A Spy's Devotion (20 page)

“Mother won’t hear of me staying. She says if you are too sick to marry Mr. Edgerton on Friday, then we will go to Bath early and leave a servant here with you. I am so sad, as I shall dearly hate to go an entire fortnight without seeing you and Mr. Langdon.”

“A fortnight isn’t so terribly long.”

“Of course it is. It is
terribly
long.” Phoebe sniffed and sank down beside Julia.

Julia refrained from telling Phoebe not to cry. Speaking might make her cough again. Besides, she felt like crying herself at the prospect of being sick when she needed her strength to get away from Hugh Edgerton.

“I don’t understand why I have to spend two weeks of the Season, especially when it is almost over, in Bath, of all the boring places in England.” A tear, followed by another, fell from Phoebe’s eyes and into her lap.

Julia said nothing. She couldn’t remember the last time Phoebe had cried and she hadn’t comforted her, but she didn’t even feel like trying today.

“I shall not have any fun in Bath, for who is in Bath this time of year?” She looked up at Julia. “Someone must take care of you. You are sick, Julia, and I well remember how miserable I was. I am not entirely well as yet.”

Phoebe coughed a bit, and her tears quickly dried as she turned her attention back on Julia. “You always did bear your illnesses better than I. You’re so patient and hardly ever complain. But perhaps you will recover as quickly as I did.”

“Yes, perhaps so.” And in that case, her bag was already packed and hidden in the back of her wardrobe.

Julia spent a miserable day in bed, feeling worse and worse as the day wore on.

When Phoebe returned, Mr. Wilhern was just behind her, a severe look on his face.

“Julia, Father and I came to inquire how you’re feeling. Are you able to come down to dinner?”

“I do not think so.” Speaking brought on a violent attack of coughing.

“You no doubt have the same malady Phoebe had,” Mr. Wilhern said. “Only a cold. Stay in bed and you will be well by Friday.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Julia woke herself up during the night, coughing and feeling feverish. When Phoebe came into her room the next morning, she asked, “How do you feel? Any better?”

Julia shook her head.

“You do not look well at all. Shall I tell Mother to send for Dr. Alcott? Do you think you have a fever? Your cheeks look very flushed.”

Julia tried to speak but was overtaken by a coughing fit.

“Poor Julia. I shall go tell Mother.” Phoebe hurried out of the room.

Instead of her aunt, Mr. Wilhern came into the room again with Phoebe. “Are you sick?” he asked without preamble. “Or is this a ploy to avoid marrying Edgerton tomorrow?”

“Father!” Phoebe stared, openmouthed and wide eyed. “How can you be so unfeeling? Julia is obviously very sick.” She stepped to Julia’s bedside and laid her hand on her forehead. “She’s burning up with fever and has a horrendous cough.”

Mr. Wilhern appeared unmoved. “Very well. Since she is so sick, we shall postpone the wedding until we return from Bath.”

Phoebe again stared at her father with an open mouth. She slammed her fists on her hips. “Father, you shall owe Julia an apology when you realize how sick she is.”

Julia observed them through a haze of pain and fever. All she could think of was that she was not sure she could escape Mr. Edgerton tomorrow, as sick as she felt.

“Julia,” Phoebe said, leaning over her, “you will try to get better, won’t you? I cannot bear it if something should happen to you.”

Julia began to say, “I have every intention of getting better,” but a fit of coughing cut her off, leaving her too exhausted to do anything except nod her head.

“Mother is choosing a servant to tend you. She says I must not come in here anymore, as you may be contagious, but I shall pray for you.”

“Thank you,” Julia rasped, managing a smile for Phoebe.

Julia quickly realized she shouldn’t lie on her back or the coughing would be worse. She lay on her side for a while and then propped herself up with pillows.

Kitty, one of the kitchen servants, came into the room with a tray of tea, waking Julia from a light sleep.

Julia tried to sit up higher and took the proffered cup of tea with trembling fingers.

