Page 15 of Whispers of Shadowbrook House

Mr. Ravenscroft tucked Madame Genevieve’s letter into his pocket and returned to the parlor he’d been sitting in. As Pearl began to walk away, Jenkinson’s hand landed on her arm.

In a sharp-edged whisper, the butler said, “No one asked for your approval. You mind your place.”

Pearl wanted to run, but she had no wish for Jenkinson to ever try such a tactic again. She reached up and pushed his hand away. “I know my place. It is with Maxwell, and it is both my responsibility and my pleasure to insist on the very best care for him.”

Without waiting for a reply, she walked out of the maze of hallways with her head held high. Only when she’d climbed the main stairway did she fully release her breath, and with the exhale, she felt her whole body shudder.

She’d rather have a dozen of those enormous wall spiders crawl down her dress than Jenkinson’s hand on her arm.

Only a moment brought her back to control, and she put her basket away in her room before stepping up to Maxwell’s door.

She gave her usual knock so he’d know it was her and waited for him to invite her inside.

When he was well, she liked to give him the respect of choosing when to allow her entrance, although he’d never denied her.

At the times of his most distressing illness, he was unable to even answer her knocks.

No word from inside the room.

She knocked again.

Nothing.

The third time, she rapped her knuckles quickly against the wood as she turned the knob, fear clawing at her throat about what she might find. Would he be pale and still against his pillow? Or red-faced and sweating, thrashing under his linen bedclothes?

She had no time for additional fears; the room was empty, the window in the far wall like a hole, damp gathering on the glass and sill.

Maxwell was not there.

At any other time, Pearl might have convinced herself not to panic, but her interaction with Jenkinson had left her unsettled.

She ran from the room and began pushing open doors along the hallway.

At least half of them were locked or jammed, but she threw her shoulder into each one, hope and fear spinning around her in almost equal measure.

Max must never be alone when he fell ill.

His sickness—the horrible, lung-wrenching coughs—came so quickly, and sometimes so violently, he couldn’t be on his own.

Now he was in danger, and it was her fault.

If she didn’t insist on a half day away from the house, whatever terrible thing had befallen Maxwell wouldn’t have happened.

Just like if she’d been home when her brother Edgar took ill, he wouldn’t have slipped into the darkness without seeing her face. Without hearing how she loved him.

Only when the pain in her throat matched that in her shoulder did she realize she was screaming for Maxwell.

Footsteps clattered on the staircase. Pearl ran to the base of the upper stairs as Maxwell came flying down.

He rushed at her, nearly bowling her over as he jumped from the last stair into her arms.

Close behind him, Oliver Waverley stuttered to a stop, but before she closed her eyes and pressed her face into Maxwell’s hair, she saw Oliver’s arms reach toward her as if to support her.

She did not need Oliver. All she required was Maxwell in her arms, squeezing her with all his meager strength.

Standing on the landing, rocking Maxwell in her arms, she felt her breathing calm and her heart regain its normal rhythm.

She warred with the urge to hold Maxwell at arm’s length and scold him—where had he been?

Didn’t he know how worried she would be?

—but she released the impulse after a few quiet moments.

She had no wish to shout at the boy, and certainly never wanted to frighten him.

He didn’t need to be reminded of his illness. When the coughing fits overtook him, he gasped and wheezed. His throat grew sore and his ribs ached. Some effects lingered long after others, and no one knew them more intimately than Maxwell did.

Pearl satisfied herself with asking the simplest question: “Are you all right?”

He nodded.

“You know I worry when you’re by yourself. But I’m here now, and I won’t leave you on your own anymore.”

Maxwell looked up into her face. “I wasn’t on my own. Oliver’s here.”

Pearl pretended it wasn’t a force of will that kept her from looking up at Oliver. Her conversation with Nanette echoed in her mind. Heroes and villains and literary love.

He couldn’t possibly understand the dangers of Maxwell’s condition, nor did he know how to help if something set the boy off. Such facts were easier to remember when she wasn’t looking into his deep brown eyes.

“Come on. Let’s get you back to your room.”

Maxwell didn’t move. “Don’t you want to see what we found?” He grinned as if he already knew her answer.

She couldn’t help it. She glanced up at Oliver, who still stood on the stairs. His smile held a hint of mischief, as if he dared her to come upstairs and join in their adventure.

“Wouldn’t you like to see what Miss Nanette has found for you?”

Maxwell clapped his hands together, a sure sign he was pleased. “Oh, yes. First we explore, then we read my new book.”

