Lady Elizabeth's Comet (5 page)

Charles was correct. My first evening stint went without incident, but at one o'clock one
of the maids roused me. "Please, my lady, Mrs. Smollet says to come now."

"His lordship is awake?" I rose, rather muzzy, from the chaise longue on which I had
lain.

"These two hours, ma'am. Mr. Sims, he can't make him swallow the opium drops."

"Oh, lord." I straightened my crumpled gown and pulled a warm shawl across my
shoulders. "Lead on, Molly."

The sickroom represented a scene from one of Mr. Hogarth's prints, with Mrs. Smollet
in braids and robe weeping and wringing her hands over a basin of broth, Jenkins in his nightcap
looking frail and frightened, and three or four underlings of both sexes swelling the chorus in
their nightwear.

The fire had burnt low, two candles smoked, and Sims, his face drawn, stood by
Clanross's bed with a glass of milky liquid in his hands, trying in a hopeless voice to persuade his
master to cooperate.

Clanross said nothing at all, but he had a healthy grip of a brass rail with his right hand
and the edge of the bed with the left, and his face was obstinately buried in the pillow. I could
see the bunched muscles of his shoulder and arm contract as a wave of pain crashed over
him.

Clearly, somebody was going to have to take charge.

"Out!" I roared in a fair imitation of my father. "Out--the lot of you. Not you,
Sims."

In a surprisingly short time the room cleared. I snuffed the two guttered candles and
added a shovel of seacoal to the grate.

"Now, Sims, what is the meaning of this?" I knelt by the bed and touched Clanross's
brow. It was hot as fire. "He's in a high fever!" I squeaked, the paternal roar deserting me. "Have
you sent for Mr. Wharton?"

"I can't," Sims wailed. "The major won't take 'is drops, and surgeon'll kill me if 'e
don't."

"Nonsense." Authority returned. "Send for Mr. Wharton at once, and tell Mrs. Smollet to
bring a pitcher of water and some cloths. The man's on fire. Has he asked for water?"

"Yes, me lady, and I reckoned I'd just slip 'im the laudanum instead, see. 'E spit it out
and now 'e won't take nothing."

"He'll take water from me. Set those miserable drops down and go to it." Sims vanished
and I stood and looked down at Clanross, who was mostly uncovered from twisting and
turning.

I gently pulled the quilt straight and folded it down at the edge of the bandage, which
was stained brown with dried blood. Clanross still held onto the rail, muscles straining, head
twisting from side to side. He was mumbling something and his breath came raggedly.

"Clanross," I said, loudly and not very gently, "lie still. I know you're parched for water,
and I'm going to give it to you. No tricks, no laudanum. Do you hear me?"

He continued to twist, silent.

Sims reappeared with Mrs. Smollet.

I took a cloth and soaked it with cold water. "Clanross, do you hear me?" I knelt and
placed the very wet cloth on the back of his neck. He stilled. "Do you feel that? It's water,
Clanross. I know you're thirsty. Will you drink if I hold the glass?"

"Yes," he croaked, quite intelligently in the circumstances. Another spasm of pain shook
him.

We managed after a fashion. Quantities of the water spilled on the pillow. I refilled the
cup twice. He was terribly thirsty.

When he had drunk, I began laying soaking cloths on his neck again, and it seemed to
help, for he was quieter, though it was clear from the desperate way his hands still cramped on
the rail that the pain had not eased. His purple and green nightmares must be dreadful, indeed,
for him to resist the laudanum so stubbornly. I talked to him as I applied the cloths, saying
nothing in particular. Presently he drifted off to sleep, hands still clenched on the rail. I loosened
his grip.

The surcease did not last long. When he woke again he was shivering and completely
out of his senses, for he kept calling me Jenny and begging me not to go. I promised him that I
wouldn't, but it did little good. My voice must have been wrong. This time we managed to spoon
some warm broth down him. Also spilling quantities on the pillow.

I sent Smollet off for half a dozen pillows and fresh cases and placed my soft woolen
shawl over his shoulders when he muttered that he was cold, but the silent spasms of pain
continued to shake him, and I didn't like the sound of his breathing at all.

