The Elusive Miss Ellison Read online

  Still.

  No! He stripped off his gloves and checked her breathing. The slightest warmth on his palm calmed his racing heartbeat. Lifting her carefully, he removed her saturated cloak and wrapped her in his relatively dry one. He scooped her up, his arm protesting, but he wouldn’t let go.

  He nudged his burden. “Lavinia, we need to get you home.”

  She gave no answer.

  Nicholas shouldered through a different part of the hedge, taking care to shield her face, calling upon years of army reconnaissance to approximate where the Hall stood. He trudged on. It couldn’t be more than half a mile. Once Midnight arrived, surely his message would be understood. In these conditions, they would be there in ten, possibly fifteen minutes.

  His boots squelched. Ankle deep mud clung desperately, treacherously, refusing release. Rain spattered, plastering his shirt to his body. Memories of the flight from Burgos arose in all its awfulness. But this time there were no bullets, no desperate army, only relentless rain and a desperate burden.

  He stumbled, but refused to fall, instead pulling her closer, tugging at the folds of the cloak to keep her dry. He climbed over a rise. In the distance stood the Hall ablaze with lights. Relief coursed through him.

  The rain intensified as if the heavens defied him. He gritted his teeth and walked on. Thank God Lavinia was so slight—his arm ached as never before. His back protested, but he ignored it. He glanced at the white face, her eyes still closed. Hefting her nearer, he marched on.

  Through the darkness, he could vaguely see a skittish Midnight near the stables, loud neighs cutting through the rain patter as the stallion avoided being secured. Second-floor window curtains twitched. Someone was watching. He wished he could signal, but he couldn’t let her go.

  He trekked on. About a hundred yards from the Hall, he stumbled to one knee. She slipped in his arms, her repose interrupted by long shudders. With a groan of exertion, he forced himself to rise and moved forward.

  “M’lord!” Martins ran toward him. “Allow me!”

  He tugged her closer. “Get the doctor.”

  Martins turned and sped away. More wide-eyed servants surrounded him, their dirty, wet clothes testifying to earlier search efforts. “Inform Ellison she’s safe.” He stumbled to the door.

  Mrs. Florrick gasped. “Lord Nicholas!”

  She looked at the shivering bundle in his arms, shouted for Lily, and bustled him up the stairs to the best spare room. She pulled back the covers, and he carefully deposited his cargo on the pristine sheets. He drew back, his shoulders slumping, and caught his breath.

  “Oh, the poor dear.” Mrs. Florrick clucked. She issued soft orders to the maid, and Lily soon had a fire crackling in the hearth.

  Lavinia lay ominously still. He fought the fear rushing through him and passed a hand over her cold face. A faint breath brushed his skin. “Thank God.”

  Edwin appeared at the door. He hissed. “My lord! You look dreadful. We must get you out of those clothes and into a nice warm bath at once!”

  Nicholas focused on his housekeeper instead. “What can I do?”

  “You should have a good hot bath.”

  He scowled.

  Mrs. Florrick shot him a considering look that would have got a lesser mortal fired. “She needs her boots removed. She’s ice cold and must be warmed as quickly as possible.”

  He stripped off his saturated vest, dumped it on the floor, and drew closer to the bed. He scrutinized the boots with a frown.

  “If you please, me lord …” Lily motioned to a side hook and disappeared.

  The muddy boots were quickly divested, Lavinia’s stocking-shrouded toes smudged with dirt.

  Lily returned with a hot brick to place in the bed, and Nicholas returned to the fire. Warmth slowly filtered through his sodden clothes.

  “Lord Nicholas, you’d best be leaving now for your bath.” Mrs. Florrick, having removed the cloaks shrouding Lavinia, looked sternly at him.

  His cheeks heated. “I’ll be back presently.”

  AN HOUR LATER, after the best bath of his life and a nip of brandy that warmed his insides sufficiently, he returned to find Dr. Hanbury examining the patient.

  “How is she?”

  “Not good. You don’t know how long she was lying there?”

  “An hour? Perhaps two? She’d been visiting the Thatchers.”

  Dr. Hanbury pressed two fingers to Lavinia’s limp wrist. “So not only have we got influenza, we also have possible smallpox to deal with.”

