Katie’s Hero (19 page)

“It was a fine thing you did, sir, jumping in to get him,” Katie knelt down and scooped Bob into her arms and told him what a naughty boy he was, until Michael pulled at Katie’s arm and whispered something in her ear.

“No!” she said.

“Yes,” Michael insisted. “I have seen the evidence with my own eyes.”

“Are you sure, sir? Maybe you thought you saw something you didn’t.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Katie. I know the difference between a stallion and a mare. This used to be one of the finest stud farms in the country, and though a horse’s anatomy is
slightly
different, I can assure you that young Bob here is a little filly.” He glanced at the surly child standing on the jetty, and smiled.

Katie was astounded. “And she’s hidden it all this time.”

“Very unobservant of you, Miss Rafferty,” Michael said, grinning at Bob. “Not to spot that one of your charges is a girl — and a very pretty little girl at that!”

Bob smiled shyly at Michael, and that clinched it for Katie. The tyke was a self-conscious young lady receiving her first compliment, without a doubt.

“But why, for heaven’s sake?” Katie wanted to know.

“To be with her brother, of course,” Michael said. “Twins. Unbreakable bond and all that.”

Katie felt a bit of a fool.

• • •

By mealtime it was obvious something was wrong with Michael. At first, Katie thought he was brooding. He was very quiet during the meal and hardly touched his food, though chicken in wine sauce was one of his favorites. Katie was busy with the children after supper, but she resolved to go and find him after they’d gone to bed to see if she could work out what was wrong.

She found him in his library, poring over a medical journal full of articles about spinal injuries. He was hunched up in his chair, pale and shivering.

“Oh sir! Are you all right?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. He tossed the medical journal aside disconsolately.

Tentatively, Katie touched a hand to his forehead. “You have a fever.”

“Do I? I don’t feel hot, though. I feel cold.”

“You’re sickening for something,” she said. “You should go to bed.”

“Will you come with me?” he said, but his eyes betrayed his exhaustion, and his smile was weak and faint.

She pursed her lips, and tried to make light of his remark. “Share your bed and catch the dreaded lurgy? No thanks, sir.”

“Seriously Katie, I need your help just to get to the other room, I’m afraid.”

That didn’t sound good. All the fight seemed to have gone out of him along with the light in his eyes. “I’ll tuck you in,” she said, softly. “Of course I will.”

He shivered as she helped him undress. Tenderly she undid his necktie, and set aside his gold tiepin. He watched her affectionately as she undid the buttons down the front of his shirt and slipped it off his arms.

He lay back on the bed and let her undo the button-fly that fastened his trousers. Her fingers were quick and efficient. He gave her a regretful smile, and placed his hand on top of hers for a moment, to slow her down.

“I’ve often imagined you doing that.”

“I daresay you have, sir, but you’re in no fit state to flirt with me now.”

She dragged off his pants in a business-like manner and he almost convulsed with the cold. Beads of perspiration stood on his chest and his skin was pale. His whole body shivered and he was grateful when she fetched his dressing gown.

“Shall I ask the doctor to come up to the house?”

“Certainly not. I don’t want that arrogant know-it-all prodding and poking me around.”

“I think you need the doctor, sir.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. You are not to call him without my express instructions. It’s nothing. Just cover me up and I’ll sleep it off.”

Katie pulled the covers out from underneath him, then she hauled them up and over his freezing form to tuck them around his sides.

“I’ll check on you in an hour,” she announced, as if he had no say in the matter.

“I should like that,” he said, and managed a grin, but then he groaned. His head was throbbing, and his bones ached. It hurt when he tried to move and it was easier to keep still.

• • •

Katie knocked on the door an hour later, but his lordship didn’t reply. She took her courage in her hands and pushed her way inside. He was worse, restless and burning with fever. He didn’t even notice when she laid her hand on his forehead. His dressing gown had fallen open and his whole body was clammy and pale.

She ran to soak flannels in a bowl and sponge his face. First, she would cool him off, and then she was ringing for the doctor despite his instructions.

