Realm 07 - A Touch of Honor (17 page)

She mumbled as she read, “It says Papa is ill.” She glanced to him, and John could read the concern upon her countenance. “How far is it to Newcastle?”

“Less than a hundred miles.” He retrieved his jacket from the back of the chair. “I will have a coach prepared. We may leave in a half hour.”

She spun around to face him. “We? You cannot depart with Lady Swenton’s poor health, and I cannot stay if Papa requires my assistance.”

John ignored her protest. “I must be at Marwood to greet Prince Henrí, but for now, Mr. Coyle attends the baroness. I am dispensable; however, you are not. If you must leave me, I mean to see you safely in your father’s care. If this news from Sir Carter is in error, you will return to Marwood so I might continue to protect you.”

“It cannot be so, Sir,” she whispered.

“Yet, it is. Now hurry to pack your bag. We waste time debating what has been decided.”

She rushed past him, pausing only long enough to kiss his cheek. “You are magnificently masterful, my Lord, and I am forever in your debt.”

The warmth of her brief kiss lingered as he slipped into his wife’s quarters. Uncharacteristically, Lady Swenton sat primly in a chair, sipping tea. He nodded his approval to Coyle before kneeling before Satiné. “My Dear, Miss Neville has received word from Sir Carter regarding her father. Mr. Neville is in a hospital in Northumberland. I mean to escort the lady north to reunite with Mr. Neville.”

His wife frowned. “Why must you go? Can you not send a footman?”

It was John’s turn to scowl. “Your companion has served you most loyally during your time in Vienna, as well as throughout your illness on the ship. She has treated you kindly in all matters and has gone beyond her duties to become a trusted caregiver. We owe Miss Neville a debt of gratitude.”

Coyle added, “I will remain with you, Lady Swenton. You have promised to tell me more of Vienna’s splendor.”

Satiné shot Coyle a perplexing look, as if she had forgotten he was in the room. “Are we acquainted, Sir?”

John spoke softly. “I introduced you earlier. This is one of my dearest acquaintances, Mr. Foard Coyle. He is staying with us for several days. I am certain Coyle is in excellent hands with you as my hostess.” He would not mention Satiné was in excellent hands with Coyle as her physician.

Coyle asked, “How long might you be gone, Swenton?”

John admitted, “I have important business at Marwood on Saturday so no more than three days.” The idea of being with Isolde for three days sounded ideal. Even if they would sit beside an ailing Eoghad Neville, it would be heavenly compared to the chaos at his home.

“As you have made your wishes known, then I suppose I possess no choice,” Satiné said testily.

*

He looked on with interested bemusement as Miss Neville removed the letter from her reticule and reread it for the fifth time in the past two hours. “Sir Carter does not say what ails Papa.” She dragged her teeth over her bottom lip in agitation.

“Likely the baronet did not know the extent of Mr. Neville’s condition. Do not assume the worst.” A glint of a smile tugged at his lips. Even when distressed, the lady was adorable. “There are few women more built for crisis than you, Miss Neville. Whatever has plagued your father, you will persevere over it. I hold no doubt.”

A crooked smile told him she thought him peculiar, but not in a bad way. “Should I consider your words flattery, Lord Swenton?”

“I cannot say, Miss Neville.” His gaze drifted to the coach’s window. “As I have had few examples in my life of how to speak to perfectly sensible young women, I may have erred.” With an ironic chuckle, he winked at her. “However, I do believe this is one of those rare times.” He realized how light his heart felt when they were removed from the outside world. Inside the coach, it was as if only they two existed.

She leaned heavily into the squabs. “Then I shall accept your assessment of me as the truth.” She sighed deeply. “My anticipation at being reunited with my father wars against my trepidation regarding his health. I am anxious to know more of where my father has been and how he came to be in an English hospital; on the other hand, I am elated at the prospect of knowing my family again. It feels a lifetime since I gazed upon my father’s familiar countenance. And to think, the likelihood of happiness arrives at your hand, my Lord. None of it would be possible if not for your kindness.”

John struggled with accepting her praise; it was a “foreign” experience for him. Deliberately he chose a lighter tone and a change of subject. “Why do you not tell me of your family? Despite our close association, I know so little of your days before we met–only what you shared recently of the size of your family.”

The lady smiled with mocking amusement, and John returned the genuine gesture. “My family is so large, Lord Swenton, we shall be long into Scotland before I finish my tale.”

