To Catch a Bride (25 page)

“Oh, I know, Higgins,” she said soberly. “My mother and father both died of it. Let us hope and pray that this is some other fever.”

Rafe straightened and shoved her away. He swayed in the doorway, using the doorjamb to keep him upright. “Plague?” he slurred, peering woozily at her. “I got th’ plague?”

“We don’t know for certain,” she told him soothingly. A positive attitude helped, she’d heard an Italian doctor say when Mama was dying. But Papa was already dead, and Mama had no one to live for. Only Ayisha. Without Papa, Mama had given up.

Ayisha looked at Rafe, shivering, his skin tight and hot and shiny. He was not going to give up. She wouldn’t allow it!

She tried to catch his arm, but he recoiled from her. “Go ’way,” he ordered. “Don’t come near me. Not get sick, not you. Not you.” He held out his hand to ward her off. “You, too, Higgins, out.”

“Now, see here, sir—”

“Out!” Rafe snarled. Years of army service did the trick. Higgins stepped out of the cabin. Rafe, looking exhausted by the effort of asserting his will, started to close the door, clinging to it for support as much as closing it.

“Look aft’r her, Higg’ns,” he ordered. “Your life on it.”

“I will, sir,” Higgins said, almost weeping.

“What do you think you are doing?” Ayisha demanded. “You’re not going in there to die, you stupid man. I won’t allow it.”

He smiled. “Bossy,” he said. “Li’l bossy cat.” Then he turned, grabbed a bowl, and threw up. “Bowls everywhere,” he mumbled. “Good man, Higg’ns.”

“It’s plague, I tell you!” a voice shrilled from the corridor. “He must be got rid of!”

Ayisha whirled and saw Mrs. Ferris urging the captain, several ship’s officers ahead of her. A gaggle of frightened-looking passengers peered from a distance.

“It’s plague! You must get him off the boat, Captain,” Mrs. Ferris reiterated.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ayisha demanded.

“Is it plague, miss?” the captain asked, his face grim.

“It’s fever, but I’m not certain it’s plague.”

The captain shook his head gravely. “I can’t afford to take the risk. I’m sorry, miss.”

“What do you mean, sorry? What are you going to do?”

“He’ll have to be set ashore, miss. Otherwise it’ll spread—”

“And we’ll all be dead!” shrieked Mrs. Ferris from the other end of the corridor. The other passengers murmured worriedly.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Ayisha snapped. “He’s staying here. I’ll look after him.”

The captain shook his head. “I can’t allow that, I’m sorry. I have the welfare of all my passengers to consider. He’ll be put in a boat and towed to the nearest shore.”

“To die, or be pushed out to sea by others frightened of infection, I suppose,” Ayisha said.

“No, you can go with him if you like and arrange for locals to take care of him.”

“How do you know there are any locals willing—or able?” she argued. She would
not
let them take him. Who knew what awaited them onshore? There could be wreckers, or pirates, or even hostile natives.

The captain snapped his fingers and his men wound rags around their mouths and noses. They donned gloves and moved purposefully toward the cabin.

“Stop them, Higgins!” Ayisha ordered.

Higgins gave her a helpless look. “There’s six of them, miss, and the captain as well.”

“
He
wouldn’t let those odds stop him!” She was almost weeping with rage.

“Give ’t up, sweeth’rt,” Rafe mumbled. “Cap’n’s right. Bes’ thing t’ do. Lose one man, save th’ rest.” He swayed toward the captain.

“Stop that, you fool,” she yelled and shoved him hard backward. He reeled and staggered back inside the cabin. Before anyone could say a word she’d followed him in, slammed the door, and shot the bolt.

“Miss Cleeve, open up. This doesn’t make sense,” the captain yelled, pounding on the door.

“I will lock myself in here with him and look after him. I know what to do. He is
not
going to die,” she yelled back.

“My men can kick down the door in seconds,” the captain warned.

Ayisha glanced desperately around, and her gaze lighted on a box containing the dueling pistols. She flipped open the box and took out the pistols. “I have a pair of loaded dueling pistols in here,” she called through the door. She had no idea if they were loaded or not. “The first man who steps through the door dies a certain death. The first two, actually.”

