Forever and Forever (Historical Proper Romance) (27 page)

“I am so glad to be here,” Fanny said again, her cheeks hurting from all the smiling. “And I can hardly wait to see my dear sister.”

Robert smiled, but something about it seemed hesitant. He looked outside the carriage and said nothing.

“Is everything well, Robert?” Fanny asked with concern. “Is Molly all right? Ronald?”

“They are both well,” Robert said, but still hesitant. “An’ Molly was in fits about being unable ta meet you at the pier. She was so excited . . .”

“But,” Fanny added when he did not, watching a struggle take place behind his eyes. “What should we know before we arrive?”

“Molly told you she’s ’ad a difficult time of things since Ronald’s birth,” Robert began. “Only, I know she wishes she were more recovered.”

“It has been months,” Fanny said carefully.

Robert nodded gravely. “It was a difficult birth. There were moments when . . . Well, I need not speak of that now. They both came through an’ I cood not be more grateful. Only, Molly still struggles with her ’ealth and with her legs especially. She can only walk short distances an’ complains of a great deal of lingerin’ pain.”

“She’s seen a doctor, surely,” Tom said.

“She has,” Robert assured him, nodding for emphasis. “Three of ’em, in fact, but nae of ’em can explain her difficulty, though they ’ave given her medication to ease the pain. She will have times when she is much better, but then a week’ll pass an’ she’ll spend days in bed again.” He focused his attention on Fanny. “She is worried you will be disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” Fanny said, offended at the notion. “That she is ill? Whatever would make her think such a thing?”

“Disappointed that the two of you canna enjoy long walks an’ visit the shops as you expect to.”

Such excursions were exactly what Fanny had hoped for, but that was not why she had come. “I’m here to be with her and help her. Not judge her or cause her worry.”

“That’s what I’ve told ’er,” Robert said. “Only, with ’er discomfort comes some melancholia, an’ she is not always herself.”

Tom and Fanny exchanged a look of concern. Not herself? What exactly did Robert mean by that?

“I have noticed her letters have not been as enthusiastic as they once were,” Fanny said. “I assumed she simply missed her family. I had hoped Tom and I would be a remedy.”

“An’ I do believe you will both be exactly that.” Robert attempted a smile, but it did not reach his eyes nor soften his expression. “In fact, I hope an’ pray most fervently that you will be.” He swallowed what Fanny thought might be some emotion he did not want to express.

When the carriage arrived at the house in St. Catherine’s, Fanny forced a smile and said—for the second time—that all would be well. There could be no better medicine than a brother and sister to help one through difficult times.

The men and the driver set about unloading the carriage, while Fanny headed up the walk. She knew Molly had a nurse to help with Ronald, and a cook, but she was unsure if there was a servant to open the door or if she should let herself in. She kept thinking of what Robert had said about Molly’s difficulty with her legs. She was anxious about seeing Molly in such a state, afraid she would not be able to school her reaction.

Fanny had just stepped onto the porch when the door was thrown open to reveal Molly so changed that Fanny gasped at the sight of her. It had been only a year since Fanny had last seen her sister, but there was gray in Molly’s hair and her eyes were red as though she’d been crying. Her face was swollen, but the rest of her frame was very thin.

“Oh, Fanny,” Molly said with a sob. She nearly fell forward and Fanny had to hurry in order to catch her sister. “I’m
so
glad you’ve come.” The words were slurred and wet.

Tears came to Fanny’s eyes as she realized just how serious things were for her sister. She struggled to lift Molly into an embrace, holding her tight against her own body and leaning against the doorframe to keep them both upright since Molly was not fully supporting her weight.

“I’m so glad to be here,” Fanny said with forced brightness while Molly cried into her shoulder.
Thank heavens we came,
she thought as she turned Molly toward the inside of the house. Before she shut the door, she looked over her shoulder at Tom. He watched her with a fearful expression. She did not smile, rather she sent him a look of pleading. What had happened to their sister?

“I told you she was not well,” Robert said, defensive. It was past ten o’clock on the evening of Fanny and Tom’s arrival, but there had not been time to talk privately until now. Ronald and Mary had gone to bed—Mary with a heavy dose of opium that she’d seemed rather too eager to take.

“‘Not well’ is a bit of an understatement,” Tom said without a touch of humor.

“I ’ave done all I can,” Robert said, bristling. “I ’ave brought in doctors, nurses, staff I can nae afford. Nothing ’as helped.”

“You should have
told
us,” Tom said. “My father would have helped.”

“With money,” Robert said as though that were a paltry offering. “This is nae about money.”

“You just said you couldn’t afford her care,” Tom spat.

“Enough,” Fanny said with a calmness she did not feel. She raised a hand to her head that had been pounding for hours. She put her other hand over Tom’s and gave him a look she hoped he would understand. They needed to work
with
Robert, not against him. She smiled at her brother-in-law. “We are here now. And the three of us can work together toward her good.”

“I ’ave tried everything.”

“Don’t say that,” Fanny said, sharper than she intended. She paused for a breath. “What I mean is, don’t turn away from solutions only because the first attempt did not work at the time you made it.”

He seemed to understand and nodded, though she could tell he needed encouragement. What must it have been like for him these last months, managing his wife and child? Her heart went out to him, and she moved her hand from Tom’s to his, smiling with more feeling when he met her eye. “We all love Molly,” she said. “That is what we need to remember.”

