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“I hear Ballantine paid you a visit.” James heard the antagonism in Osgoode’s voice, though he tried to mask it.

“I know what he was after. He’s my client, after all.

” He nudged an uneven floorboard with the toe of his boot, studying the rough edge.

“I could take a trip up to Holland Landing. Just to get the lay of the land, so to speak.” Osgoode’s voice was deceptively innocent.

Holland Landing was rumored to be the hub of rebel activity.

James could only imagine the damage Osgoode could do to Andrew’s reputation if he found hard evidence of his involvement.

James forced a smile that probably matched Osgoode’s in its insincerity. “No, no, I’ll take care of it.”

Osgoode lingered a moment longer. “Well, do let me know if there is anything I can do to help.”

James sighed once the man had finally taken his leave. He needed to give Andrew his serious attention. Yet he couldn’t leave Evie with only Betsy for company. Especially not now, when she wasn’t feeling well.

He’d noticed the first symptoms at breakfast today.

Evie winced as she swallowed her porridge, pushing away the bowl after a few bites.

Her eyes were heavy, and her cheeks flushed.

He sent her back to bed with assurances from Betsy that her Mam’s mustard plaster and a cup of tea would have the girl better in no time.

But when James returned home from the courts that day, Evie was fevered and miserable. A worried frown replaced Betsy’s former confidence. He sent for the doctor and spent a restless hour at Evie’s bedside, coaxing her to drink her tea.

“Putrid sore throat,” the doctor pronounced later that evening, looking grave. He felt along her swollen neck and shook his head, gesturing for James to follow him out into the hall. “Keep an eye out for a rash. Could be scarlatina.”

James looked back at his daughter with a sickening flash of fear.

He’d nursed her through several colds and fevers, but he’d never seen her so sick she wouldn’t talk.

Wouldn’t swallow her tea or beg him to read her a story.

He didn’t know much about the illness, only that it was often fatal. Especially in children.

“The scarlatina?” Betsy spoke from the landing, her voice filled with horror.

The doctor nodded. “Heard there was an outbreak. Haven’t seen any cases among my patients, but you can’t be too careful.”

“What can we do?” James said.

He handed James a small bottle of laudanum. “Give her a few drops in water if she should grow too restless. I’ll return in a day or two. Maybe bleed her then.”

After seeing the doctor out, James went back to Evie’s side. She opened her eyes. “Oh, Papa, I feel so awful.”

“I know, my love. Here, take some more tea.” Evie drank, her forehead crinkling in pain as she swallowed.

“I can’t imagine how you caught this. Unless—” He paused, remembering Evie’s disappearance three days earlier with a flash of dread.

“When you went to find Sara, was anyone sick? Did you go anywhere else besides Granny’s home? ”

Her chin wobbled. “It was a long walk. I stopped... some children gave me a drink.”

James let the panic wash over him, leaving him cold.

He’d kept her safe for ten years and now—his hands clenched with a burst of anger.

First, Evie has her heart broken, and now she ends up sick.

And somehow Sara O’Connor is in the middle of it.

His logic told him he couldn’t blame it on the laundress.

But at this moment, logic wasn’t ruling his thoughts. Fear was.

“Come, let’s say our prayers.” Prayer was the only antidote to fear he’d ever found. He repeated the familiar words with her, but his soul cried out its own lament. Please, God, see us through this. Make her well.

“Rest now. Betsy will have you on the mend in no time.”

But the next morning when he entered the kitchen, Betsy was tying her bonnet. “My mam’s sent for me,” she announced, avoiding his eyes. “I’m needed at home.”

James stood for a moment, speechless. “You’re leaving? For how long?” James’s mind felt scrambled. It was hard enough without Mrs. Hobbes. If Betsy left them...

“I left broth on the stove and two mustard plasters there.” She gestured to a cloth-draped plate on the counter.

“You ready?” A boy with Betsy’s dark eyes stood at the back door. The wind was cold today, rife with the threat of snow, but he seemed loath to enter the kitchen. “Mam said I was to get you home right quick. Didn’t want me catching—” He broke off with a self-conscious glance at James.

Betsy hustled him out the door and James sat down at the table with a thud. He was alone, holding his daughter’s life in his hands. He bowed his head. Be with me, Lord. Show me what to do.

