Page 32 of The Quiet Wife (Stately Scandals #2)

Speke Hall – Liverpool

Unlike Fannie and Florence, Elinor was not feeling better when Frances returned to the girls’ room. She was curled up beside Florence, face flushed and eyes glassy, while Nanny fussed over them.

“I’m hot again, mama,” she moaned as soon as Frances entered the room.

“Oh, my!” Frances hurried over. “What a to do.”

Elinor looked up with dark, beseeching eyes. “Fannie and Florence feel much better. Why don’t I?”

“Perhaps it’s just taking you a little longer to recover, my love. Just be patient.” She smoothed Elinor’s hair, careful not to irritate the rash on her forehead which still looked sore.

“It’s because I’m younger, isn’t it? It’s because I’m little.”

Frances tried valiantly not to allow her own thoughts to head in that direction. Her baby was going to be fine. Absolutely fine.

“Not at all, my love. Here, let me make you comfortable.”

Florence moved from the bed, and Frances shook out the pillows, straightened the sheets, alarmed at how warm Elinor’s whole body was.

When she settled back down, she sent Nanny for Anna and asked her to bring some of the Gibson’s calamine lotion, some cool cloths, and the tincture the doctor left during his most recent call.

She busied herself with the other girls who were tired and unwell, but without the fiery temperature that Elinor still had. She tucked them all into bed, and by the time Anna arrived, Elinor was groaning feverishly.

“What is it, my love?” Anna smoothed a hand over Elinor’s hair.

“My eyes are burning.” She broke out into a hacking cough and then wailed that her throat and chest hurt.

Frances swallowed, fear seizingg an icy grip on her heart.

Lizzie arrived, and between them they administered the tincture, bathed her hot body, applied the lotion, yet nothing was working to bring the fever down.

Elinor lay limp in the bed, her eyes closed, her chest wheezing as she struggled to draw breath.

Lizzie held Elinor’s hand. “What’s happening?” she whispered.

“Just having a minor setback,” Frances said. “Nothing to fear.”

“Mama,” Fannie said in a small voice. “Is Elinor going to be all right?”

“Of course. She’s just going to need a little more nursing than you girls did. Try not to worry.”

As the day wore on, Elinor deteriorated.

Frances was beside herself with worry. A hurried conversation in the corridor had them agreeing that Fannie and Florence should move to different rooms. Elinor didn’t awaken as they moved everything swiftly and quietly.

The two older girls held onto each other, murmuring prayers for their little sister.

Jemie and Anna were ever present, and Lizzie and Nanny Jenks made sure that everyone ate to keep their strength up.

Frances sat by her daughter’s bed, holding her hand, stroking her hair, and singing softly to her because Elinor had opened her eyes and said that she liked it.

The fever was worse than ever.

Jemie sent for Doctor Emslie, and it seemed to take an age for him to come.

He studied the patient and Frances waited for him to say those magic, reassuring words, that all would be well.

That they just needed to wait for the fever to recede.

To say that she would be right as ninepence and be running around and causing mischief within a day or two.

But he didn’t.

He examined her thoroughly, making her moan, but not waking her up. He listened to her chest, tapped on her back, looked into her eyes…

He turned to Frances. “Mrs Leyland, I’m afraid your daughter is gravely ill.”

No, no, no, no…

“I fear that the next twenty-four hours will be critical.”

She felt Jemie move closer to her and slide an arm about her waist. She was grateful for it, otherwise she may have fallen to the ground. Her legs were shaking so badly, and her entire body felt weak.

“What can we do? What can I do?”

“Exactly what you have been doing.”

“But there must be something else we can give her?” Lizzie spoke up, her voice thick with tears. “Something that will make her well?”

“You have done all you can. All we can do now is wait and see if her body can shake off the fever.”

Frances leaned into Jemie, who stood firm beside her and tightened his grip.

“I will sit with her.” Frances nodded as though speaking to herself.

“We will take turns,” Lizzie said. “You should eat.”

“I will sit with her,” was all Frances could say.

Anna saw the doctor out, and Frances pulled up a large chair beside Elinor’s bed. She reached out and stroked a lock of her hair.

“Don’t you worry about a thing,” she whispered to Elinor. “All will be well, you’ll see. We are all here, and we all love you.”

She heard Lizzie sob and glanced over to see Jemie lead her out of the room.

Frances sat with her baby and sang.

***

Jemie wrapped his arms around his mother, and she held him tightly.

“This is terrible,” he exhaled as he pulled away. His mother nodded, tears welling in her eyes. “She should send word to her husband.”

Lizzie got up, dashing the tears from her cheeks with her fingers. “I’ll do it,” she offered. “I’ll tell him he needs to get himself home forthwith.”

“Be gentle, darling,” his mother advised, moving to stand before Lizzie.

“Gentle?” Lizzie said with an expression of tempered emotion.

“I shan’t be gentle. I shall tell him the truth, given he couldn’t be bothered to stay and care for his children.

I shall tell him that his youngest daughter may not live to see the morning.

So, if he would like to see her one last time, he needs to get himself into a carriage and come home.

Now.” Her voice was rising until it broke on a sob.

“I know, love. I know,” his mother took Lizzie into her arms.

“What else should I say?” she asked, swiping at the tears that fell. “What am I supposed to say to the man who, upon hearing three of his children had scarlet fever, went to work rather than be with them? Rather than support his wife in tending to them?”

Jemie was forced to acknowledge she had a point and one he’d pondered himself several times without landing on a satisfactory answer.

“Listen to me. Frederick Leyland is not a good man,” his mother said to Lizzie, startling Jemie with her bluntness. He could see that feeling mirrored in Lizzie’s eyes. “If you are cold and disrespectful to him, who do you think will bear the brunt of your words? You, or your sister?”