He twisted like a ferret in a trap. Fresh blood soaked through Charles's neat bandage. I
began to think I'd have to make Sims and one of the footmen pin him down, for I couldn't hold
him still myself. He was far too strong. Once he fetched me an accidental blow that took my
breath away. I persisted, however, and finally he lay quiet again but still awake and rigid with
pain.

Charles appeared at three o'clock, yawning.

"So you've come at last." I glared at him. "Have you broken your fast? Shall I fetch you
a nice fresh pot of tea?"

"That sounds splendid. My word, you have had a lively time of it. When did the fever
set in?"

"A good four hours ago."

"You should have sent for me."

"I wasn't here," I said basely. "You threatened this great gaby Sims with gaol if he didn't
dose Clanross with laudanum. He was afraid to send for you."

"No laudanum?"

"No laudanum."

"Has he had water?"

"Yes, and some broth."

"Small blessings. I see he's pulled a stitch." Charles examined patient carefully,
frowning at the ragged breathing. He took a pulse and shook his head. "Racing, poor devil. Not
much longer now."

"What do you mean?"

"The crisis. If he pulls through the night I daresay he'll live, but it's a devilish high fever.
I'm going to administer a saline draught and try to get some more broth into him. I don't believe
I'll bleed him yet. After that we'll see. If he doesn't rest soon, we'll have to force the laudanum
down him."

"I think he'd rather die."

"He may in any case."

"Then let me try my hand first."

Charles shrugged. "If you insist. Do noblemen's families defenestrate unsuccessful
physicians these days?"

"I trust you'll have no occasion to find out. Sims! He's slipping off." Sims pulled our
patient back on the bed and held him, with some effort.

"Laudanum," Charles said grimly.

He and Sims continued to administer the saline draught. I didn't watch. I poked the fire,
shivering, and listened to the ugly process. There was nothing noble about such suffering. It was
plain ugly, and I hated it and hated being in the room. The night was clear and beautiful. I should
have been at my telescope.

"Liz." Charles must have called me before. His voice rang sharp.

I took a long breath and marched back to the bedside. "Is it mixed?"

"Here's the glass."

Clanross was digging at the bedclothes with his left hand, trying to grasp something
solid. I gave him my own left hand and regretted it. His grip was vise-like.

"Clanross, listen to me. They are going to force laudanum down your throat, and you'll
fight it and choke. Will you drink it quietly if I give it to you?"

He did not respond. I wasn't sure he could hear me.

"Clanross," I said desperately, "you are going to drink this laudanum, and then I'll give
you water to take away the taste."

He twisted his head away. Perhaps he did hear.

"I promise you," I said more softly, "if you take it now I'll keep them from making you
take it again. Do you hear me? Word of honour." It wasn't working. I looked at Sims and
Charles. "Lift him up." He struggled but he was growing weaker, and presently I thought I could
try. I lifted the glass carefully. "Tom!" I said sharply. "Swallow it."

Perhaps the use of his Christian name startled him, as I had hoped it would. He had
half-swallowed the stuff before he knew what happened, and I fear I tipped the rest down his throat
without any pretense of gentleness.

He choked and spluttered but most of it stayed down. Charles and Sims let him back
onto the pillow again gingerly.

I was glad he kept his eyes shut tight for I could not have met them. Although I had
taken pains to be open with him, he was in no condition to see reason. I had tricked him.

The laudanum did not take effect immediately. For perhaps half an hour, during which
he still fought the waves of pain, he continued to grip my hand. When he finally slept, his hold
relaxed and I examined my fingers ruefully. I did not doubt they would swell and turn
purple.

I rose, trembling at the knees. Sims and Charles were looking at me. "Gapeseeds. How
long will he sleep?"

"With luck, four hours." Charles cleared his throat. "I say, Lizzie, he didn't hurt you, did
he?"

I began to laugh.

Presently, with a glass of my father's excellent brandy warming my stomach, I felt
somewhat better. Charles was all for packing me off to bed, but I intended to see the matter
through to the end, good or bad. I did consent to sit down at the old desk and after a short time I
slept. I woke with my head on one of Mrs. Smollet's spare pillows. It was almost full
daylight.

I yawned, stretching, then stiffened.

"He's not dead, is he?"

"No. The fever broke. He must have the constitution of a frigate."

I was surprised at the relief I experienced. I felt quite lightheaded with it. Or perhaps it
was hunger.