She tried to get him to drink something, but the way his head lolled away from her when she raised the cup to his lips set warning bells ringing. This wasn’t just a common cold. She sponged him over once more, afraid to leave him even to make the telephone call. Nevertheless, she slipped into the hall, picked up the large polished receiver and asked for Dr. Larchwood’s number.

“Please hurry,” she said, when the man came on the line. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. I’ve never seen someone go downhill so fast.”

The doctor arrived twenty minutes later, his worn leather bag in his hand. Katie showed him to Michael’s room and watched in high anxiety while he poked and prodded, just as Michael had predicted. Maybe it was just as well that he was oblivious to it all.

The doctor’s face was lined and inscrutable, but when he asked her to step into the hallway, Katie’s heart sank. When that happened back in Ireland, it was usually time to call for the priest.

Larchwood spoke in a low voice. “It’s possible he may continue to get worse.”

“I’ll nurse him,” she said. “But you need to tell me what to do.”

“My dear girl. His accident weakened him — and it’s been less than a year since it happened. He’s been trying to do too much, too soon. His upper body may be strong but he’s as thin as a rake, and being confined to a wheelchair means that his circulation isn’t as good as it used to be. I have to warn you, Katie, this fever might be too much for him.”

Katie almost covered her ears with her hands, like a little child who doesn’t want to hear the truth. “No.”

“He’s been so unhappy since his accident, he might just slip away. It might be easier on him.”

“No,” she growled. “What kind of a doctor are you? He’s a young man of twenty-six with his whole life ahead of him, and you think it would be better if he died!”

“Katie, what kind of life can he realistically have?”

“A good life. A fine life.”

“What happiness can he have? He’s been as close to misery as a man can be for months.”

“Not lately, doctor. He’s been much happier. And the children adore him.” Katie wanted to say that she adored him, too, but she didn’t quite have the courage.

“I daresay they do, but he still seemed very melancholy to me last time I saw him as a patient. You’re a kind-hearted girl, and you value life highly, which is all to your credit. But he’s weak and tired. Take yourself up to bed, and try to get some sleep, but prepare for bad news in the morning.”

“No.” Katie heard her own voice ringing out, threads of desperation clinging to its echoes. Fear of losing Michael gave her the courage to grab the doctor by the lapels and shout in his face. “Get yourself back in that room, Dr. Larchwood. Whatever drugs you have in that bag that might save him, show me how to give them to him. Whatever it takes to keep him alive, we’ll do it.”

Still Larchwood hesitated. “My dear girl. Don’t get so upset.” He tried to placate Katie, but she refused to listen.

“You have to help him!” she screamed, and she shoved the doctor through the doorway of Michael’s bedroom.

Michael stirred and gave a kind of disturbed murmur of pain when the two of them crashed into the room. It had a sobering effect on both Katie and the doctor. Dr. Larchwood frowned and felt Michael’s brow.

“He’s in the grip of a fierce fever. I can only do what I can.”

Katie looked up at him sharply. “As long as you
are
doing what you can, doctor, I shall be happy.”

They worked on Michael all the evening. The doctor set up a saline drip to keep the fluids up and he taught Katie how to check the drip line and administer injections every two hours. Together they tried to make Michael more comfortable, and all the while, he slipped in and out of a feverish, delirious sleep. Katie soaked the warm flannels in cold water and washed the sweat from him endlessly.

Dr. Larchwood observed her from a chair by the fireplace. “You were in nursing, in Ireland?”

“I was meant to be, but things didn’t turn out as I planned.”

“You would have made an excellent nurse,” he said. “Tenacious, quick to learn, compassionate.”

Katie was silent. She did not admit that it was more than compassion that motivated her now — much more.

At half past two in the morning, Dr Larchwood announced he was going home.

Katie was panic-stricken. “You can’t leave me here alone. The crisis hasn’t passed.”

“Fever doesn’t reach a crisis, Katie. And we’ve done everything we can to make him comfortable.”

“I don’t want him to be comfortable; I want him out of danger. You’ll be well paid, for heaven’s sake. Stay and help me nurse him.”

Dr. Larchwood shook his head. “I have to sleep sooner or later, my dear. I have other patients who will need me in the morning.”

“Then leave me what I need for the drip.”

Larchwood nodded his agreement.