“Frances,” she whispered.

His mother nodded. “Frances. So, you will send a nice, but concerned note that Elinor has taken a turn for the worse and the doctor feels it might be best for him to return. Tonight.”

Lizzie closed her eyes and swallowed, but acquiesced.

His mother regarded him in a pointed fashion. He was reasonably sure she was informing him to keep his mouth shut, so he remained obligingly silent.

Lizzie disappeared to fetch paper and pen, and his mother sagged into the chair, one hand over her eyes.

She looked up at him and shook her head, hissing under her breath. “What a mess. Frederick Leyland wants shooting.”

“No argument from me there. I’ll arrange for Frances to have a tray in her room and take it up.”

“You will not.”

He blinked.

“Do you believe me when I say Leyland will take it out on Frances if Lizzie sends a note with a tone of censure in it?”

He nodded cautiously.

“Well, what do you think he would do to her if he came home and found you and Frances together in the bedchamber of his child?”

“Give me some credit, mother. He’s not even here yet.”

“But he will be. And this is his home. Frances is his wife. Elinor is his child.”

“Mama…”

“I’ve said this to her sister, and I’ll say it to you. Do not give that man a stick to beat his wife with because he most assuredly will use it. If you care about her, you need to protect her.”

***

The clock chimed two o’clock in the morning, and the house was deadly quiet.

Jemie walked silently to the kitchen and set about making some tea with his mother’s words ringing in his ears.

Leyland still wasn’t home and there was no sign of him.

What father wouldn’t come home immediately?

But then again, he reasoned what kind of husband left his wife to deal with a tragedy of this magnitude in the first place?

He poked at the fire beneath the stove until it burst into life, before placing the teakettle over it to boil.

He searched the pantry and found a slab of fruit cake, so he cut her a piece and put it on a plate.

He added milk to the tray but didn’t bother with sugar, as she never took it, and headed to Elinor’s room.

He tapped, juggled the tray, and let himself in.

Frances lay on the bed beside Elinor, who appeared terrifyingly like a porcelain doll but with a glistening sweat over her forehead.

“I brought you tea,” he whispered and laid the tray on the tallboy. “How is she? Any change?”

Frances shook her head. “None. She’s asleep now, but she keeps waking with nightmares. She was convinced that she was being chased a little while ago. It’s terrible.”

He poured the tea and placed the cup and saucer on the table beside the bed alongside the cake, despite knowing she would not touch it.

“Is there anything I can do?”

She shook her head. “No. We just have to wait.”

“Do you want me to wait with you?”

Frances gazed at him with her heart in her eyes. “I’d like that more than anything, but it wouldn’t be sensible, would it?”

He shrugged. “I’m not noted for being sensible.”

Her smile was sad.

“Well, I’ll keep coming back to see how things are. Surely no-one could argue with that?”

“Probably not.”

“Should I bring more tea with me?”

She nodded and reached for the cup. He watched as she took a sip, then returned it to the saucer. The rattle told him how upset she was, and he forced himself to leave her so as not to make things any worse for her should Leyland deign to come home.

He walked to his own chamber and threw himself on the bed. He lay there a moment, then began gathering his sketchbook and charcoal. He spent an hour drawing furiously, before heading out for the kitchen to make more tea.

When he arrived at Elinor’s room, he found Frances struggling to prop her daughter up to give her more of the draught the doctor had left.

“Let me help.” He put the tea tray down and hovered, feeling helpless.

“Can you pour it in the cup?” Frances said, as she settled Elinor against her and wrapped an arm about her shoulders, clamping down Elinor’s arm that thrashed about. The child was moaning softly and even in the candlelight, he could see the sheen of fever on her face.

He poured and handed it to Frances, who tipped it against Elinor’s lips.

“Drink, my love,” she urged.

Elinor spluttered and coughed and tried to squirm out of her mother’s grasp, crying that she didn’t like it, but Frances kept a firm hold.

“Elinor, Jemie is here. Look. He’s come to tell you he will paint your portrait when you are well.”

Elinor blinked, eyes dull and glazed over.

“Jemie?” she croaked, then coughed.

“I’m here, pretty girl,” he spoke softly. “Will you let me paint your portrait?”

She nodded.

“Can you drink the medicine? It will make you better and then we can get started sooner.”

She nodded again and opened her mouth. Frances tipped it in, and Elinor swallowed before coughing again.

Frances let her lay back against the pillows and arranged the light sheet over her. She ran a cool cloth over her face, then kissed her forehead.

“Did Lizzie write to my husband?” she asked without looking up at him.

“She did. She sent a note with the footman.”

“How long ago?”

“As soon as you asked.”

“Has the footman returned?”

Jemie felt awkward not wanting to make her feel worse. “It… took him a while to find your husband. The footman returned about midnight.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Jemie took hold of Frances’ hand and brought it swiftly to his lips before letting it go and watched as Elinor settled down again and appeared to fall back to sleep.

“Perhaps you should close your eyes too?” Jemie suggested.

Predictably, she shook her head. “I can’t. I need to watch to see if she deteriorates.”

“Frances…”

“I do . I’m sorry, but I do. I need to be here with her. If I’m going to lose her, I need to hold her hand and say goodbye when that moment comes. I can’t… can’t risk falling asleep and her slipping away.”

Jemie took a long moment to gather his composure. When he did, he pulled up a chair and placed it on the other side of the bed. He sat in it, took hold of Elinor’s other hand.

“We will hear if your husband returns. Any sound at all, and I’ll disappear.”

“You shouldn’t,” she protested but it was a weak effort.

“I know. But if you think I’m leaving you to deal with this alone, you’ve got bats in your attic.”

“Thank you,” she choked.