“How can we help?” Tom asked, apparently willing to give up his ire.

Fanny smiled at him with gratitude. “First, we need to assess how much medication she is taking.”

“She is in so much pain,” Robert said.

“I have no doubt about that. But in watching her today, she takes laudanum more often than she should.” She met Tom’s eye. “More often than cousin William did when he was in distress.”

Tom’s look became even more serious. William had been taking the medication around the clock, but he was dying. His pain had been excruciating.

“And she is nervous about s’ many things,” Robert added. “The medication ’elps to calm her.”

Fanny nodded. “Well, we are here to calm her now.”

Robert looked doubtful, but Fanny pushed forward. “Tom, I deem you the entertainment committee. It is up to you to find places Molly will feel well enough to visit with us so there is more to discuss than her pain and the four walls of her house.” She turned to Robert. “Has she made any friends here?”

“Oh, yes,” Robert said, his eyes lighting up at the chance to say something positive. “My two sisters live nearby and visit ’er weekly. They genuinely enjoy one another’s company, an’ they know . . .
some
of what Molly is dealing with. There are a handful of neighbors, too, who visit every few days. They are not aware of how bad things are ’owever. I try to keep those visits short.”

That Robert’s position had ended a few months ago and he was now unemployed had not been spoken of directly, but Fanny wondered if perhaps that were a blessing. Without the need for him to leave home every day, there was someone to care for Molly. At the same time, Fanny had never known a man—except perhaps Tom—who was content without a career. She wondered at the toll Robert’s enforced idleness had taken on his own health, and how much his lack of employment might be affecting Molly. She may very well be taking advantage of her husband’s accessibility, and Fanny could understand why Robert had not found a new position when he was needed at home.

At least there was still money from Molly’s inheritance as well as some belonging to Robert. They were still able to maintain their lifestyle, though it was far simpler than what Molly was used to in Boston.

Fanny turned back to Tom. “I would like you to pay special attention to her friends.”

Tom’s eyebrows lifted, and Fanny could not help but smile.

“Not
undue
attention,” she said. “I’m not asking you to entertain them, only be attentive to those who are a more positive influence on Molly when they are here. We shall encourage those relationships and not invite anyone who might not improve Molly’s mood.”

“Ah, I see. I can certainly take charge of that. I’m an excellent judge of character, if I do say so myself.”

Fanny smiled, grateful for his lightness. She turned to Robert. “I would like you to ask around after the best surgeon in London.”

He opened his mouth to protest, and Fanny cut him off. “I know you have had doctors attend her already, but there must be someone of great renown, someone with a reputation of excellence that could give her a fresh perspective. You know enough people that if you were to ask, I’m sure you could find such a man. I am equally sure that if his fee is too severe, Father would be happy to cover the expense, for Molly’s sake.”

Fanny’s confidence seemed to lift his own, and he did not even argue Father covering the expense, for which Fanny was grateful. She did not intend to be the least bit economical when it came to Molly’s health, and she was grateful not to have to argue her point too intently.

“I shall ask after it,” he finally said. “Only I don’t want to embarrass Molly by making ’er struggles too public. She is very anxious about people knowing ’ow ill she is.”

“Then I suggest you ask carefully,” Fanny said with an encouraging smile. “Perhaps begin with your sisters, as they are already aware of some difficulty. They may be able to ask without revealing too much information.”

He nodded.

“And what is your task, Fanny?” Tom said, leaning back in his chair. “I’m to be entertainment master, and Robert is the medical liaison. What is your position in this little militia of ours?”

“I am to be her sister,” Fanny said, pushing up from the table to look between the two men. “I will help her run her household and enjoy her child. We shall go for a walk—albeit a short one—in this pretty park out front every morning, and I’ll make sure she takes in nourishing food. I will encourage her and support her and love her as only a sister can.” She paused a moment. “No offense to either of you, of course,” she said, her cheeks heating at the inadvertent insult she had offered.

“None taken,” Tom said while Robert nodded. “It may very well be the most important job of them all.”

Twenty-Eight

Mrs. Craigie

Henry finished reading “The Wreck of the Hesperus,” included in his most recently published book,
Ballads and Other Poems,
and closed the slim volume while looking at his audience of one.

Mrs. Craigie lay against the pillows, breathing evenly with a slight smile on her face. It was a few seconds before she fluttered open her papery eyelids. “It is a lovely work, Mr. Longfellow,” she said in a voice raspy with age and illness. “Thank you for reading it to me, drat these eyes of mine.” She blinked up at the ceiling as though that might help her focus, then spoke as if she were looking at him, though she was not. “I shall be eternally glad to have known a man such as yourself, Mr. Longfellow, and I take great pride in the fact that you produced such great work while living under my roof.” She reached a thin hand toward him, and he took it, feeling his heart swell with emotion.

“I shall be eternally grateful to you for housing me under said roof,” he said. “You nearly turned me away, you know.”

Mrs. Craigie closed her eyes and smiled. “I’d had my fill of students and was certain this skinny young man was yet one more of them.”

Henry laughed, though his throat was thick. “Skinny, yes, but not young. Why, I’m not sure I have ever been young.”