Читать книгу Charles Augustus Fenton - Alana Whiting - Страница 9

The next morning my nanny woke early with a guilty start. She had slept through for the first time in weeks and though she was rested she remembered our disagreement last night. She hurried to my room filled with good intentions and a desire to rekindle the friendship. She would start with a big cuddle and a nursery song before feeding me my favourite breakfast of coddled egg.

She opened the door anxiously and was met with silence. Strange, she thought as she neared the cot. She peered over and inspected me. I lay there flaccid, still blotchy from last night’s events. My eyes were open but unseeing. I could notice a blob in front of me but had no clue as to who it was. Her eyes widened at my apathetic state and she speedily picked me up to cuddle me and change my sodden nappy. I was hot to touch and my bottom was excoriated from the loose bowel movement I had passed overnight. The nappy was soaked in offensive smelling faecal matter and she was filled with dreaded remorse.

‘What have I done to you, my little man?’ she muttered to herself whilst wiping the muck away and soothing some grease onto my burnt bottom. She sponged my face and chest, worried at how warm I was and hoping it would cool my fevered state. After quietly dressing me she attempted to feed me my breakfast. I refused again and it was with troubled heart that she now wished I would be the naughty boy I had been last night. She could not delay any longer. I had to be taken to my parents.

My mother was sipping her tea in the breakfast room and turned to smile at the nanny coming through the door. Her smiled dropped when she saw Meg’s expression and she rose anxiously to see her son.

‘What is the matter? What’s wrong with Charles? Why he is so hot?’

The nanny stared at the floor and squirmed. ‘He wouldn’t eat his dinner last night, ma’am, so I put him to bed early and when I woke he was like this. He hasn’t eaten any breakfast either.’

‘Charles! Charles! Come here quickly. Our son is sick,’ she called out to Charles Senior in the nearby room, who scurried in and scanned my face worriedly.

‘Good God, woman! He’s burning with fever! How long has he been like this?’ he demanded of the nanny, who quailed under his ferocious glare.

‘I’m sorry, sir. I just thought he was being a bit naughty. He kept throwing the food at me and he wouldn’t listen at all. So I thought an early bedtime was the right thing to do.’

‘Well, look at him, girl! He’s burning up with fever! You should have known better and informed us last night.’

Charles Senior hurriedly wrote on a note and handed it to Meg.

‘Go to Dr Greene immediately. Tell Jack to take you down in the buggy. Give the doctor this note and wait. You will be bringing him back to the house as soon as the doctor is ready. Do NOT come back without him or you will be packing your bags and leaving.’

Meg gulped and placed the note in her apron pocket. She hurried out of the room and down to the stables where Jack was busy combing down one of the horses. He looked up in surprise at seeing Meg. She wasn’t usually able to visit so early.

‘Jack. You have to help me. I’m in terrible trouble. Wee Master Fenton has taken ill and it’s my fault completely. I left the wee bairn all night. He was being a little imp, and now he’s all sick and hot. I feel terrible, absolutely terrible,’ she said, wiping her eyes with the edge of her apron.

‘There, there lass, the lad will be all right. He’s a bonny little bugger,’ Jack said, patting her on the shoulder. ‘Don’t you worry about a thing. He’s a Fenton, made from this land and of good stock. He’ll pull through.’

Meg implored Jack. ‘We have to go right now, Jack. The master of the house has demanded I fetch Dr Greene straight away and bring him back without delay. If I don’t, my time here is over.’

Jack nodded and set to the task of preparing the buggy for transport. Meg fidgeted at the delay, hopping from one foot to the other and watching anxiously until he gave the nod for her to climb aboard.

She hoisted her skirts and with help from his proffered hand, she scooted up onto the buggy and stared resolutely ahead. Her hand clenched around the note checking once again that she hadn’t dropped it in the process. She couldn’t fail the master anymore. Her bowel tightened at the thought of being sacked from the Fenton Estate. She knew what Mr Fenton was capable of and she didn’t want to be victim of it.

Jack drove the buggy speedily down the path towards the town doctor five miles away. He knew the route like the back of his hand and instinctively urged the horses to make haste. Every minute counted, of that he was sure. It wasn’t long before they pulled up outside the doctor’s practice. He hopped off the buggy and assisted Meg down. She smoothed down her skirts, raced up the steps and knocked anxiously on the door.

‘Yes? Can I help you?’ the doctor’s wife enquired with a smile.

