Читать книгу Promise of a Family - Jo Brown Ann - Страница 12

Chapter Four

The bedchamber was lit by only a single lamp, leaving shadows across the ceiling and huddled in the corners. At both windows, the draperies were pulled closed, even though night had claimed Porthlowen. Silence hung over the room, too heavy to be broken. The only sound was breathing from the grand tester bed set at one end of the large room. With the bed curtains pulled aside, a single person was cushioned by the thick mattress and pillows that were almost as big as she was.

Susanna sat beside the bed on a hard chair. Baricoat, as well as Venton and two other footmen, had offered to bring her an upholstered chair from another room. She had thanked them but declined. As hours passed and dawn neared, she feared a more comfortable chair would tempt her to give in to the cloying caress of exhaustion. Her back ached from slanting forward to lean her elbows on the covers, but she did not take her gaze from Lucy’s motionless body.

With her hands clasped, she had prayed the same wordless prayer since Captain Nesbitt had carried Lucy in and placed the little girl on the bed. Lucy had looked like a rag doll, limp and unresponsive. Surely God, who had watched over the children while in the jolly boat, would bring Lucy healing.

Through the night, while Susanna kept vigil by the bed, she had looked for any sign of returning consciousness. Lucy breathed slowly and shallowly as if asleep.

The doctor had been sent for immediately, and when Mr. Hockbridge came, Susanna watched him examine the little girl with gentle, capable hands. Mr. Hockbridge had taken over caring for the sick around Porthlowen the previous year. His father had been their longtime doctor, but a heart condition had forced him to step aside. The young man, whose white-blond hair was thinning, had studied in London. If there was anyone in Cornwall who could help Lucy, it would be Mr. Hockbridge.

He had left no powders other than willow bark to ease any pain Lucy felt when she awoke. His only instructions were to pray. Telling Susanna he would be back before midday and that she should send for him if the situation changed, he had bidden her a good night.

Caroline had stopped in several times. The first time, she mentioned how distraught Mollie was. Lucy’s twin had seen her sister tumble down the stairs. It had been Mollie’s cries that brought the servants running to discover what had happened.

Each time, Susanna had nothing new to tell her sister. Caroline promised to stop by again in a few hours and then went to offer what comfort she could to Mollie and the other children.

So the hours passed while Susanna sat by the bed and prayed for Lucy to open her eyes. She never shifted her gaze from the tiny form on the big bed.

When she heard soft footsteps in the gray light before dawn, Susanna paid them no mind. People had been coming in and out of the bedchamber during the night. They had cast worried glances at the bed before leaving without a word.

“Lady Susanna,” came Mrs. Hitchens’s low whisper, “forgive me for interrupting, but Captain Nesbitt wishes to know if there has been any change.”

Astonished, she glanced over her shoulder. “He has come back?”

“He never left, my lady.”

Unexpected tears filled her eyes. She had assumed that Captain Nesbitt had returned to his ship once he set Lucy on the bed as carefully as if she were made of glass. That he had remained touched her heart that was so fragile when she faced another tragedy. Maybe she had misjudged him, if he put aside his other duties to wait for news about a child he barely knew.

“May I give him a message, my lady?” Mrs. Hitchens prompted.

Susanna came to her feet, wincing as her back protested moving after being in one position for hours. “No, I will deliver it myself. Where is he?”

“In the drawing room.”

“Thank you.”

“My lady?” The housekeeper glanced toward the bed.

“No change.” She smiled sadly at Mrs. Hitchens, whose kind heart must be aching, too.

“Poor lamb. I will sit with her until you return.”

“If—”

“If there is any change at all, I will send for you immediately.”

Thanking the housekeeper again, Susanna went downstairs. The drawing room was to the right of the entry foyer, set past the stairs so the windows offered a beautiful view of the gardens on the hillsides rising toward the moor.

The room was nearly as dark as the bedchamber. She saw no one inside. Had Captain Nesbitt taken his leave or perhaps fallen asleep? That made no sense, because Mrs. Hitchens would not have dawdled bringing his message. She stifled a yawn and knew it would take her only seconds to surrender to sleep.

Going back into the hallway, she picked up a lamp and returned to the drawing room. The light spread before her, restoring color in the Aubusson rug. The red lines edging a pattern of white roses seemed overly bright. Out of the darkness appeared two chairs upholstered in red-and-white silk, followed by a matching settee. The elegant white marble hearth glittered in the lamplight.

The room was deserted.

She was about to call Captain Nesbitt’s name when she noticed the French window leading onto the terrace was ajar. Crossing the room, she set her lamp on a table. She opened the door wider and saw Captain Nesbitt leaning his hands on the back of a stone bench. There, he could see the village, the cliffs that curved toward each other in a giant C to protect the cove, and the sea.

“This is my favorite view,” she said as she walked out onto the stone terrace.

“I can see why your ancestors built this house here.” Slowly he faced her. “How is Lucy?”