He laid out the supplies, placing them in order along the top of the French-polished side table. Then he turned to go.

His hand was on the brass doorknob when he turned back to speak to Katie. “He’s lucky to have such a loyal friend to guard his life.”

“It isn’t luck, it’s irony.” Katie’s tone of voice was grim. “He saved my life once, and I wasn’t grateful. I regret that now, and I must fight for his life in return.”

• • •

Another hour later, Michael was still delirious.

“Michael, can you hear me? Stay with me. Please, don’t give up,” she begged.

She sank down onto the bed beside him. His eyes were half-closed, but she thought she saw a flicker of recognition. She took hold of his shoulders and shook him, trying to help him stay conscious, trying to get him to stay with her. His hold on life seemed fragile and she was terrified he would let go.

He murmured something so softly that she almost missed it, but she thought it sounded like, “Forgive me.” A pang of terror went through her, a sharp scythe of fear.

“No! I’ll never forgive you if you leave me, do you hear?” She stroked the hair back from his forehead with the damp flannel. The cool water seemed to bring him some relief, and his blue eyes flickered open as he struggled to focus on her face. “Oh, Michael. This is all my fault.”

“Not your fault,” he murmured. “Katie … I wanted you … so much … but I … can’t walk … never will.”

She started to cry. “I don’t care what you can’t do. I’m in love with you, and I have no choice in the matter. I love everything about you, including your disability, and that’s the truth.”

“Katie … ” his breathing was shallow and rasping, and she was filled with a panicky sense of desperation.

It was time to play her trump card, no matter how much it cost her. “I remember you,” she said. “That night in London, when you carried me down to the shelter. You saved me. You know you did.” She scanned his face. She wasn’t sure if he heard her or not, but it had to be said. This was the confession she couldn’t give the priest.

“You saved me, sir, that night in the Tube station, and you gave me a life worth living here in this house with you. Please, my lord …
my love
… let me save you. I’ll die of grief if you leave me!”

“Katie?” he said and his eyes opened. He touched the side of her face. His fingers were trembling and clammy.

She leaned forward, yearning to hear him speak. “I can hear you.”

He twisted his face into a smile, with a huge effort. “Too tired … forgive me.”

Katie was frantic.
He doesn’t care if he lives or dies!

There was nothing else she could try — the doctor’s drugs would either do their work, or they wouldn’t. Katie’s heart was heavy, and she was tired, too. She lay down on the bed beside him, exhausted and wrung out.

She curled up on the bed beside Michael. She placed a protective hand on his chest, kidding herself that if his heart stopped beating, she’d feel it, even if she were asleep. She’d wake, she was sure she would, and she might just be able to revive him before it was too late.

• • •

Later, Katie was downstairs in the back scullery, emptying the enamel slop bucket down the drain as fast as she could to rush back upstairs to Michael.

Where there’s life there’s hope, she kept telling herself. It was a relief he had made it through the night. Dr. Larchwood was certainly surprised. He’d promised to call by again later, to help her to keep up the medications.

Bob appeared in the scullery, dressed for the first time as a little girl. “I want to show Mister Lord how I look, Katie. Can I?”

Katie straightened to look at Bob, who did look very adorable in her little short dress that showed her knees. Mrs. Jessop had managed to scrape her hair, short though it was, across to the side and hold it back by a clasp with a pink bow on top.

“He’s very ill, Bob. As soon as he’s well enough, I promise I’ll take you up there, but not today.”

Mrs. Jessop appeared in the doorway and the two women exchanged a silent conversation: Is he better? Mrs. Jessop’s rheumy brown eyes answered in the negative. He could still die. And if he does, Katie thought, will you be the one to tell the little girl, or will I?

“It’s because of me he took sick, isn’t it?” Bob looked up with worried hazel eyes. “Because he jumped into the water.”

Mrs. Jessop put a hand on Bob’s shoulder, and spoke with unfamiliar gentleness to the little girl. “We’ll go feed the chickens. You’d like to do that, wouldn’t you, dear?”

And after they were gone, Katie finally allowed herself to wonder what would happen to them all if Michael didn’t recover. She supposed they would all be sent to live their separate ways so the house could be sold.