John stifled the sigh of jealousy: He had always wished for a large family. Boisterous children filling Marwood Manor with laughter and childhood wonder. “Let us begin with those who have most influenced you. Brothers? Closest cousins? Except by name, I have not heard you speak of your grandmother. Do you favor your maternal relatives or those on your father’s side?”

Although she studied him with a bit of puzzlement, Miss Neville accepted his suggestion. John’s shoulders relaxed, and he prepared to take pleasure in her tale–to learn more of the woman who had thoroughly fascinated him. “My brothers Padraic and Liam would say my mother took one look at her only daughter’s ghastly hair and up and died, but Papa always says Mama presented me with her most precious feature, her thick, fiery hair. He speaks often of running his fingers through Maebh Neville’s hair.” John had considered a similar delight on more than one occasion of late. “My mother’s name means the cause of great joy or she who intoxicates.” She giggled in a girlish hiccup. “Papa certainly was intoxicated by her.”

He nodded his encouragement for he thoroughly enjoyed the tone of her voice when she spoke of her family; it made him yearn to be a part of her dominion–to know Miss Neville’s sweetness directed at him. “Papa is the oldest of six and a baron in Leinster. Padraic, my eldest brother, tends the estate so Papa can explore his passion for history. Padraic and Kyna have two sons, Quinn and Davin, and a young daughter Gormlaith. Liam and Neela live in America, outside of Boston, with their two sons, Emmet and Fintan. I have not seen Liam’s family for some four years. My nephews must have grown very tall by now.

“Mama lost two other sons between Liam and me. My brothers are ten and twelve years my senior. Sometimes it feels as if I have two additional fathers to make up for the lost of my mother.”

John noted the tears that flooded her eyes. “It is difficult for a young girl never to know her mother.”

She countered, “I believe it is life changing for any child.” A serious expression crossed her countenance. “You, Lady Swenton, and I hold that fact in common.”

A frown tugged at his dark brows. John would prefer not to think upon his young wife sharing anything in common with him. Satiné had spent the previous three months proving they shared no values, and John had slowly accepted her thoroughly ridiculous declarations. He redirected Miss Neville’s story. “I recall your mentioning a grandmother, who practiced folk care.”

“Yes, Ultana Redmond’s family was from South Wexford. She knew of herbs and roots. I loved to spend time in her kitchen and her stillroom. When Papa was away, and neither Padraic or Liam were of age, I spent countless hours in her modest cottage, listening to her speak of all things Irish.”

John, who had shared little time in the company of either the Swenton family or the Moraham family, experienced a twinge of jealousy. “Although you suffered a great loss, it sounds as if those left behind meant for you to know your esteemed place in their worlds.”

“They did,” Miss Neville said wistfully. “I have known love, my Lord.”

John’s melancholy crept into his tone. “Then you are richer than many.”

“Surely your learned of love at your father’s hands?” she protested.

John smiled weakly. “Jeremiah Swenton loved only Lady Fiona Moraham. When she left him behind, the previous baron’s heart ceased its beating. I knew a series of nannies and tutors.” He presented her a rueful shake of his head. “It is likely why I had thought that in time Miss Aldridge would learn to affect me. Of course, I was a fool. Love cannot be taught–cannot be learned like one learns to speak another language; love either exists from the beginning of a relationship or it does not. Love can grow, and I am not foolish enough to believe it does not change over time from white-hot passion to deep respect, but no man can create love simply because he wills it.” He bowed his head with rigid nobility. “I have brought our conversation to the brink of maudlin. Forgive me.”

Miss Neville switched seats to sit beside him. She caught his left hand between her two smaller ones. “Do not speak so, my Lord. I wish to know all of your history for it has made you the man you are today.” She wrapped her fingers about his, and John felt a stab of guilt for enjoying the lady’s touch so immensely. “God does not give us trials we cannot survive. Although it seems you have known more than your share of tribulations, think on where you might be without them. Would you have sought service to the King otherwise? Consider how many people would have perished if you had not joined the Home Office. I have heard both Sir Carter and Thornhill speak of the many times you have placed yourself between them and death. Would you trade their lives and the lives of their future children for an embrace from your father?”

“Certainly not,” he insisted, but his mind kept asking why he could not have had both the lives of his friends and the affection of his father.