“She’s bluffing,” she heard the captain say.

“She’s not, sir,” Higgins said. “I know those pistols and they’re loaded, all right. Major Ramsey always keeps them primed and loaded.”

“Perhaps, but that sweet child wouldn’t hurt a fly,” the captain scoffed.

“She would and all, sir. Behind those pretty ways, she’s a born fighter,” Higgins assured him. “She’s lived a dangerous life, Miss Ayisha. Carries a knife and knows how to use those guns.” He paused. Ayisha listened. She’d never touched a gun in her life.

Obviously the captain wasn’t convinced, because Higgins went on, “She’s done for several men that I know of—right villains they were, of course, and deserving of it—but if she’s set on staying in there with Mr. Ramsey, Captain, I reckon you’ve got no option.”

Thank you, Higgins, Ayisha said silently, and forgave him his feet of clay. Would the captain believe it? she wondered.

There was a pause and she pressed her ear up against the door, wondering what they were saying.

“I promise you the infection will not spread outside this cabin,” she called out. “Higgins will bring me whatever I need and leave it at the door. I will take care of everything.”

“It’s madness, child,” the captain said. “You’re saying that you’ll stay in there until you are both well—or dead!”

“It’s not madness,” she assured him. “If it’s not plague, there’s no reason to put anyone ashore. But if it is plague, I can help. Both my parents died of it, but I didn’t, Captain—
I didn’t
. There must be a reason for that, and I believe this is it. I’ve lived in Cairo all my life and I’ve
never
fallen ill.”

She heard another lot of low murmuring.

“I promise you,” she reiterated, “if you break into this cabin, the first two men in here will die.”

“Very well, have it your own way,” the captain said heavily. “You’re either the stupidest young woman I have ever met . . . or the bravest.”

There was a pause, then she heard their footsteps receding down the corridor. Dimly she heard Mrs. Ferris complaining and some other passengers joining in. The sound receded.

With shaking hands Ayisha put the pistols down. They were loaded?

She turned to find Rafe watching her. He was shivering desperately, but his skin looked tight and hot. “Wha’ th’ devil d’y’ think you’re doing?” he grated in a hoarse whisper. “Get out of here.” His blue eyes blazed with fever and with rage.

“Don’t be silly, you need looking after,” she told him.

“I order you to leave!”

“Save your breath, I’m not a soldier, and I don’t obey orders,” she told him. “Higgins, are you still there?” she called through the door.

“Yes, miss.”

“Bring me sheets, towels, extra blankets, hot water, and hot ginger tea, lemons or limes, honey. The most important thing is to see if anyone on board has any willow bark or Peruvian bark. Or anything that would be useful for a fever—if they will give it to us, that is.”

“Peruvian bark will stop it?”

“I don’t know, but it can’t hurt. Nobody knows what cures plague or causes it. Some say it’s in the air, some say it’s a judgment by God, others say you get it from touching someone or eating certain foods. Everyone just has to guess, that’s the trouble. But I know Peruvian bark and willow bark are good for fever, so . . .”

“There’s a box of medical supplies—it’s the black one in the bottom of the trunk. It’s got Peruvian bark and willow bark. Can’t remember what else. I got it freshly stocked by the apothecary before we left London. As for the rest, I’ll do my best, miss.”

“Good.” She heard his footsteps retreating and turned back to Rafe. “Now we’ll have to get you up on that bed. You can’t stay on the floor.” She tugged at his arm, but he made no attempt to move. “You’ll have to help me, Rafe—I can’t lift you by myself.”

“Want . . . you . . . out,” he managed.

“No. Now I can do this with your help or without it, but it will be much harder for me if you don’t help.”

He pointed to the door, his hand shaking with fever. “Go! Geddout.”

Stubborn man. “I’m going to do this anyway and nothing you can say will make me leave,” she told him. “So if you could just help me to get you onto that bed . . .”

He struggled to his feet, fending her off and using the furniture to drag himself briefly upright before collapsing on the unmade bed. He tried to drag the covers up over himself.

“Not yet you don’t.” She grabbed the covers. “First we have to get those clothes off you.”

He tried to push her away, but the struggle to get to the bed had exhausted him. He’d stopped shivering. She felt his forehead. His skin was hot and dry and he was burning up.

