Louise M. Gouge (8 page)

Chapter Twelve

N
ot knowing whether to leave the front entry or go to her room, Anna watched as Lady Greystone conferred privately with Mr. Partridge. At last the vicar gave the viscountess a final bow and left.

Lady Greystone seemed to have forgotten Anna, for when she saw her, she raised her eyebrows and stared at her up and down. “Well.” Nothing in her expression revealed her thoughts, either approving or disapproving. “We go to the village this afternoon. No doubt you require a rest after this morning’s ride, so I will have your midday meal sent to your room.”

Understanding she had been dismissed, Anna curtseyed and began her ascent up the staircase. With each step her body ached from the bruising ride, but she forced herself to keep climbing in case Lady Greystone was watching her.

In the upper hallway she met Major Grenville, whose well-formed features were all the more handsome for the bright smile he gave her. “Did you have a pleasant visit with the vicar?” His dark brown eyes seemed to ask much more than his simple question.

“Yes.” Her throat closed with unexpected emotion. Had she accepted Mr. Partridge’s proposal, she might never again enjoy the major’s company, at least not in the same way. “I thank you for asking.”

“You’re welcome.” He continued to gaze at her, and she could not break the contact. Nor did she wish to.

But she must, so with some effort, she dismissed the foolish rush of feeling created by his presence. “If you will excuse me, Major, Lady Greystone sent me to my room.”

“What?” Now he frowned, but even so, his face was pleasing to her.

“I mean, she suggested that I should rest. We’re going to the village this afternoon.”

“Ah.” He breathed out a long sigh. “I thought perhaps…but never mind.” His smile returned. “Then go rest, dear lady. I did put you through your paces this morning, didn’t I?”

Anna gave him a playful smirk. “I continue to hope for that broken leg.”

His jolly laughter rang throughout the hallway, and he patted her shoulder as he walked past her on his way to the stairs. “And I intend to have you jumping within a fortnight.”

She could not help but laugh, too, despite the trepidation his warning generated.

In her room she searched for her woolen shawl to use as a cover. If she turned the bed down for her rest, the upstairs maid would have to come and make it again, and the poor girl had enough to do.

“Miss Newfield?” Mrs. Hudson tapped on the door and opened it slightly.

“Do come in.” Back in Blandon Anna would have offered her tea, but now she had no means of extending hospitality. “I thank you for your help earlier. I felt quite presentable after your ministrations.”

Unlike her previous visit not an hour ago, the woman wore a considerably brighter expression, almost a smile. “It was my pleasure, miss. Did you have a pleasant visit with the vicar?”

Anna stared at her. Why was everyone asking this? “Why, yes. Thank you.”

“How nice.” Mrs. Hudson’s eyes glistened. “Everyone’s so glad it turned out as it did.”

“But—” Anna dismissed her questions, for it all became clear. The footman inside the drawing room might look like a statue, but he most certainly was not one. He must have quickly spread the word about her conversation with Mr. Partridge. And to think that everyone who had heard about the proposal was pleased to know she had turned the dear man down. A funny little tickle in her chest bubbled up into a laugh. Undoubtedly Major Grenville knew all about it as well. From his merry mood, she could only assume he was also pleased. Such a happy thought made it impossible for her to fall asleep, no matter how much she needed the rest.

* * *

Edmond didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry to see Greystone return from his visit to Shrewsbury. He longed to spend time with his eldest brother and reestablish the close bond they had shared in childhood. But he must address the issue of Greystone’s prodding him about Miss Newfield once and for all. She had graciously dodged the cannonball of marriage while maintaining her employment, but Mother’s apparent complicity in the proposal revealed her awareness that the young lady was much more marriageable than her previous companion. Perhaps it had been a test to see if it was safe to keep her here with two unmarried sons, to see if she would set her cap for someone above her station. That thought brought him up short. In his view, Miss Newfield was every bit as worthy as any peer or aristocrat he’d ever known.

Greystone arrived in time to miss All Souls’ Day but not Guy Fawkes Day, one of the few annual celebrations during which he reveled in his lordly status with his tenants. In spite of a nasty cough, he ordered the requisite effigy to be constructed, candies to be made and fireworks to be prepared. The entire household welcomed him home and Mother ordered a supper of roast lamb, Greystone’s favorite, which he nibbled at without much comment. After the meal, he declined to gather with the family in the drawing room and instead took to his bed.

Mother’s concern was evident in the deepening lines of her face, but she conducted the evening’s activities without commenting on his uncharacteristic conduct. She even chose whist over a poetry reading or one of Mary’s pleasant but unremarkable recitals on the pianoforte. But her strategy at the game lacked its usual cunning, with only Miss Newfield playing a worse game. Finally, Mother announced she would visit Greystone and then retire, but left permission for the rest to entertain each other as long as they wished.