Then Maxwell began to cough. It wasn’t a loud, thundering sound; he didn’t have the strength for anything like that. It was a sharp gasp. A terrible wheeze. A squeezing of his poor, wretched lungs. Though it no longer surprised her, the sound broke Pearl’s heart.

Maxwell tried to speak through the cough.

“I’m fine. Just took in a bit of dust.” He pressed a fist to his chest, but even before he could pound out the possible cause of the cough, he folded into a ball and crumpled onto the lowest step, curling in on himself and panting for breath.

Puffing. Rasping. The fit went on and on.

Conflicting advice rushed into Pearl’s mind like voices calling to her.

“Take him to his bed.”

“Let him breathe outside air.”

“He must rest.”

“He needs to fight against his body.”

She could almost believe the whispers were real. For a moment, she wondered which to obey, but then she remembered it was only her own thoughts crashing around in her head.

Pearl placed a hand on the boy’s back and then lifted him into her arms. Oliver followed, asking how he could help, offering to carry Max, being attentive and generally in the way.

Pearl wanted to tell him to stay back, to remind him Max would have been fine if Oliver had left him alone to rest in his room instead of chasing him all around the house’s deserted attics and dirty passageways.

But she knew anything she said would land first on Maxwell’s ears, and she needed to appear calm.

Her worry would increase his, and that would only make the coughing fit worse.

“If you don’t mind,” she said to Oliver, forcing a calm into her voice that she did not feel, “you might open Max’s bedroom door for me. He’ll feel better after a rest.”

“Of course,” Oliver answered, matching her tone. He held the door open, and she carried Maxwell’s shaking body to the bed.

The boy sucked in a thin breath between coughs. These fits wore him out so quickly, she wasn’t surprised his muscles were rebelling. The twitching and convulsing might calm with a warm blanket and her gentle hands rubbing his back.

Pearl tucked Maxwell under the covers. He lay on his side, and she kissed his forehead before moving to the other side of the bed and sitting beside him, her hand against the curve of his back, drawing slow circles with her palm.

“Shh,” she breathed. “You are stronger than this cough. You can find your breath. It hasn’t really left you.

” She continued whispering soft words into his ear.

Sometimes this treatment worked within a few minutes, but it was taking longer than she liked for Max to regain control of his breathing.

She curled around him, his back against her stomach, and ran her hand up and down his arm, humming and soothing.

After a few long moments, the boy’s breathing eased, and soon—but not soon enough for Pearl’s comfort—he was able to take in an almost-normal breath.

Finally, he shuddered out a long exhale. In response, she felt her arm muscles loosen.

“There. Much better.” She stroked Maxwell’s hair away from his sweaty face and sat up, startled to see Oliver standing at the door. He hadn’t moved since she carried Maxwell inside the room.

Pearl walked around the bed to look into Maxwell’s face.

“Tight?” she asked. He often told her these coughing fits made him feel his chest was bound up with ropes.

He nodded and then shook his head. “I was. Not so bad now.”

He was clearly exhausted, his eyes damp and his cheeks hollow. Such a fit used reserves of energy the poor boy didn’t have. She brushed his hair away from his face with her fingers and kissed him on his forehead again. “Sleep now.”

“I’m not tired,” he said, but each word stretched longer than the last, and Pearl knew he’d be asleep in a moment.

She whispered in his ear, “I promise I won’t have any fun without you.”

He sighed and settled, a small smile making his pale face angelic. “I need to stay here in my bed.”

Pearl nodded and stepped lightly to the door. Oliver followed her out into the hall.

After he pulled the door closed without a sound, he leaned against it and rested his head on the wood, his chin tilted up and his eyes closed.

“I had no idea,” he began, but he seemed to run out of words.

“That was not a bad episode. He recovered quickly.”

“He needs a proper doctor’s care.”

He stated it as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her.

Pearl had never owned a cat, but she had seen plenty of them take a fighting stance, backs arched and spitting. Hearing Oliver’s simple offer of a solution to a problem she faced almost daily made her feel feline and more than a bit feral.

“He is in the care of a very fine doctor.” Her words held knives.

Oliver, his head still against the door, kept his eyes closed. “I hope it’s not Dunning. He came to care for me once when I broke my arm. The man had no sympathy and no imagination.”

She was in no humor to listen to anyone find fault with Maxwell’s care, especially someone who knew nothing about the boy’s history. Oliver’s flippant, casual criticism stung her.

“I assure you, Maxwell’s medical care is in hands far more capable and experienced than yours.”

She turned on her heel and entered her room, closing the door in Oliver’s face.