Page 15 of The Case at Castle Rock Cove (Beau Monde Secrets #4)

W hy did Lady Wilhelmina close her eyes? Maybe Ben was sitting too close to her. But if that were the case, wouldn’t she simply move farther away? If anything, he thought she might have leaned in a bit closer.

Ben’s heart thumped unevenly. If he leaned forward and slanted his mouth down, he could easily kiss her... but of course, she would probably slap him if he did that.

Or would she? What if she wanted him to kiss her? It couldn’t hurt to ask. Unless it did hurt, of course.

Before he could shape his amorphous thoughts into a coherent sentence, disaster struck.

“Mr. Radcliffe!” a voice called. “We need your assistance!”

Just like that, all the romance of the moment melted away. Ben closed his eyes as disappointment weighed him down. Then he pushed his feelings aside and opened his eyes again. The urgency in the governess’s voice meant he had more important things to worry about than kissing.

“Yes, Miss Hadfield?” He rose to his feet and hurried to meet her. “What is wrong? Did someone get hurt?” Fear turned his trot into a jog. What if Lady Phoebe had played too close to the ocean and—

“Your aunt is very sick,” Miss Hadfield explained. “A sudden stomach upset. She may need your help to get back to the house.”

Stomach trouble again? A shiver ran down Ben’s spine. An ominous possibility hovered just past the reach of conscious thought. But the idea, whatever it might be, vanished as soon as he tried to capture it.

No matter. If the idea was important, it would return.

For now, Aunt Faith needed him. He found her sitting halfway up the stone staircase that connected the sandy cove to the cliffs above. Doubled over in pain, she had already vomited once and looked as if she were about to be sick again.

“I can help you move her,” Miss Hadfield suggested. “It might be best if Lady Inglewhite and the others go back to the village, so they won’t be in our way.”

She stared at him, but it still took entirely too long for him to realize that she was waiting for him to make a decision. With his aunt unwell, all the responsibility of hosting the gathering fell on his inexperienced shoulders.

He lifted his chin, hoping he looked more confident than he felt. “Yes, that might be best. There is no need to keep everyone standing around while I take my aunt home. If you will assist me in getting my aunt back to the house, we can send you home in our carriage later, Miss Hadfield.” He did not like drafting one of the guests into sick duties, but it would have been difficult to get his aunt home without help.

He made a hasty apology to the other concerned guests, then helped his aunt walk back to the Tower. Even with Miss Hadfield’s help, the journey was a difficult one.

There were few things that drew Grandfather Marlowe out of his study in the middle of the afternoon, but today he abandoned his writing to hover over his daughter’s bedside.

“Have you sent for the doctor?” Grandfather kept asking, though the answer remained the same.

“Yes, Grandfather,” Ben assured him. “I sent for Dr. Milner.”

He knew, though, that it might take hours to locate the physician. The closest alternative was the local apothecary, but the treatments Mr. Chapman had offered Grandfather Marlowe’s dyspepsia had never been very effective. Ben saw no point in summoning him now.

As the hours ticked by, Aunt Faith’s condition worsened. Just as in the case of Ben’s illness a few weeks ago, her vomiting was followed by a violent flux. The housekeeper, Mrs. Smith, suggested that they try administering the same colic medicine Ben had taken when he was last ill.

This seemed to help. By the time Dr. Milner finally arrived, Aunt Faith had gotten over the worst of the diarrhea. Ben, hoping for a good prognosis, watched anxiously as Dr. Milner put his stethoscope to the patient’s chest and listened.

When the doctor lifted his head, he still looked grave, and some of Ben’s optimism faded.

“Her heartbeat is quite erratic,” Dr. Milner warned. “That may be a result of the lowering effects of the vomiting and diarrhea. We can try to treat those symptoms—the colic medicine was a good idea. Keep administering that. In addition, make sure she drinks plenty of water. If her stomach will allow it, some beef tea may also be given. I dare not prognosticate as to how this case may develop.”

Grandfather Marlowe shook his head. “I thought at first that Faith had finally inherited my tendency towards dyspepsia. But she is far sicker than I ever was. I cannot remember the last time anyone in the household was this unwell!”

Ben frowned. “I don’t know. This seems much like the gastritis I had back in April. It took me a few days to recover, but I am perfectly well now!” Hopefully, Aunt Faith would recover just as quickly.

But when he glanced at the doctor, hoping to see some sign that he shared Ben’s optimism, Dr. Milner’s expression remained grim.

“You are also more than twenty years younger than Miss Marlowe,” the physician reminded Ben, “and you generally enjoy good health. That can make an enormous difference in a case like this, you know.”

“I see.” He turned back towards his aunt. “We must make sure you rest, Aunt Faith.”

A brief smile flashed across her exhausted face. “I can hardly do anything else at the moment.”

