Lowe pulled the door open. “Doyle! Send for the physician. Lord Winchester is ill.”
“Papa.” She crouched next to him and helped him lie down.
Awful choking noises came out of him, and his eyes watered.
“Breathe.” She unfastened the collar of his shirt and caressed his cheek. “Please, breathe.”
Effie didn’t understandanything about finance, but she understood bad news. As Lowe had shown her, in a short time, Tristan had indeed threatened her father’s company with the sheer power of his money.
In the drawing room, she stroked Pepper’s and Kettle’s heads as she waited for Dr. O’Neil to finish visiting Papa.
That was one of those medical occasions when her knowledge of veterinary medicine was useless.
Lowe sat on a chair, reading the newspaper. The only sign he was worried about Papa was his frequent glances at the door.
Pepper licked her hand gently, and Kettle stared at her without blinking as if he wanted to force happiness into her.
“My lady.” Dr. O’Neil entered, his smile strained. “Your father is resting now.”
She held her breath. “Was it the heart?”
“No, it wasn’t.”
She exhaled. “I thought he was having a heart attack.”
Lowe sagged as well. “Thank goodness.”
“He suffered from a strong moment of panic, which can mimic a heart condition. I prescribed valerian root and passionflower tincture to help him rest. He’s in no danger now, but he must rest and reduce his activities.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Doctor.”
After the butler showed the doctor out, Lowe asked for his coat.
“My lady, give my regards to His Lordship. I’ll be more useful in the office, trying to contain Lord Montcrest’s damage.”
“Of course.” She loitered in the hallway, still torn between justifying Tristan and condemning him.
She entered Papa’s bedroom. His hair had turned grey seemingly in a few hours, and his skin had an odd green tone that worried her.
“Papa.” She took his hand.
He didn’t turn towards her.
The curtains were drawn tightly, blocking the sunlight. Only a couple of lamps were lit.
“I’m so glad it wasn’t the heart. You gave me such a fright.”
He swallowed hard before he sat upright and shoved the cover aside.
“What are you doing? Dr. O’Neil said you must rest.”
“I can’t. I have to see my banker and talk with my solicitor. If I do nothing, Montcrest will steal the chair from underneath me.”
She put a hand on his arm, surprised to find it quivering. “The situation can’t be so dramatic. Your work can wait. Lowe is taking care of everything. You need to recover.”
“If I don’t intervene, we’ll be full of debts by tomorrow. My bank accounts will be frozen. I won’t be able to withdraw a penny. That’s how dramatic the situation is. I underestimated Montcrest. I swear I didn’t want the anarchists to blow up his locomotive. I had no idea…” He wept, hiding his face in his hands. “You have to believe me. I would never do anything so vile.”
Effie had never seen her father weeping. Not that their family had gone through hard times or close losses. Quite the opposite. Her brothers and sisters were married and had children. Mama hated London, but she and Papa cared about each other deeply. They were a happy family, and seeing Papa so distraught broke her heart.
When she hugged him and let him cry, her chest clenched for him.
She didn’t understand finance, but she understood Tristan a little, and she needed to see him.