“Each rebuke molded you into a man who could withstand the worst the world presented. They also created within you the desire never to make the mistakes of your parents.”

“Have I not?” John asked bitterly. “Lady Swenton is my mother’s deception returned to Marwood Manor.”

Miss Neville caressed his jaw line, and John turned his cheek into the warmth of her palm. “Yet, you do not possess the nature of the previous baron. It is possible Lady Swenton may never be the wife you had envisioned, but I believe she will accept her position. Perhaps your lady may withhold her regard for you, but a child of your issue never will. Children love unconditionally, my Lord. Accept what God gives you, and you will receive the affection you desire. You prayed to know love, did you not?”

“Aye,” he whispered.

“You thought of love as only being between a man and a woman, but there are all types of love. Seek it where it lies and be filled by it forever.”

*

It was late when they had arrived in Newcastle, and the lady had fallen asleep upon his shoulder. As they had done previously, he and Miss Neville had sat in comfortable silence for hours. As before, John had found her company completely satisfying. “Wake, my Dear,” he said softly against her forehead. “We are in Newcastle.”

Her head lifted slowly from his shoulder. “What be the time?”

John made a guess. “Close to ten of the clock. I have sent Peter in to secure our quarters.”

She sat straighter and smoothed away the wrinkles in her simple gown. “Will we wait until tomorrow to call upon the physician mentioned in Sir Carter’s letter?”

John handed her the discarded bonnet. “It is best. We will break an early fast and then seek news of Mr. Neville.” He recognized her disappointment. “Your father requires his rest to regain his health. It is but a few more hours.”

“Yes,” she said hopefully. “A few more hours.”

“And so you served with the Royal Prussian Army?’ John asked the physician. He had left Miss Neville behind at the inn. He suspected she had lain awake most of the night anxious for the light of the day and then had succumbed to sleep when daylight arrived. He had posted Peter outside her room with strict orders to see the lady had had a proper breakfast before she called upon Doctor Timmons. He had also preceded her because John had feared Mr. Neville had passed. Either way, he meant to know how best to protect her. Thankfully, Timmons had assured him Neville was gravely ill, but had not yet met his Maker.

Timmons chuckled, “My father was an American scholar at the university, and my mother the daughter of an English viscount. I could not choose sides when their great nations met in war, but I held no compunctions about plying my services against Bonaparte. It was during my time with the Prussians I learned to recognize typhus.”

John’s expression turned serious. “Does Neville and the others possess a chance of survival? Typhus spreads quickly.”

Timmons’s countenance betrayed the man’s lack of proper sleep. Only God knows each man’s fate. From what I could piece together of Neville’s story, he missed a ship of some kind.”

John supplied, “The
Tagus
.”

A light of recognition showed in the man’s eyes. “Ah. I knew Neville superior to his shipmates in intellectual understanding.” He topped off his tea with a bit of American whiskey, a fact John found more than a bit ironic. “Neville claimed someone attacked him, and he was impressed upon
The Lost Skies
. Although not accustomed to the work, the gentleman managed until a month prior when a German sailor joined the crew. Neville says within a week, all onboard were infected. Their ship was turned away from several ports before Neville convinced
The Lost Skies
captain to set in at Newcastle. The harbormaster contacted me because he knew of my experience with the disease. Unfortunately, the cases upon the ship were more progressive than I originally thought. I can find no one but a poor lad to assist me. In fact, Baron, you are risking your life by being in this facility.”

“Then you must leave, my Lord.” John looked up to find Miss Neville framed by the open door.

He stood and extended his hand to her. “Come, my Dear. If it is dire circumstances, which God means me to know, then I am pleased for your company upon the journey.”

She said a bit testily. “I do not approve, Baron Swenton, of your twisting my words for your personal benefit.” However, she joined him in the cramped office.

John smiled easily. “Doctor Timmons, it is with the greatest pleasure I give you the acquaintance of Miss Isolde Neville.”

She presented the physician a proper curtsy.

“None of that, Miss Neville. We Americans are not so formal,” the physician protested good-naturedly.

The lady smiled at the man, and John knew instant jealousy. “My brother’s family is in the Boston area,” she confided. “Liam often writes of the differences in the societies.”

Timmons motioned her to a nearby chair. “May I pour you some tea, Miss Neville?”