She dragged his boots off, then his stockings. She unbuttoned and unlaced everything she could, then turned him on first one side, then the other, to drag his coat and waistcoat off. She decided to leave the shirt on, for the moment. She could easily lift it to check his armpits.

If it was plague, there would be swellings under his armpits or in his groin. She closed her eyes and prayed, then lifted the shirt and his arm.

“Wha’ you doin’?”

“Examining your armpit.” She felt it gently. No sign of a swelling there. Yet. Thank God.

Now for the groin.

She unfastened the front fall of his breeches and started to drag them down his legs, along with the cotton drawers he wore underneath. “Stop. What’ch doing?” he muttered.

“I have to examine your groin,” she told him. “See if there is any swelling there.”

He choked with what seemed like a laugh. “Not now. Maybe t’morr’w.”

She shrugged and dragged the breeches and drawers down his long, hard legs. He pulled the sheet over himself.

“This is no time for false modesty,” she told him. “I have to look.”

He gave her a baleful, fever-ridden, stubborn look and held the sheet in position.

“I’ve seen the male shape before,” she assured him. She’d seen Ali naked several times when he was a little boy. “And I need to check your groin!”

She yanked the sheet off and froze. The resemblance between what she beheld now and what she’d seen while bathing Ali was . . . vague at the very least.

This was a . . . a man. She felt a bit breathless.

A very sick man; she castigated herself for being distracted. She touched him gingerly, and slid her hand into the crease where his inner leg joined his body, avoiding his male parts as best she could, and felt carefully.

“Nothing,” she breathed.

“Wha’?”

“No swellings,” she assured him.

He opened one eye. “Course not. Too sick,” he mumbled, gave a convulsive jerk, and started shivering again. She quickly felt to check the other side, and again, thank God, there was no swelling.

“I’ll check again in an hour,” she told him.

“Cold,” he said, shuddering violently. She pulled the covers up and tucked him in. Still he shivered. She fetched more clothes and tucked them around him. He huddled into them, his eyes closed.

She found the small medicine chest and examined its contents. There were at least a dozen stoppered jars containing various substances, but although they were all clearly labeled, she wasn’t sure what most of them would be used for. Two she did know and gave thanks for: Peruvian bark and willow bark.

A quiet knock at the door startled her. She jumped up and snatched the pistols. “Who’s there?”

“Higgins. No one else, I promise, miss.”

She wasn’t sure whether to believe him. If the captain held a gun on him . . . “Put everything down outside the door, then move back,” she ordered.

She waited until she heard his footsteps retreating, then cautiously opened the door, just a crack. She peered out but could see no one, so she poked her head around the door, the pistol primed and ready, just in case—oh God, she hoped she wouldn’t have to shoot. But there was nobody there, just Higgins, waiting ten feet away.

“Thank you, Higgins,” she called. “I’ve examined him and there are no swellings. That means there’s no sign of plague. Tell the captain.” It might still be plague—and she wouldn’t lie to them if it was—but it would help if the captain and passengers were reassured.

She quickly moved everything into the cabin. Bolting it securely, she checked to see what he’d brought. Extra towels, blankets, bowls, a large pot of hot ginger tea—thank goodness. And an invalid cup with a spout—praise be. With fever, he should drink plenty of fluids, and this would make it so much easier.

She poured some of the tea into the cup and sprinkled Peruvian bark powder into it. She wasn’t sure which of the barks would be most efficacious, but both were reputed to be good for fever, so she would alternate.

She waited five minutes, stirring to let the goodness of the bark steep, then carefully lifted Rafe’s head and set the spout to his lips.

“You must drink this,” she told him soothingly when he groaned and moved his head fretfully at the taste. “It’s ginger tea with honey and Peruvian bark. It will help bring your fever down.” He seemed to understand and obediently drank, swallowing each mouthful as if it were painful.

He managed half a cup, then lay back, exhausted.

She tucked the covers around him and returned to the examination of the supplies Higgins had brought. There was a medical manual—the captain’s, no doubt.

She searched for advice. Sprinkle the sickroom with vinegar, she read, so she sprinkled vinegar everywhere.