"I want breakfast," I announced. A perfectly sensible idea. Both men fell into the
whoops. Perhaps they were lightheaded, too.

* * * *

We all ate breakfast in the kitchen while one of the footmen watched the sleeping
Clanross. I had never eaten in a kitchen in my life. The cook was scandalised by the invasion of
her domain, but we ate so enormously that she gradually lost some of her starch.

Thereafter Sims and I divided the time between us, and to be truthful there was little to
do beyond the usual sickroom tasks. Mrs. Smollet and a footman hovered by me whenever I was
in the chamber--lest Clanross leap from his couch and make indecent advances, no doubt. In fact,
he slept most of the time and was silent when he did not. Twice he ran fevers but I felt confident
enough to deal with his thrashings without Charles's aid. Charles was very well pleased. After
the fourth day he sent me home.

I decided to walk to the Dower House. I had reached the curve at the edge of the woods,
which would reveal the Dower House beyond, when a curricle bowled round the first turn of the
carriageway and pulled up spraying gravel.

"Good God," I said blankly. "Bevis!"

"How d'ye do, Liz. How is Tom?"

I must have gaped, for he added impatiently, "I got away as quick as I might when your
letter reached me, but the dashed wind kept me at Calais. How's Tom? He's not dead!"

I collected my wits. "No. He's recovering. I just nursed him through a very bad bout.
With Sims's help," I added, conscientiously. "But Bevis, I said nothing of an illness in my
letter."

"No." He looked grim. "I could tell. I was afraid something was amiss when Tom didn't
write me from Brecon. How bad was it? Climb up, Liz. Is he paralysed this time?"

"He's not paralysed, and I suspect he's asleep right now." I scrambled up beside Bevis.
"Turn round and drive to the Dower House, Bevis. I'll explain what I know, then you can go on
to Brecon. I daresay Clanross will be glad of your company."

I left Bevis to Jean and the recovered Maggie, who plied him with good things in the
withdrawing room while I freshened up and changed into a clean gown. I did not look forward to
apologising to Bevis for my satires. I dawdled. Finally, when I reckoned his impatience to see his
friend must have mounted to its original height, I went slowly down the stairs.

Bevis is too great a gentleman to betray irritation with a female. He rose and greeted me,
complimenting me on my looks. He even insisted that I take tea and chatted with Alice and the
girls until I had done so.

Then he said firmly, "I must speak with Lady Elizabeth alone, Mrs. Finch, and I know
you will not object, such old friends as we are."

I
objected, but silently. Alice, of course, was rosy from the effects of superb
manners and judicious compliments. She would probably have allowed Bevis to drag me out by
the hair.

"Come, girls." She beamed at Bevis. "Monsieur will be arriving in no time. Let us go up
to the schoolroom."

When the twins groaned and rolled their eyes, Bevis leapt up and kissed their hands in
turn, paying them extravagant compliments in vile French, and they swept from the room in a
gale of giggles.

"Charming vixens."

"A pair of fire nymphs," I agreed, translating freely. "Paris has not improved your
accent."

We stared each other out of countenance. It was an old game. Finally he said, lips
twitching, "Ah, Liz, unchanged, I see. Shall you marry me?"

"Pray excuse me, sir. I am sensible of the honour you do me, but in truth I fear we
should not suit."

We both laughed a little wildly.

He sobered first. "Give over, Liz." He pulled a chair beside me.

"Very well." I sighed. "My letter. I daresay you thought my wits had gone begging,
Bevis. I apologise."

He waved a dismissing hand. "Oh, that's nothing. I perfectly see how you came to be put
off. Tom's a reserved chap at the best of times."

"And this wasn't the best of times."

"That's it. I was not overjoyed when he decided to do the Grand Tour of the Conway
estates. All that jolting in carriages was bound to play the devil with him, and besides it sounded
uncomfortably as if he were putting his affairs in order. He wrote me cheerfully enough from
Scotland."

I grimaced.

Bevis eyed me. "He was dashed amusing at your sister's expense."

I flushed but said nothing. Kitty is a peahen and unfortunately, when she's at all
unnerved, she plays the great lady with preposterous results.

"Satire must run in the family. I thought you might write me, especially when you found
out that Tom had been working for me--for my father, to be exact--and I was looking forward to
the acid bath. If Tom hadn't stopped writing..."