Betsy’s broth and plasters proved no match for the march of Evie’s illness.

She grew hot and restless, refusing to eat or drink and a bright red rash spread up her neck, announcing scarlatina.

The doctor came in the afternoon and bled her, leaving James with only the dubious assurance that time would tell.

James sent a hasty note to Andrew, but he wasn’t surprised when the messenger returned with a scribbled note from Andrew’s manservant explaining the younger man hadn’t been home in days.

James ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t have time to worry about Andrew now.

His mind spun in ever-widening circles, following the doctor’s vague instructions to the letter, although the laudanum and heavy covers he prescribed only seemed to make her more restless.

James sat by her side through another night, seeing no improvement. Please. Don’t let her die.

The delirium that came next was the most terrifying symptom yet. She didn’t respond to him, though she cried out in pain whenever he lifted her to drink. Then her mutterings took a definite form, one which had his heart sinking.

“Sara,” she cried out, over and over. “I need you. Come back.”

He soon grew so sick of the woman’s name that he wished he had cotton to stuff in his ears.

“Who is this Sara?” Dr. Whittaker asked at his next visit.

James sighed. “Just a friend she had at Cooper’s Inn.”

“Hmmm. Too risky to bring another child in.”

“Not a child—a servant.”

“A servant?” The doctor paused, seeming to weigh the information. “Well, you need help with the nursing, Kinney.” He returned to packing his implements. “I’ve made inquiries, but most won’t come when they hear it’s scarlatina. Terrifies people, that one does. You think this Sara would help?”

James shrugged. Sara O’Connor was many things, but a coward wasn’t one of them. He could hardly send for her, though, seeing as how he’d all but forbidden her to see Evie again. Besides, what could she do that they weren’t already trying?

“If you could get someone who’s had some experience with the disease...” The doctor shook his head. “Well, that’s neither here nor there.” He gave James’s shoulder an awkward pat, his worried eyes on Evie’s still form. “A few more days and we’ll know.”

Know what? James was too terrified of the answer to ask. Instead, he watched the doctor leave, his hand holding tight to the doorjamb.

Oh, God, what am I supposed to do now?

A flicker of movement outside the front gate caught his eye, followed a moment later by a shaggy red head that popped up over the fence.

“Henry?” The boy froze, as though he wasn’t sure whether to answer James or bolt. “Is that you?”

“Heard about Evie.” His hands came up to grip the fence. “I was wondering how she was.”

“She’s very sick.” James stepped outside and motioned Henry closer. The boy vaulted over the fence and trotted up to the porch. “How are you feeling?”

“Fit as a fiddle,” Henry said, but his cocky smile didn’t reach his eyes. “What’s wrong with Evie?”

There was no point hiding the truth. “Scarlatina.”

Henry didn’t flinch. A child from the slums had probably seen more than his share of disease. “Too bad we can’t fetch Granny.”

“Granny?” James repeated.

“Granny O’Connor’s the best healer in Irish Town. One of the grooms told me her tea saved his little sister.”

“Her tea?”

Henry nodded. “Got a special blend.”

A week ago, James would have no more thought of inviting Granny O’Connor to nurse his daughter than the Queen of England. But today was different. He was desperate. Today he faced the specter of life without Evie.

He dug in his pocket for a handful of coins. “Hire a carriage and bring Granny back. With her tea.”

Henry eyed the coins with interest but shook his head. “Can’t. Last I heard, she ain’t left her bed in days.”

His spark of hope fizzled out. “Ah.”

Henry tilted his head. “Sara might come, though.”

The name sent a jolt through him. “Sara O’Connor is a healer, too?”

Henry nodded. “She helps Granny.”

Evie wanted Sara. And if Sara brought the miracle tea with her, wasn’t it worth a try? He didn’t give his mind a chance to question the impulse. “Can you find Sara right now?”

“Aye guv, that I can.” Henry shifted his weight back and forth, looking like he was ready to sprint into action.

“Go. Tell her my daughter is ill and wishes to see her.”

Henry cocked an eyebrow. “You reckon she’ll come?”

James closed his eyes for a moment. “I hope so, Henry. I hope so.”