  “Smallpox?” Mrs. Florrick gasped.

  “It was only confirmed this afternoon. The Thatchers’ run of ill health made it difficult to diagnose. But when Mrs. Thatcher’s face broke out in the telltale pox, we knew.”

  “That poor family!” Mrs. Florrick’s hands flew to her mouth.

  “Lavinia has always given her time generously, and she wouldn’t have known. But it means anyone who has touched Miss Ellison must be quarantined. Smallpox is highly contagious.” Dr. Hanbury peered at him. “We won’t know if she has it for a week or two, so she will need to remain here for that time. Everyone who has been within six feet of her must be kept away from others. That includes you, my lord. I am sorry.”

  “We understand.” Nicholas glanced over his shoulder to the figure standing at the door. “Hear that, Edwin?”

  “I’m afraid so, sir.”

  He studied the pale form on the bed. Smallpox? How would she survive? How cruel was God to allow this?

  “It is good you warmed her up as quickly as you did. She’s a very sick young lady.” The doctor clasped his bag. “I’ll need to get some cowpox vaccine. I think it best she receive a vaccination.”

  Mrs. Florrick shuddered. “You mean those nasty needles?”

  “Experience shows if given within the first three days of exposure, it helps lessen the severity and alleviates the worst of the symptoms. I’ve been inoculated. If she and also anyone who has come into close proximity of her can be inoculated, that will hopefully stop the disease from getting too advanced.”

  Nicholas nodded. “I was inoculated during the war. Perhaps I can be of some assistance.”

  “Your assistance here may certainly be necessary. I must return to the Thatchers now. I fear their young one is not going to make it.”

  “Before you go, please stay long enough to eat something.

  Edwin?” Edwin reappeared at the doorway. “Sir?”

  “Arrange food for Dr. Hanbury, and make sure someone has gone to the Ellisons to let them know. If not, send McHendricks.”

  “Yes, m’lord. You must eat also.”

  Nicholas waved an impatient hand. “Bring it here. It seems we’ll have a long night of it.”

  THREE HOURS LATER, Nicholas remained seated on the chair near the fire, eyes fixed on the figure in the bed. Mrs. Florrick and Lily were asleep on small cots in the adjoining dressing room, their snores testament to deep slumber. But rest eluded him. His eyes still felt gritty and his arm might ache, but the breathy cry of “Don’t leave me” continued to resonate, necessitating his seat in the sick room. Giles and Edwin had begged him to rest, to no avail. He couldn’t sleep. He would not allow any more harm to touch Miss Ellison.

  The pale form in the bed stirred. He pushed to his feet and moved closer, but she quickly settled and resumed sleep. If what Hanbury said were true, this sleep would be necessary for her to cope with upcoming days. He resumed his seat by the fire and wished for the first time that he knew how to pray.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE CHATEAU’S GREAT hall was filled with pallets of the desperate and dying. Nicholas looked up from his crouch beside the prone figure as the doctor finished his examination with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  No. He stared at the young life before him. The flickering candlelight revealed the yellowish tinge to the skin, the sheen of the forehead, the heavy lids that refused to open. He couldn’t die. Not now. Not after all they’d gone through. Hadn’t Corpora
l Lennon just married? How could God permit this?

  “Sir, you should rest. You look all done in.”

  “No. I must—”

  “Sir, I insist. You haven’t slept in days. You’ll be no use if you sicken too.”

  The faces blurred in the shadows, tumbling through time: James, soldiers, Father, Celia Lennon, Dr. Hanbury, Lavinia. And as always the darkness crept closer, closer, closer …

  “Good morning, my lord.”

  Nicholas blinked against the light trickling gray and drab from the windows. He sucked in a deep breath, forced his rapid heartbeat to slow. After being driven to his bed by Mrs. Florrick’s assurances, his attempts to rest had been punctured by the severe wind that howled through the trees and whistled under the eaves. “How is the patient?”

  Edwin’s face remained impassive. “No change.”

  “Ellison knows?”

  “Yes, sir. Miss West sent a message saying she and the reverend remain quite unwell, but she hopes to attend as soon as possible.”

  Nicholas nodded. It would be hazardous for either to come, given their current states of health. He shifted, testing his aching limbs, and winced as the old bullet wound in his thigh made its presence felt again.