“I will come again to see if you are better, after the family has gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yes, the family is going to Bath. They decided to go a day early.”

So they would not even pretend to be concerned about her. No matter. At least she had the great relief of not having to marry Hugh Edgerton tomorrow—although her uncle would no doubt usher her to the altar just as soon as she was well again.

Julia slept fitfully. The night felt like a bad dream as she was frequently awakened by her cough and the pain in her chest. She was relieved when it was over and the sun peeked through her window, although she was still exhausted and feverish.

Her chest hurt more than ever, and even her ribs and her back were starting to ache from all the coughing. When the latest fit was over, she leaned forward, trying to breathe. Her chest felt as if it were being squeezed by a giant fist. She couldn’t draw in a complete breath. She sucked in air as hard as she could, but her chest felt so tight. The pain was excruciating. Was she dying?

She lay back against the pillows. As she struggled to breathe, she could hear a rattling sound coming from her chest.

Julia forced herself to get up and walk about the room. Perhaps she would feel better after moving around.

Rather than feeling better, her head began to pound and her vision began to spin. She saw black spots. She went back to the bed as quickly as possible and fell across it, lying there on top of the blanket.

While she lay waiting for her vision to return and her heart to stop jolting inside her, she prayed,
Dear God, if I die, please take care of Phoebe when her father is apprehended for treason. Send her a kind gentleman to marry her and take care of her. And if possible, let her never find out that I helped send her father to prison. And please . . . let Mr. Langdon find happiness. He is a good sort of man.

Nicholas waited for his sister to finish her breakfast. She was eating exceedingly slowly this morning.

He had not seen Miss Grey in several days, not since the day she had delivered the information that had been so valuable. They now had enough to arrest Robert Wilhern and Hugh Edgerton, and they could stop the four men who were being sent to kill General Wellington. But they were waiting to apprehend them until the actual date of the ship’s departure as they endeavored to gain as much information as possible on those who were helping Wilhern and Edgerton on the Continent.

In the meantime, had something happened to Julia? He had heard Phoebe was sick and that was why they had not attended the assembly more than a week ago, but that did not explain why he had not seen them since. Finally, Nicholas approached his sister.

“Leorah, accompany me to the Wilherns’ so that we might call on Miss Wilhern and Miss Grey.”

Leorah eyed him suspiciously. “And which of the two are you so interested in? And if you say Phoebe Wilhern, I will not believe you.”

“Well, as you have settled the matter in your own mind, I wonder you should ask me. Come. Don’t keep me waiting.”

“I shall not go with you at all if you take that imperial attitude with me, brother.” Leorah crossed her arms and set her chin in that stubborn way of hers.

Best to placate her. He wanted to see Miss Grey.

“Leorah, pray, be a dear,” he said, emphasizing
dear
, “and join me in paying a visit to our mutual friends, Miss Wilhern and Miss Grey.”

“That is a bit better, although I detected insincerity in your voice.”

“You must surely be mistaken.”

Leorah readied herself, and they were soon off. In five minutes, they were being invited into the house by a young, rustic-looking servant.

“We would like to call on Miss Wilhern and Miss Grey, if they are at home.”

The young woman looked relieved to see them. “The Wilherns went to Bath. Miss Grey is home, but she is very sick.”

“Sick?”

The urge to bolt upstairs seized Nicholas, and it was with difficulty that he controlled himself.

“Is she very unwell?”

“I’m sorry to say she is, sir. Her fever is very hot, and she was talking out of her head this morning.”

“May we see her?”

The servant girl led them up the stairs.

“Why was the doctor not called? Who is in charge here?” Nicholas didn’t care that he sounded strident.

“I am the only one here. Mrs. Wilhern gave the other servants the week for a holiday.”

When they were almost to the second floor, Nicholas nearly tread on his sister’s heels. She turned to face him.

“Nicholas, you can’t go in.”

“Why not? Oh, go on, then.” He shooed her up the stairs. “Quickly, and tell me how she fares so I can go for Dr. Alcott.”