So strange to see her laid low this way! She was older than Ben’s mother, but she remained quite active, and illnesses rarely kept her down for long.

Dr. Milner cleared his throat. “Now, if you gentlemen have no other questions, I do have a patient in Newell to visit—”

Ben interrupted him. “I do have one question.” He hesitated, not certain that this was the right time to ask.

“Yes?” Dr. Milner said encouragingly.

“Why do we keep having attacks of gastritis?” Ben asked. “Surely it isn’t common for two people in the same household to have attacks a month apart, is it?”

“We’re coming on summer now,” Grandfather Marlowe pointed out. “Quite common for people to have stomach upsets in the summer, isn’t it?” He glanced expectantly towards Dr. Milner, waiting for the physician’s confirmation.

Ben, on the other hand, uneasily shifted his weight from one foot to another. He did not want to contradict his grandfather, but that explanation didn’t make sense to him. In Ben’s experience, most seasonal illnesses came in clusters. A whole household might fall sick in a matter of days. But Aunt Faith’s gastric attack had occurred weeks after Ben’s sickness.

Dr. Milner frowned. “As I am sure you know, many diseases are communicable. If your gastritis was caused by a miasma, the same thing might have struck your aunt. Or there might be some problem in the kitchen. Many a stomach upset has been caused by food gone off or meals improperly prepared.”

“Yes,” Grandfather Marlowe agreed. “That probably accounts for it. I have heard of whole households falling ill because of a single rancid dish. I shall have a talk with the cook.” He smiled down at his daughter and patted her hand. “We shall have you up and well in no time, Faith.”

“I hope it is as simple as that,” Ben said, but he remained skeptical. There had been no change in the kitchen staff this spring. It did not make sense for a cook and a kitchen maid who had prepared perfectly wholesome meals in the past to suddenly begin producing tainted food.

“For now, we must hope for the best.” Dr. Milner patted Ben on the shoulder. That gesture, more than anything else, indicated how concerned he was.

*

The next day, Aunt Faith showed little improvement. Her stomach could handle only beef tea and dry toast, and she continued to complain that her heart “fluttered” and skipped beats. None of this sounded at all promising, but Ben tried to keep his pessimism to himself.

He sat with his aunt for an hour in the morning, reading from one of her favorite collections of poetry, Lavender and Lilacs . Ben did not understand half of the flowery metaphors, but there was something satisfying about the regular rhyme and meter. More evidence that Wordsworth’s theories were correct, perhaps?

“It’s a pity that I ruined your picnic,” his aunt said. “I know you were looking forward to it. Please tell your guests how sorry I am.”

“You didn’t ruin it!” Ben protested. “You merely caused it to end a little sooner than expected, and I am sure neither Mrs. Trimmer nor her cousins hold you to blame. But if you like, I will convey your apologies to them.”

He might believe the apology to be unnecessary, but it gave him an opportunity to write to Lady Wilhelmina, or rather, to her family. There was, he supposed, no way that he could send a note specifically to his friend.

Not unless he wrote it in between the lines.

Normally, Ben preferred direct communication. He would rather say what he meant than hint or beat around the bush. He was not at all sure that Lady Wilhelmina would understand his cryptic hints, but he could think of no better way to communicate.

After he explained about his aunt’s illness and passed along her regrets, he added a paragraph specifically for her.

It is a pity that Lady Wilhelmina left before we could test my theory about dog training. I am sure that if a springer spaniel can be taught not to be anxious around guns, a water spaniel can learn not to fear water. The question is, what reward might provide sufficient encouragement? I will continue to investigate. It might help if I explored other locations, rather than confining myself to the cove. This Thursday , I plan to take Cato to Newell beach rather than to the cove for his morning walk. Perhaps the new location might lead to a new solution. Who knows what we might find there?

He read over the paragraph, knowing it might not be clear enough. Even if Lady Wilhelmina recognized his attempt to arrange a meeting, she might not approve of such a clandestine rendezvous. She had more to lose than Ben did, a lady’s reputation being so fragile.

But he could think of no better plan, so he signed the letter, sealed it, and sent it into town with one of the footmen. Then he cracked open the door of his aunt’s room and peered inside. She slept, though the foul smell lingering in the room indicated that some of her digestive symptoms must have recurred. Maybe she needed another dose of medicine.

Ben did not enter the room—he did not want to wake his aunt. Instead, he hovered in the doorway and watched her sleep. He wished he could share his grandfather’s optimism, but all he could think of was the somber expression on Dr. Milner’s face.

Aunt Faith’s initial symptoms had seemed similar to Ben’s previous illness, but surely, he had never looked so stricken, so weak. His heart had never skipped beats or fallen out of rhythm. He’d only had an upset stomach, the sort of thing that could happen to anyone.

What, he wondered, could have made his aunt so sick, so suddenly?