  “Sir—” He waved off his valet’s concern, but Edwin’s brow remained creased. “The reverend said to let you know his prayers are with us.”

  “They’ll need to be,” he growled.

  Miss Ellison would require a miracle to survive.

  THE DAY PASSED gloomily, inside and out, the threat of smallpox casting fear into every soul. Dr. Hanbury appeared with the promised vaccine mid afternoon. Lavinia barely twitched at the injection.

  “I don’t like administering the vaccine this way, but with her condition such as it is, the sooner the better.” He also dosed Mrs. Florrick and Lily, those deemed most at risk. “You may feel slightly feverish and require your beds, but I assure you receiving an inoculation is much better than if you had direct exposure.”

  Nicholas nodded. “And it will enable us to keep the sickness contained so no more members of the household are affected. We can manage the nursing, can’t we, Mrs. Florrick?”

  Dr. Hanbury frowned at him. “Sir, I do not think that is prudent.”

  Nicholas shrugged. “During the war we all had to pitch in. I assisted with the care of not a few ill men. And I suspect you and your nurses will be kept exceedingly busy in the village.”

  “I’m afraid so. The Thatchers are not well at all.” He sighed. “I do not like it, but Lavinia really should not be moved, and if her aunt does not object, I suppose I cannot. Poor Mr. Ellison is hardly in a fit state to even know what he should object to.” He sent Nicholas a hard look. “If you’re quite sure she’ll be safe?”

  He nodded, refusing to take offense at the implication.

  “We’ll look after her,” Mrs. Florrick assured. “There’s no need to worry.”

  “Yes, but this form of influenza …” He shook his head. “If the fever takes hold and she becomes anxious, try to keep her quiet. Calmness is essential. She’ll need as much rest as possible.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. Your haste and assistance are greatly appreciated.”

  “I’ll endeavor to call in a few days.”

  Nicholas nodded, and the older man departed.

  THE FIRST DAYS passed relatively quietly. Lavinia spent much of the time asleep, and seemed only to suffer from a severe case of influenza, her coughing prolonged, but nothing out of the ordinary. Mrs. Florrick seemed to have the situation well in hand, enabling Nicholas time in his study to focus on Banning’s excellent accounts.

  On day five, Giles interrupted. “Excuse me, m’lord, Mrs. Florrick is asking for you. She believes Miss Ellison is worsening.”

  His stomach clenched. He bounded up the stairs to the spare bedroom.

  Mrs. Florrick looked up at his entry. “She’s got the fever.”

  Lavinia’s face was flushed, her eyes closed, her body shifting in an agitated manner.

  He sat by the bed, thankful for last night’s dreamless sleep. “Where is Lily?”

  “Resting next door. She complained of feeling tired and chilled.”

  He chewed the inside of his bottom lip. Surely Lily wouldn’t succumb.

  Lavinia coughed, her head moving from side to side. “Mama.” Her fingers plucked at the blankets. “Mama!”

  “Poor pet. She’s been this way for the past hour, crying for her mother so.”

  Guilt gnawed his heart, refusing coherent thoughts, let alone speech.

  Lavinia groaned again, her hair damp on her forehead. “Mama! Don’t leave me!”

  Mrs. Florrick retied the handkerchief around her mouth and moved closer. She firmly grasped Lavinia’s hands and peered into her face. “There, there, Miss Livvie. You’re safe. It’s just a bad dream.”

  Lavinia stiffened then collapsed back onto the pillows.

  “The poor, poor dear.” Mrs. Florrick wrung out a cold compress and applied it to her forehead. “It shouldn’t happen to such a one as she.”

  “You know her well.”

  “Oh, yes. A few years back when my poor Arthur died, she was such a comfort. She has this way of listening, like she listens with her eyes, that makes one feel she truly understands.”

  He nodded. He’d seen that look when he’d shared about Burgos, felt her almost tangible compassion. His chest tightened.

  “Listen to me, rattling on. But Miss Livvie’s been a part of our lives for so long. And your uncle was so fond of her, treated her almost as a daughter, he did. After the accident the poor reverend was lost for so many weeks—Lord Robert did what he could to distract the child. Why, he even bought that lovely big piano to try to coax Miss Livvie to play again.”