“Oh, dear.” Mary, as always, had eyes only for Richard. “Poor Lord Greystone. If Lady Greystone is worried, his illness cannot be insignificant.”

Seated beside her on the settee, Richard patted her hand. “Do not fret, my darling. It cannot be good for our son.” He shot a glance at Miss Newfield and Edmond, and his color heightened.

Edmond could not fault him for his concern and even envied him a little for the devotion they shared. He and Richard had managed to have a few conversations without Mother’s interference, but Richard was often preoccupied with making certain Mary was not overtaxed. Perhaps this small gathering was fortuitous. Although Miss Newfield had been in the house for over two weeks, he had yet to see Mary speak to her. But then, as the niece of a baron, she might feel it beneath her station to befriend an employed gentlewoman, even though they were both daughters of clergymen. The idea burned in Edmond’s chest like a hot stone, not against Mary, but against the entire social system that refused to value a person not born of the aristocracy. He would hate to see Richard become the kind of minister who deferred to the wealthy and spurned the poor, something clearly forbidden in scripture. A plan formed in his mind to search out his brother’s convictions in the matter. He hoped Mary and Miss Newfield would join in the conversation.

“Well, then, how shall we amuse ourselves?” Edmond eyed each of his companions. “Another game of whist? Mary, you can take Mother’s place.”

Her eyes widened with alarm. “Gracious, no. I have no talent for cards of any kind.”

“Ah.” Edmond had hoped for a casual discussion around the card table, but now he would have to open the topic a little more bluntly. “Then perhaps we are left with conversation to pass the time. Tell me, Richard, in your studies of scripture, what say you about the passage in chapter two of James in regard to respect of persons?”

Richard blinked and one eyebrow quirked upward. “Do you study scripture yourself, Edmond? Will you enter the ministry, then?” His expression softened. “Or did your battle injuries persuade you of your mortality and drive you at last to seek God?”

Irritation grated through Edmond. Richard had always been the conscience for his brothers and had been grieved by Edmond’s disastrous youthful escapades. But then, as the youngest of the three, Edmond was often the recipient of unwanted advice, as though he did not possess a brain to figure things out or learn from his mistakes. He started to deflect Richard’s intrusive question with a self-protective barb, but that would not help Miss Newfield. Instead, he gave his brother a rueful grin.

“No. My quest for the Almighty began when I met a remarkable young lieutenant named Newfield. His faith set an example for the entire regiment.” He had not intended to say that, but from the sweet smile on Miss Newfield’s face and the shock on Mary’s, he knew it was right.

Richard shot an uneasy glance at Miss Newfield. “The same man who—”

“Saved my life. Yes, one and the same.” Edmond must keep the conversation from speculation about Newfield’s demise, lest it distress the young lady. “But about the passage in James. Does it not say that we are not to regard one person as more important than another, no matter their position in life or the clothing they wear?”

“Yes, of course.” Caution colored Richard’s tone.

“Then how do we justify the teaching of the Great Chain of Being, which values kings and nobles as closer to God than the rest of us? Or aristocrats such as you and me as more valuable in His sight than a courageous lieutenant who was born to the gentry?” Once again, he found himself returning to Miss Newfield’s brother.

Richard stared off for a moment. At last he returned his gaze to Edmond. “Perhaps you are confusing the positions in which we are born with our value to God.”

“But that’s my point exactly. Saint Paul tells us in Galatians that we are all one in Christ. How does a Christian society dare to value one man more than another when the Lord clearly does not?” Edmond ran a hand through his hair. From Mary’s pinched expression, he could see he had offended her.

“You almost sound like an anarchist.” Richard chuckled. “Or an American, what with their rebellion last century and this ridiculous war over British deserters.”

“All of this talk wearies me, my love.” Mary shifted uncomfortably on the settee. “May we retire?”

Edmond ground his teeth but forced a smile. “Forgive me, sister. Such conversation is not fit for a lady in your condition.”

With Richard and Mary leaving the room, Edmond had no choice but to retire as well. Even with the footman at the door, it would not be proper to spend the evening alone with Miss Newfield. Discouraged by his failure to persuade his brother, Edmond trudged up the stairs beside her, trying to think of something pleasant to say before they went their separate ways.