Leorah followed the maid inside the room.

Nicholas paced outside the door. In a few moments, Leorah stuck her head out. Her eyes were wide as they latched onto him.

“Run and fetch the doctor. Julia is terribly ill. Make him hurry.” Then she shut the door in his face.

He raced down the stairs two at a time. He hurried home, just one street over, running most of the way and praying,
Don’t let her die.

He fetched his horse and rode to Dr. Alcott’s. When the doctor’s housekeeper announced that he was in and would see him momentarily, Nicholas most fervently thanked God that he wasn’t out on a call.

The doctor was older, with deep crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. “Mr. Nicholas,” Dr. Alcott greeted him. “What can I do for you?”

“I need you to come right away. A young lady, Miss Julia Grey, is very ill.”

Nicholas waited for him to collect his bag and get in his curricle. He chafed silently at the slowness of Dr. Alcott’s horses.

At the Wilhern house, Nicholas opened the door without even knocking and led Dr. Alcott up the stairs.

Leorah opened the door as they reached the top, ushered the doctor inside, and then closed the door again, shutting Nicholas out.

Waiting outside her door, he heard coughing. He gasped at the terrible violence of it. It was as if she were choking, and she sounded very weak.

He waited, pacing back and forth. The Wilherns had left her here, without even a proper servant to care for her. Had they realized she was spying on him? Were they trying to kill her? Perhaps Wilhern had poisoned her.

He considered knocking or calling to Leorah to come and tell him something. Could Leorah be assisting the doctor? He had no doubt his sister could do anything she was called on to do, but . . . why didn’t she come out and tell him what was happening?

“Leorah,” he called from just outside the door. “Is there anything I can do?”

A few moments later, he heard footsteps approaching on the other side, and then the door opened to Dr. Alcott, with Leorah just behind him. They came out into the hall.

The doctor’s gaze was direct. “She has pleurisy and an infection of the lungs. It is very serious, and she needs expert care—hot liquids and as much of the right foods as you can get her to take. You’ll need to get more than one servant, someone who’s experienced with nursing, to help watch her night and day.”

Nicholas and Leorah looked at each other. “Cora,” they said at the same time.

“We shall take her home. Our old nursemaid, Cora, will care for her.” Nicholas was already taking a step toward the stairs to go get the carriage.

“No, she mustn’t be moved,” the doctor said firmly. “She is too weak.”

“Then I will fetch Cora. She and Polly can come and stay and care for her here.”

“That is a good plan.” The doctor and Cora had often consulted each other when anyone in Nicholas’s family had been sick.

“You said she has pleurisy and a lung infection? How soon will she recover?”

“With proper care, she may recover, but it could take quite some time.”

May
recover? “How long?”

“She will be in bed at least three weeks, I would estimate, if she recovers. And once she does, she could have a reoccurrence. Sometimes the lungs are weakened to the extent that they continue to be inflamed every time there is a change in the weather. If so, it could greatly shorten her life.”

The doctor looked as though he were speaking of a rise in the cost of tea, instead of the uncertain fate of the sweetest, loveliest girl in England.

“But we will hope for better things. She is young, and, I daresay, quite strong. She could recover and never have a second bout of it. However, she must guard her health, as all ladies should, by wearing something around her neck in cool weather.” The doctor scowled. “Ladies’ fashions these days present a mortal danger. Exposing their shoulders and necks, wearing these thin muslin gowns in all kinds of weather—it is a wonder they aren’t all dying an early death.” He gave Leorah an accusatory look.

“Remember,” he continued, addressing Leorah now, “she needs nourishing food, not just broth, as often as you can persuade her to eat. She must regain her strength, and she must not be left alone. I cannot imagine what Mr. and Mrs. Wilhern were thinking. A grievous neglect, to be sure.” He humphed as he turned to leave. “Send for more laudanum and my special cough remedy when that runs out,” Dr. Alcott called over his shoulder.