candlelight, pen in hand, a ledger book open in front of him. His mouth gaped, and he put the pen down and rose hurriedly. “I… I was just leaving a message for Marshall,” he stuttered.