At the top of the staircase she touched his arm, and an agreeable warmth ran up to his shoulder. “Major Grenville, I appreciate your kind words about Peter.” She peered around him toward Richard and Mary, who were halfway down the west hallway. “I believe we both can recognize the value of a man as God sees him, but we live in a fallen world in which things are seldom as they should be. Thus we must abide by society’s prevailing ideas and find a way to serve God where He has placed us.”

He took her hand and gazed down into her lovely green eyes, which tonight had a weary grey cast to them. “Ah, dear lady, but those misbegotten ideas lead to wars in which good men die and nothing ever changes.”

A shadow passed over her fair face, and he wanted to kick himself for that cruel allusion to Newfield’s death. Then she smiled and leaned toward him with a confidential air.

“But things do change. I will confide in you that I admire the Americans for winning their freedom from the Crown. Although I am thankful to be an Englishwoman, God made it abundantly clear that He wished to create a new country with a new form of government.” She gasped softly and stepped back, her eyes wide. “Do I sound like a traitor?”

He gave her a crooked grin. “Prodigiously so. I shall have you arrested on Friday.”

“Friday?” She laughed. “Why then?”

“Because it’s Guy Fawkes Day, the day when all traitors must learn how we deal with them.”

She made a snickering sound that, coming from her, was entirely ladylike. “Then I must get my rest before I am carted off to the Tower of London.” After a playful curtsey, she took a step toward the east wing.

Before he could stop himself, he gently grasped her arm and turned her back around. He had meant to make a jest, asking her preference between the beheading and hanging, but when he gazed again into those shadowed eyes the question seemed out of place. Instead, he took her hand and kissed her fingertips.

“Good night, dear lady.” Surprised by the emotion in his voice, he cleared his throat.

“Oh, Major, I pray you are not succumbing to Lord Greystone’s illness.”

To his shame, in his eagerness to forge a friendship between Miss Newfield and his sister-in-law, he had forgotten his eldest brother was sick. Even now Greystone’s violent cough could be heard down the west hall. As always, Miss Newfield thought of others instead of herself, and in doing so, set an example for Edmond. In fact, she excelled in every way, from her agreeable association with the schoolchildren to her kindly rejection of the poor vicar’s proposal. Would that they could breach Society’s walls and spend an eternity inspiring each other to good deeds. The thought brought him up short. Yet, at this moment, he could find no fault in his desire to see it come true.

Chapter Thirteen

“H
is Lordship coughed all night, miss.” The girl who brought Anna a pitcher of hot water each morning, along with the latest household news, worked at the small hearth to revive the fire. “Lady Greystone’s been with him the whole time.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Betty.” As Anna splashed water over her face and neck, she tried to think of how she might help her employer. When she had heard the viscount coughing the day before, echoing
Papá
’s final illness, it concerned her more than a little. Learning he had not rested increased her alarm.

“Aye, and Major Grenville rode out at dawn to fetch the physician.” The girl stirred the coals into a flame around a small log.

“Oh, my.” Poor Major Grenville, having to ride today when yesterday’s excursion had caused him pain. Although he had not complained, she had seen him wince as he walked last evening. An unexpected warmth infused her chest as she remembered the tender way he had kissed her hand, no doubt as reassurance that he had not considered her comment about the Americans seditious. How pleasant to have someone with whom she could banter over the absurdities of life. In truth, she enjoyed every minute in Major Grenville’s presence.

“Will there by anything else I can do for you, miss?”

“No, Betty. Thank you.” Eager to be of use to Lady Greystone, Anna dressed and hurried out of her room. She tapped on her employer’s door, seeking Mrs. Hudson.

The lady’s maid appeared straightaway. “Any news, miss?”

“No. I was hoping you knew something. What do you suppose I should do to help? What would Miss Peel have done?”

Mrs. Hudson snorted. “That one? She’d cower in her room and pray not to catch the sickness.”

“Oh.” Anna could think of no response, but sympathy for the late companion was never far from her thoughts. “Should I go to Lord Greystone’s room to help?”

Mrs. Hudson wrung her hands. “I wouldn’t like for Her Ladyship to be displeased with you.”

Anna almost blurted out that she had never actually pleased their employer, but bit back the uncharitable thought. “I cannot sit by and do nothing.”

“No, I suppose not.” Mrs. Hudson squeezed Anna’s hand. “And it’s more your place than mine to offer help.”

Anna nodded, even though she failed to understand the division of duties in this household. Why couldn’t everyone just do what was necessary? With no one to answer her questions, she hurried down the hall and made her first foray into the west wing.

Long before she reached Lord Greystone’s room, she could hear his deep, harsh cough even through the heavy white door. She knocked softly, yet the sound caused her stomach to do a turn. She prayed she was not making a mistake. But after six months in
Papá
’s sickroom, she would not shy away from doing anything required to help the viscount.

