Page 9 of A Foolish Endeavor

“It does not trouble me at all. Frederick knows I do not care to dance in my present condition, and he takes care to ask ladies who are slighted by other men, that they may have their share of the enjoyment on the dance floor. In truth, I am proud of his generosity. In addition, his stamina is greatly to be admired.”

The music ended and Frederick came over to his wife and sister. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the sheen of perspiration from his face. “Gracious, the music is so good this evening. I am having a delightful time. I only wish you could dance with me, Charlotte.”

She smiled up at him. “Soon enough, my love, soon enough. I miss it too, however—” She broke off and pointed her fan at a footman in the crowd who was scanning the room with a look of anxiety on his face. “Lavinia—is that not Billy from Clayton House? What could he be doing here?”

The footman spotted Charlotte and Lavinia and hurried over. He bowed then said, “Mrs. Kendall, Mrs. Wilson sent me here to fetch you home. Your son is unwell.”

Lavinia was on her feet in an instant. “What ails him? What is wrong with my Dickie?”

“I do not know, ma’am, I was told only to find you as soon as possible. Where are Mr. Kendall and Master Miles?”

“I shall find them—I think they are in the card room,” Frederick said. “You retrieve Master Gilbert—there he is—still dancing. Then, go at once to the front of the hall and we shall meet you there.” He hurried off.

Lavinia turned an anguished face to her sister. “Oh, Charlotte, What could it be? My poor, poor darling babe.” She gripped Charlotte’s hand tightly, and the two moved out of the dance room.

Chapter Seven

All through the short ride home, Lavinia was near tears, trying not to imagine the worst.

“But Dickie was perfectly fine this afternoon, Miles, I assure you,” she said in a strained voice. “I saw him directly after lunch and he was quite himself. What could it be that is troubling him?”

“Ease yourself, dear wife,” Miles replied, clutching her hand tightly. “I am certain Mrs. Wilson is only exercising an abundance of caution and we shall find our boy to be… not too badly off. Likely he only has the sniffles.” He gave her an encouraging smile which she was unable to return.

The carriage pulled up to Clayton House, and everyone exited and hurried inside. Dickie’s anguished cries could clearly be heard. Lavinia and Miles ran up the stairs to the nursery to find Mrs. Wilson and Becky Austin, the nursery maid, standing over the cradle, trying to ease the crying of the little boy.

“What happened?” Lavinia asked. “When did this all begin?”

“Not long after you departed for the assembly, ma’am,” Miss Austin replied. “I noted he seemed a bit more fussy than usual, and his skin felt warm to the touch. Then, as the evening progressed, he went all red in the face and began wailing at the top of his voice. Nothing I have tried has eased him. Nor will he eat. At last, we decided it would be best to send for you.”

Lavinia picked up her child, who shrieked even louder upon being lifted from his bed. She felt the boy’s heat through the clothes. “Oh, he is excessively warm, Miles, just feel his forehead. Mrs. Wilson, what has been done for him?”

“We have tried barley water, of course, for the fever,” she answered. “And Becky and I have been bathing him in cool water.”

“We must send for our physician at once, Miles, at once!” Lavinia said. As she spoke, Dickie cried out, went rigid, and flung his body stiffly in her arms, his eyes rolling back in such a manner that Lavinia echoed his cry with one of her own as she tried to keep from dropping him.

“What is happening? Oh, Miles, what is wrong with my darling?” she cried with terror in her voice, as she tried to hold her son who was now jerking spasmodically. “Oh, dear Lord in Heaven, help him!”

Dickie suddenly went slack and was silent and still, his eyes closed. Lavinia screamed, “He is dead—my child is gone!” She began to wail, clutching the boy to her chest.

Frederick, who had followed the family into the nursery stepped forward and gently pried her grip from around Dickie, taking him to the day bed to examine him as Lavinia collapsed, weeping, into Miles’s arms. He bent close and listened a moment, before calling out to the grief-stricken woman, “No, he lives, he lives—your son is not dead, Lavinia. Mrs. Wilson, send a footman for Dr. Baker at once.”

She nodded and left the room, as Lavinia stumbled over to the bed and knelt by her son, who lay limp and unresponsive. “Oh, my darling, my son—do not leave me, do not leave me.” She gently stroked his face, tears running down her face. “Oh, Miles, God could not be so cruel as to take him from us, could He? We waited so long for him.”

“Dr. Baker will be here soon, and then we shall know more, dearest,” Miles said, kneeling beside his wife. “All will be well, I am certain.”

Everyone in the room could hear the doubt in his voice.

“It is an inflammation of the brain, Mr. Kendall,” Dr. Baker said grimly, wiping his spectacles with a handkerchief. During his examination, Dickie had begun to wail once more and then had been seized again, sending Lavinia into a fresh bout of hysterical weeping. “The fever which is wracking his poor little body is affecting his brain, causing the seizures.”

“What is to be done, doctor? Can anything at all help him? These fits are so terrifying,” Miles said. “Is there nothing you can give for his relief?”

“We can try bleeding, of course, or leeches. But foremost, we must reduce his fever. Have you any ice left?”

Miles turned a questioning face to Lavinia, who nodded.

“Very well, then chop it into small pieces, wrap it in sections of flannel and place those around his body and at the top of his head. We must cool him down. My hope is once his fever breaks or lessens, these fits will cease.”

“You stay here, Lavinia,” Charlotte said. “I shall go with Mrs. Wilson to fetch the ice and flannel. It shall be done as the doctor instructs.”