  So that’s why the grand piano sat downstairs. “I did not realize …”

  “Yes, well, Miss Livvie was always over here, playing her music, visiting the library, chatting with McHendricks, and seeing the puppies he’d concealed from Johnson.”

  “McHendricks? Puppies?”

  “Oh yes, my lord. That beagle she had was one of them. That is why she named it Mickey.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Miss Livvie’s always been a great favorite of his. Of all of the staff really.”

  He nodded. He’d wondered at the many anxious enquiries he’d fielded concerning Miss Ellison. The grim countenances and red-rimmed eyes told of their love and concern.

  “Lord Robert loved her very much. It’s such a sh-shame …” She stuttered to a stop, biting her lip as she glanced at him anxiously. “But never mind my tongue, my lord. I’m so glad you found her when you did. I just hope she doesn’t end up with scars to mar her pretty face.”

  He gazed down on the now quiet form, the bright vivacity he’d admired a distant memory. He swallowed. God forbid any permanent reminders.

  TWO DAYS LATER, several flat red spots dappled Lavinia’s face and, toward evening, Dr. Hanbury was summoned.

  The doctor shook his head. “It’s the influenza I’m most concerned about. I’m hopeful the inoculation will prevent the worst of the smallpox, but …” He sighed. “It’s a good thing she’s always been a healthy one. All those visits to nurse the sick have no doubt strengthened her ability to withstand ordinary disease. If she’d been one of these delicate ladies, I doubt she’d still be with us.”

  Nicholas winced, remembering his admonishment against her unladylike striding around the countryside with only a small dog for protection. “Will she live?”

  The doctor rubbed a hand over his lined face. “We must pray so. I’m sorry but I need to return to the village.”

  “What? You can’t leave now. What if she worsens? Surely Miss Ellison’s life—”

  “The Thatcher baby died last night, and now the mother has sickened significantly. The entire family is in dire straits.”

  Nicholas swallowed further protest. “I’m very sorry. Please send their bill to me.”

  The doctor looked at him curiously, then shru
gged. “Aye, sir, as you wish. Lavinia has a fair chance of survival with you three caring for her. Offer her broth whenever she rouses, and have some faith.”

  Faith? Nicholas tried not to grimace. Look where Lavinia’s faith had got her.

  “Now I best be going.”

  He escorted the doctor to the top of the stairs and bid him a good night.

  Refusing the whirl of worries he drew back his shoulders and marched to the sickroom. Illness was only the enemy to be defeated. They would defeat it. He would—this time.

  Mrs. Florrick sat by the bed, continuing to soothe the flushed brow with cool compresses. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  His gut tightened. No. Lavinia couldn’t really die.

  “I’ll sit with her.” He placed a hand on the housekeeper’s shoulder. “You need to rest.”

  She glanced up, purple shadows under her eyes. “She needs me—”

  “She will rest better without hearing your tears.” He helped her up. “Go. Sleep.”

  He guided her to the cots in the adjacent chamber where Lily slumbered peacefully. Soon she was fast asleep.

  Nicholas tried reading his uncle’s prized copy of Homer.

  Couldn’t.

  Struggled through Euclid, but his attention kept slipping from the page to the still form in the bed. He was on guard, almost like his presence kept the danger in abeyance—only no bullet would destroy his defense this time.

  “Mama.”

  The whisper wrenched his gaze from the blurring words, wrenched guilt through his chest as long ago memories surged.

  His brother’s witless friend. His own stupid pride. An even more stupid boast.

  “Did I hear correctly? Nicholas the great cannot manage to drive such a distance?”

  “I did not say I could not manage.”

  “Just that others couldn’t?” The Honorable Gerald Fitzgibbons flushed. “James, I don’t believe your brother is the excellent a horseman you say.”

  James laughed joylessly. “My brother prefers a safe bet.”

  “Or none at all?”

  Nicholas had refused to rise to the bait, moving from the stables as the two commenced their wagers. He caught the groom’s frown. McHendricks didn’t like this either, but servants, like younger brothers, had blessed little influence over James. As much as Nicholas enjoyed racing, he refused to put himself or any horse in danger for the sake of a stupid dare. Gravel crunched underfoot as he walked to the Hall.