Gilly, the viscount’s valet, peered out, his usually tidy appearance utterly rumpled. “Yes, miss?” The middle-aged man’s eyes were bloodshot, his pale features haggard.

“Good morning, Gilly. Would you please ask Lady Greystone how I may help her?”

“That’s most kind of you, miss.” He offered a weak smile. “I shall inquire.” Leaving her there, he closed the door. In a few moments, he returned. “Her Ladyship says you’re to come in.”

Anna gripped her emotions and walked quietly across the red-and-gold carpet, resisting the urge to wave away the smell of sickness that assaulted her nose. The curtains of the canopied bed were closed. Lady Greystone sat in a red brocade wingchair, resting her head in one hand.

“How may I help you, my lady?” Anna whispered.

Lady Greystone looked up and her eyes widened in surprise. “Newfield. Ah, yes. Sit.” She indicated a wooden chair nearby. The lines on her face had deepened overnight, and like Gilly’s, her eyes were red from lack of sleep. “You tended your father in his illness, did you not?”

“Yes, my lady.” Anna wished she could grasp the lady’s hand to comfort her, but feared her employer might find the gesture offensive. “And many a villager through the years.”

“I see.” She inhaled a deep breath and let it out with a soft hiss. “I will depend upon you to sit with Lord Greystone when I must rest. Of course Gilly will be here, as well. Edmond should return with the physician soon.”

A dry, barking cough sounded from behind the curtain, followed by a groan.

Lady Greystone stood and pulled aside the curtain to reveal the viscount thrashing about in the bed and gasping between each cough. “Wring out the cloth and give it to me.”

Anna located a bowl on the bedside table and obeyed. Lady Greystone pressed the cool cloth to the viscount’s neck and forehead. He settled back down to an uneasy sleep.

“We’ve not had much sickness in this family. My boys are a hardy lot.” Lady Greystone appeared to talk to herself as she resumed her place in the wingchair, so Anna did not respond.

After a while, her stomach rumbled softly, and she pressed a hand against it. Not appearing to notice, Lady Greystone let her head loll against the chair wing.

“My lady.” Anna touched the chair arm. “May I have breakfast sent up for you?”

The viscountess rolled her head in her direction. “Yes.”

With no further directions forthcoming, Anna hurried to complete the task. She also made quick work of her own breakfast. It would not do for her to falter in her duties because of hunger. After eating, she made her way to the front staircase where she met Major Grenville just in from his errand.

“Is the physician with you?” A foolish question, for the front door was closed and only a footman stood by it.

The major touched her shoulder, worry clouding his brown eyes. “The man has taken to his own sickbed.”

Anna gasped. “Does he suspect an epidemic?”

The major shook his head. “No. He is suffering from fatigue and a severe pain in his chest.”

“Poor man. We must pray for him.”

He gave her a weary smile, but his gaze had turned intense. “Always thinking of others, aren’t you?”

“Am I?” Her heart fluttered under his scrutiny. She swallowed before speaking. “We must inform Lady Greystone.”

In the sickroom the major whispered the bad news to his mother.

“This is untenable.” She clenched her fists and her nostrils flared. “If he is not ill, he must come.”

The major shook his head. “The man could barely lift his head. He is having difficulty breathing, and he complains his entire left side is numb.”

“But he must come and bleed Greystone.”

At her words, Anna cringed. “My lady, forgive me, but my father’s illness was very similar to Lord Greystone’s. Each time the surgeon bled him, he grew weaker. It did not help at all.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Greystone huffed. “Everyone knows bleeding releases the evil humors.” But a hint of doubt colored her tone.

Anna decided to press the issue. “My lady, does the scripture not say that the life of the flesh is in the blood? Why then do we take from the sick person the very thing that can heal him?” She saw Major Grenville’s eyebrows arch in surprise. Somehow she must encourage him to be her ally in this matter, so she gave him a quick nod.

“What?” Lady Greystone glowered at her. “Where does it say such a thing?” She paced back and forth across the carpet. “Never mind. I will ask Mr. Partridge.”

Anna wondered why she would not inquire of her son, who had studied the scriptures and resided right across the hall. But with the physician unavailable to do the bleeding, the matter was not urgent. Perhaps Lady Greystone would accept other suggestions.

“There were certain treatments that relieved my father’s suffering. Perhaps we could apply them to Lord Greystone.”

Lady Greystone ceased her pacing and glared at her accusingly. “But your father died.”

“Mother.”
Major Grenville’s scolding tone did not change the woman’s cross expression.

