“Yes?”
“Awful.”
A weak laugh escaped her and she sat up to kiss his knuckles, before feeling his forehead with the back of her hand. It no longer burned. She dragged her hand lower – over his cheek and throat, to his chest – cool skin and weak but steady breath.
Her eyes briefly shuttered and gentle relief swept her. He’d made it through the night. Was coherent and… It seemed the fever had left him. “I must let everyone know you’re awake. They’ll be so overjoyed.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “What would you like from me? Broth? Anything. Anything at all.”
With a grimace, he lifted his wounded arm, unsteadily but enough to show that perhaps the worst was behind them.
Then he crooked his smallest finger…
“Come a little closer,” he whispered.
Not one moment later,Amelia was dashing down the stairs, tears streaming and breath hitching. She flew into Phoebe’s chamber but the bed was empty, so she raced along the corridor, joy nipping at her heels, ran down the next flight of stairs, past a footman in the hall, hurtled down the basement steps and into the kitchen.
The sombreness was tangible and she felt like a bird about to chirp at a funeral.
At the table, Mrs Dawkins and Phoebe pushed back their chairs and stood.
Lucy and Mr Towlson put down their mugs.
Mr Cruikshank twisted from the range, face waxen, and Sally shoved hands to her cheeks. “Yer crying, Miss…”
Amelia couldn’t speak, breath panting and throat dry. “He’s…”
“Nooo!” wailed Phoebe, burying her head into the housekeeper’s bosom.
“No, no!” Amelia sobbed. “Awake. He’s awake!”
Phoebe’s head lifted, eyes wide. “You mean…”
“The fever’s left him,” Amelia cried. “He’s talking! Or whispering, to be precis–”
Everyone jumped on her, hugs abounding as she promptly burst into another bout of tears, and even though Hugh was far from healed, it still felt like a battle had been won.
Cruikshank drew back from a fervent hug with Mrs Dawkins, gave a refined cough and strode for the open door, calling fora footman. “A message to Lady Kemble. Fast as you can. The master is without fever and coherent. Go, go. With all haste.”
Amelia and Phoebe held each other so tight. “I was so scared.” Phoebe’s eyes were puffy, lips trembling into a smile. “Mrs Dawkins and I were just gathering the courage to come up.”
Wiping her eyes, Amelia turned to the housekeeper. “But, Mrs Dawkins, other than rosewater, what else was in that tincture last night? For it surely worked.”
The housekeeper blew her nose on her apron and shook her head. “Just some ginger and yarrow, Miss. Naught else as I’d tried everything I had. But all of us, we…we all added our prayers to it, our hope. And that’s all the tincture was, lovey. Strength and hope.”
Sally waved a hand in front of her eyes. “I’m gonna cry again.”
Cruikshank passed her a handkerchief. “Did the master manage to say anything? Did he ask for anything?”
“Yes.” Amelia bit her lip. “He asked for toast, bacon, sausages, a shave and…and…”
“And?”
“Well…” Amelia swallowed as Sally cocked her head, Mr Cruikshank frowned, and Phoebe hopped from foot to foot.
Mrs Dawkins patted her shoulder. “Spit it out, lovey.”
“Well, he also…”
“Yes?”