She shot John a disapproving glance. “No, Sir. His Lordship’s servant was quite adamant I eat heartily before I left the inn. Now, I beg you to speak of my father’s condition. I assume he is under your care or Lord Swenton would be having your facility searched as we speak.” She slid her hand into John’s larger one, and he knew the wonder of such intimacy.

Timmons’s frown lines deepened along his forehead. “I fear, Miss Neville, it is not good news. Your father and the others I am treating have contracted typhus.”

“Are you certain?” Miss Neville frowned in genuine concern. “It has been many months since my father has been in Ireland. He could not have contracted typhus there, and as a scientist, he is quite responsible when in less civilized countries.”

John confided, “Doctor Timmons has reason to believe Mr. Neville was impressed into service upon a ship. Another of the sailors carried the disease onboard. Only Timmons would accept the patients when they landed in England.” …..

She argued, “Typhus is not deadly if it is caught early.”

“Unfortunately, these cases are advanced, and I am but one man. Although I attempt to do so, in reality, I cannot tend all those who are ill. I must choose those who are likely to survive and those who will perish.”

Immediately, she declared, “You cannot play God with men’s lives.”

“What would you have me do, Miss Neville?” Timmons argued.

John looked on as Isolde bit her bottom lip in indecision. “I will assist you. I fear not the work.”

John protested, “You cannot, Isolde. The disease spreads too easily.”

Before she could object, Timmons said, “Perhaps I should explain a few precautions I have learned regarding the spread of typhus.” He paused only a matter of seconds before he continued. “While with the Prussian Army, we discovered that cold weather has a most beneficial effect during the inflammatory stage of the disease. The cold keeps the lice from spreading. Infusium chamomillae in wine appears to prove advantageous for irritation of the bowels. It works well as an emetic when warm and as a tonic and nervine when cold, both are concerns with typhus. Sulphurius extracts can be used for fluid in the chest cavity, swollen limbs, and weakness in the extremities.

“A Prussian army physician by the name of Krantz published an extract a year or so prior on the conditions we encountered as we chased the French troops from Moscow. My concern is I have these men cooped up in my small infirmary. During the war, those treated on the march showed a greater recovery rate than those in the hospitals. The difficulty is the lice can easily leave one man and attach themselves to another.”

John’s scowl sharpened. “What must we do to save Neville and the others? It does not appear productive simply to wait out the disease.”

Timmons leaned into his chair. “As May arrives tomorrow, and it is no longer cold, I cannot place the ill in a wagon, as we did during the war, and drive them about the countryside until they are well. The only choice is to keep this facility sparkling clean–drive the lice from the beds and the clothing upon the men’s backs.”

“That task does not appear impossible,” John mused. “Clean water and soap. What more is required?”

Miss Neville’s enthusiasm grew quickly. “As I said previously, I am not afeard of hard work, Doctor Timmons; I am strong enough to scrub floors and do laundry. I shall do whatever is necessary to see my father well.”

John interrupted, “I do not wish to see you on your knees, Miss Neville. Timmons, why do we not begin with clean linens and bed clothes for the men each day?”

Timmons shook his head in denial. “It is impossible to find anyone willing to take in the laundry of those so ill. People would fear the linens would be tainted by the disease.”

“Then do not launder the soiled items. Burn them instead,” John insisted.

Timmons admitted, “I cannot stand the expense.”

John assured, “I can. I will open an account at whichever mercantile you name for the items you deem necessary to cure these men.”

“My Lord, it is too much!” Miss Neville protested.

“It will never be enough. I owe you a debt of gratitude for your service to my family. Permit me to return you to the loving embrace of your father.”

Timmons caught John’s free hand in grateful anticipation. “Perhaps the lady will not accept, but I do so willingly. If I can stifle the spread of the disease, I can guarantee a substantial rate of recovery.” He glanced to where John still held Miss Neville’s hand. “I believe the baron would prefer I do some of the cleaning myself rather than to place you in a precarious situation by accepting your kindness. Perhaps, Miss Neville, it is best if you return tomorrow and permit me time to do some proper housecleaning.”

“But what of my father? I wish to see him,” she protested.

Timmons smiled knowingly before motioning to John. “Miss Neville is not to enter the infirmary, Baron,” he said as he stood slowly.

“I understand, Timmons.”

The physician explained, “I will assist Mr. Neville to the door, but you are not to enter the room or to touch him, Miss Neville. I am looking forward to your assistance, and I will not have you take ill.”