Anna appreciated his taking her part, but she was becoming used to the viscountess’s disposition. “Yes, he did, but he was much older, and I believe the bleedings hastened his death. I also believe Lord Greystone’s lifelong good health will help him overcome this.”

The viscountess pondered her words for several moments. “What do you advise?”

Anna thought of the various treatments she had administered to
Papá.
“If he can bear it, he should rest against pillows rather than recline. This will help him breathe more easily in spite of the congestion.” She tapped her chin, recalling her actions. “Then apply a plaster and give him clear broth, preferably chicken.” These actions might not have saved
Papá,
but they had alleviated his suffering and that of many villagers who had suffered violent coughs. “A potion of willow bark helps with the pain and fever.”

Once again, the viscountess appeared to ponder the suggestions. At last, she nodded. “Very well.” She strode across the wide room to the bedside. “Edmond, Gilly, help me with the pillows. Newfield, prepare the plaster and willow bark and order Cook to bring a broth.”

Over the next hours they administered the treatments Anna had prescribed. Each time Lord Greystone suffered another coughing spell, activity swirled around him. When he slept quietly against the propped pillows, everyone found a place to rest so they might be ready for the next attack. Lady Greystone refused to leave the bedside, but slept in the wingchair while Anna and the major took turns sitting nearby.

From time to time the viscountess would speak softly to the sleeping viscount, and Anna could not help but hear her words. “You must not die, Greystone, for Richard’s pliable nature makes him unsuitable for the responsibilities of a peer.” From her detached tone, one would think she was talking about some mundane matter instead of her eldest son’s life. “Do your duty and fight this illness. When we go to London for the Season, I will find you a suitable wife. Then you will have your own son for an heir instead of your brother.”

If the viscount’s illness were not so serious, Anna would have laughed at this little speech. How like Lady Greystone to insist that her son rise up from his sickbed for duty’s sake. But should God, in His unfailing wisdom, choose to take Lord Greystone from their midst, Anna had no doubt Richard Grenville could rise to the occasion.

Late in the afternoon, with the haze of a light slumber infusing her mind, Anna recalled a steam treatment one mother in Blandon had applied to her coughing infant. The child had survived. But while one could hold a baby near enough to a boiling teakettle to breathe the steam, how would one administer the cure to a grown man in his bed? Tiptoeing across the room to where Major Grenville rested in an overstuffed chair, she knelt down and posed the question to him.

“If I am not mistaken,” she added, “the mother put crushed peppermint leaves in the teakettle to create a fragrant mist that broke through the congestion.”

The major gathered Anna’s hands in his. “Dear lady, you have been a blessing and a lifesaver. I will see to it.” He grimaced as he drew in his stretched-out legs to stand.

“Sit still, Major.” Anna rose and patted his shoulder, as he often did hers. But was the gesture too familiar? From his gentle smile, she guessed not, and it pleased her very much. “I will tend to it. I know there are peppermint plants in the conservatory, but how can we bring a constant flow of steam close to him?”

Eyeing the room’s large hearth, he wrinkled his forehead in thought. “We should not move him, but we can set a small brazier on the side table, if we take care not to damage the surface.”

“Of course. I should have thought of that.” Anna experienced a flash of camaraderie with the major, almost as if they were comrades-in-arms in their battle for his brother’s life.

Within the half hour, they had aromatic steam pouring into the enclosed bed. By nightfall the viscount was sleeping comfortably.

* * *

Edmond jolted awake at a sound he could not quickly identify. Was it one of Greystone’s hounds growling beside his brother’s bed? In the blackened room, the light of a single candle floated in the darkness, illuminating Mother’s profile as she stood over Greystone. The sound came again, and Edmond realized his brother was attempting to laugh.
Laugh.
What grand news that was. In a thrice he joined Mother beside the bed.

“Say, old man, you shouldn’t frighten our poor mother this way.” Edmond had to force the last words out on a rushed breath to hide the emotions behind them. “Time to get back to work, whatever work it is that you do.”

Mother huffed out a cross sound but didn’t scold him.

Greystone chuckled, a horrible croak that nonetheless revealed a cheerful humor. “I’d be pleased to get to work, brother, but I fear you’ll have to take my place this year.”

“What are you talking about? Shall I go down to Parliament and tell them how to defeat Napoleon?”

A soft laugh sounded behind Edmond. He turned to see Miss Newfield’s radiant smile and merry eyes. At her beauty, his heart seemed to leap into his throat.

“No, foolish boy.” Greystone croaked out the words on a cough. “This is Guy Fawkes Day. As I am still in my sickbed and your Miss Newfield prescribes continued bed rest, you must lead the festivities.”