‘Oh please, Miss. Could you give this note to Dr Greene? It’s from Mr Charles Fenton of Fenton Estate. It’s of a most urgent matter.’

‘I’m afraid the doctor is out visiting a sick patient at the moment. He’ll be back at noon.’

Meg fretted. ‘But I need to get him to the Fenton Estate immediately. The young master has taken very ill and I’ve got orders to fetch the doctor to see him.’

‘Oh, I see.’ She frowned. ‘Well that’s no good. Let me see what I can do.’ She fetched his appointment book and studied the entry in the diary. ‘Yes. He is at Mr Kivell’s just down the lane. I’ll come with you and show you the way.’ She fetched her hat and grabbed Meg’s arm. The two ladies briskly marched towards the Kivell household, though the speed didn’t seem nearly quick enough for Meg. They reached the door and knocked.

‘Mrs Greene! What’s brought you here?’ asked Mr Kivell.

‘I’m so dreadfully sorry, Mr Kivell, but I must speak to my husband immediately.’

‘But he’s seeing to my wife at present. Is it urgent?’ he said.

‘Most urgent, Mr Kivell. Mr Charles Fenton’s son has taken ill. Could you please give him this note? He needs the doctor straight away,’ she urged.

‘But, of course. I see. I’ll let him know.’ He went back inside.

Dr Greene blustered out minutes later. ‘What is the meaning of this? I’m seeing a patient. You know not to interfere with my appointments.’

Mrs Greene blushed and glanced sideways at Meg. Meg rallied the courage to speak.

‘I’m sorry, Doctor. But it’s Mr Fenton’s son. He’s awful hot and has the skitters. I tried feeding him last night and this morning and he won’t have a bite to eat. Mr Fenton has instructed me to ask you most directly if you could come and see him at the manor,’ Meg blurted, and then looked anxiously at the doctor.

I can picture the good doctor even now, frowning and rubbing his chin. It was acknowledged that the Fentons held a lot of clout in the town and he was aware that the loss of their custom would not be a wise choice. He had nearly completed his visit with Mrs Kivell and was certain that with his personal medicinal draught he had developed, she should make a full and steady recovery. As much as he loathed to be commanded, he was a pragmatic man and he made his decision as thus.

‘Take me to him. Mr Kivell, please follow my wife back to the surgery. She will provide you with my tonic to assist your wife. I will come back to check on her tomorrow.’ And with that, he collected his bag and strode with Meg to the buggy.

As they rode back to the estate he drilled Meg for information regarding Charles Junior. He asked about his appetite, his bowel movements, any skin rashes, irritability or signs of fever. Meg glumly nodded to all the questions, explaining that Master Fenton had seemed to be out of sorts for the last week and not really sleeping so soundly. Dr Greene frowned and considered what may have been troubling the small boy.

They arrived in a flurry. One of the house servants had been keeping a watchful eye out for their arrival and quickly ran inside to inform the master. Both Charles and Elizabeth dashed to the door, the worry and strain clear on their faces. As the butler helped him with his coat, they showed him to my room where I lay listlessly. My stomach was swollen and my chest and abdomen covered in red welts. The pungent smell emanating the room advised those present that I had yet again soiled myself with the loose diarrhoea seeping out around my pants. Dr Greene examined me after instructing the nanny to change and clean my reddened bottom. I was faced with the ignominy of having to wear a daytime diaper. He looked at my eyes, in my ears, listened to my heart and peered at the rash. I surrendered without fight, all anger dissipated after last night’s efforts. My parents watched him anxiously, holding each other.

‘It would appear to me that your son has all the classic signs and symptoms of typhoid fever. Not particularly prevalent usually at this time of year, but I have seen the odd case in town.’ He opened his doctor’s bag and fossicked around. ‘I recommend you give him these powders mixed in with his milk. Keep him hydrated as much as possible and protect his skin with this unguent. The diarrhoea will burn his skin and needs to be removed immediately.’ He regarded Meg the nanny. ‘He must be kept clean, warm and dry. If he is feverish, sponge him with a tepid washcloth. Keep offering him small sips of boiled water, stewed apples and broth and the milk at night. He will take some time to get better, but get better he shall. As long as you do exactly as I have instructed,’ he finished with a small smile to Charles and Elizabeth. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me I must resume my appointments back in Warwickshire town. There are people waiting for me.’ He shook Charles’ hand and returned to the buggy where Jack sat perched on top.

And so my battle began.