“Just a hint,” she promised. Timmons disappeared down a narrow hall, and John was alone with her. “You are too generous,” she said, but her eyes searched the hall’s shadows for a glimpse of her father.

“I can never be too generous where you are concerned,” John said honestly. “When you are prepared to depart Newcastle, send word to Marwood, and I will send a carriage to fetch you and your father.”

“My Lord,” she began in opposition. “You must know I cannot return to Marwood. Lady Swenton no longer requires my service.”

“I do not care what my wife requires. I find your presence essential. I cannot survive if you are not there to speak to my unreasonableness. You are my true friend. Even when I disapprove of your advice, I appreciate your honesty.”

“Papa will wish to return to Dublin,” she insisted. Before John could convince her, a door opened at the other end of the hall, and immediately, Isolde was on her feet and moving. John scrambled to catch her, wrapping his arms about her waist and pulling her to him, Isolde’s back plastered to his front. “Papa!” she called to the figure Timmons supported against him. “Papa! It is I. Isolde. I am here, Papa. I mean to see you well!” She fought against John’s hold, but he was the stronger.

“Izzy?” The haggard-looking man rasped. “Izzy?”

She half cried and half laughed. “Oh, Papa. I am here. I shall be with you tomorrow. Listen to Doctor Timmons.” Miss Neville quit her maneuverings. “I love you, Papa.”

“Love you, Izzy.”

With that, Timmons turned Neville around to return the man to his bed. Isolde clung to John, turning her to bury her tear-stained cheeks in his cravat. “He did not appear to suffer hopelessly,” Miss Neville whispered. “Would you not agree, my Lord?”

John thought the hollow-eyed man appeared to be Death walking, but he did not say so. “Your father knows you have come for him. He has an excellent reason to live.” John thought her a superior motivation to know health. “Come. We should return to the inn and bathe. Wash our clothing thoroughly. Timmons can present his list of supplies to Peter. We will dine together and plan how to proceed.”

*

After a leisurely-consumed nuncheon, John had convinced her to join him for the afternoon. “There is a street fair I thought you might enjoy. Perhaps you will discover a special gift for your father.”

“A new shirt to wear home after he recovers,” Isolde said wistfully.

John suggested, “Or a journal in which to record his memories of what has occurred. It would be a compelling read.”

And so, he had called for her in midday, but John immediately knew this would be no ordinary day. The woman who answered the door to her room had taken his breath away. Wearing a simple gown of royal blue satin, she was quite perfectly the most handsome woman of his acquaintance. “Magnificent,” He murmured, and she had blushed, but a large smile graced Miss Neville’s very tempting lips.

“Lady Lowery presented me three gowns once worn by Sir Carter’s sister. I made them over into something more practical. This is my first opportunity to wear this particular gown.”

John’s voice sounded husky, but he managed to say, “I am honored to be the first to view you in it; possessing a lovely lady on my arm names me as blessed among men.”

“Lord Swenton,” she protested with a girlish giggle, which removed the sting of her words, “you are a skilled flatterer.”

John feigned a stab of pain to his heart. “You wound me, Fair Lady.”

Miss Neville gathered her shawl and reticule. “I doubt the wound to be a mortal one,” she teased.

“Would you care to walk or ride?” He placed her hand upon his arm.

“Is it far?”

“A half-mile along the main road.”

They stepped into the early spring sun. “Have Mr. Hawkins follow us. As I suspect Doctor Timmons shall keep me quite occupied for the near future, I wish to savor this day.” John agreed, but for completely selfish reasons. After today, he must return to a woman who would never look upon him with the affection he could easily read in Isolde Neville’s eyes.

He gave his coachman instructions, and they set off together. The sun was warm, but there was a steady breeze to cool their faces. They paused periodically so the lady could enjoy a display in a store window before moving on. Surprisingly, Miss Neville never stopped to look longingly upon dresses or frills. Instead, the lady looked lovingly upon a toy dollhouse and a wooden gun. “Gormlaith and Davin would love those. Although several years apart, they share a birthday.”

John enjoyed the pure emotion upon her countenance. It was refreshing to know a woman who did not hide her happiness or her anger. A man would always know whether this particular lady favored him or not. No guessing. No feminine games.

“Look!” She rushed forward for a better view. “What do they celebrate?”

John smiled down upon her. “According to the innkeeper, it is the Festival of Flora. It began yesterday and will end on Saturday.”