“There is no change. If I did not know better, I would say she is sleeping. She looks so peaceful.”

“What did the doctor say?”

She sighed. “He said the only things we can do now are wait and pray.”

“Not the prescription I had hoped he would give.”

“Prayer is always the best prescription, Captain.”

He leaned against the bench and folded his arms over his chest. His strong jaw was covered in a low mat of black whiskers that only emphasized its stubborn lines. “I cannot disagree with that, but I have found the results are not always something you can count on.”

“You don’t believe in God?”

“Quite the opposite. I believe in Him. I simply don’t know if He believes in me.”

She stared at him. The night was receding as the sun rose over the eastern hills, but his eyes still were dark pools that she could not read. “I believe that He hears our prayers, especially the ones from our hearts, and I have been praying all night.”

“If prayer is the answer, it should come soon with the number of people praying for her. I have heard murmured prayers from every direction while I paced through the house.”

“And you, Captain? Have you been praying?” Again she wished she could read the expression hidden in his shadowed eyes.

“Yes, but I hope others have better luck than I in getting their prayers answered.”

“All prayers are answered.”

“You sound so sure.”

“I am.”

He turned his head to stare out at the sea. “I wish I could be.”

“All you need to do is have faith.”

“You make it sound so simple.” His terse laugh was laced with regret. “I have not found it to be.”

“Surely you have felt God’s presence in your life. What about when you were attacked by those privateers?”

“I thought The Kestrel and all its crew were bound for the bottom of the sea.” He smiled as she started to reply. “I know what you are going to say. That by the grace of God we survived, and you may be right, but in the middle of that battle, there was nothing but death and dying.”

Susanna pressed her hands to her abruptly roiling stomach, wishing she had never brought up the privateers. She did not want to think of death. She wanted to concentrate on life and how they could bring one small child out of a coma to embrace it.

A sob burst out of her before she could halt it. Putting her hands over her face, she wept, too tired to hold back her tears any longer. Her fear of not knowing what else she could do to help little Lucy pressed down on her.

Wide, gentle hands drew her against a wool coat that smelled of salt and fresh air off the water. Beneath the wool, a strong chest held a heart that beat steadily as she gripped his coat and released her fear and frustration.

When her last tears were gone, Susanna drew back and wiped her hand against her face. Captain Nesbitt held out a handkerchief. She hesitated and then took it, as embarrassment overwhelmed her. She had lost control of her emotions in front of this handsome man. How could she ever look at him again without thinking of his muscular arms around her, offering her comfort?

“I am sorry,” she whispered, staring at her feet. “I usually hold myself together better than that.”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“That is kind of you to say.”

He lifted his handkerchief out of her hand and dabbed it against her cheeks to catch a pair of vagrant tears. Bending so his eyes were level with hers, he said nothing. Now the shadows had been banished, she could see the emotions within his dark brown eyes. Raw, unabashed sorrow at the accident that had left Lucy senseless. He must be able to see the same in her own eyes, she realized, and she lowered them, not wanting to share such a private part of herself with a man who was barely more than a stranger.

She was unsure when the light touch of the handkerchief collecting her tears altered to slow, feathery strokes along her face. Quivers flitted along her like seabirds darting at the waves. In spite of herself, she raised her eyes to his again. The potent emotions in them had only grown stronger, and she wondered how long anyone could look into his eyes without becoming lost in them.

“My lady! Lady Susanna!” called a bellow from the house.

Susanna stepped away from Captain Nesbitt, one unsteady step and then another, as if waking from a dream. Had she fallen asleep on her feet? She would rather think that than believe she had intentionally stood so close to him, allowing him to caress her face with his handkerchief.

He placed his handkerchief beneath his coat as her name was shouted again.

“You might want to answer,” he said in an emotionless tone.

She wished her voice could be as calm, but it was not when she called that she was on the terrace.

Venton peered past the French windows. His eyes narrowed slightly when he saw she was not alone, but he said, “My lady! Come! Right away!”

“Is it Lucy?”

“She is waking up.”

Gathering up her skirts, she ran into the house. She heard Captain Nesbitt’s boots behind her. She did not look back as she ran up the stairs.

In the bedroom, the draperies had been thrown open. Sunlight washed across the bed. For a moment, when she saw Lucy lying in the pillows, Susanna feared the child had lost consciousness again.

She rushed to the bed at a soft cry, but Captain Nesbitt reached it before her. He stepped aside only far enough for her to slip between him and the covers. His breath brushed her nape. She ignored the pleasant shiver that rushed along her and gazed down at Lucy.

The little girl’s eyes were closed, but she was moving her head from side to side as if caught in a nightmare.

Dearest God, help her to awaken. She is only a baby, and she has endured so much already. Help me to know what is best for her.

“Should we wake her?” asked Captain Nesbitt from behind her.

“Mr. Hockbridge said we must be patient and let her come to her senses on her own.”

“Mama!” came an anguished cry from the bed as tears ran along the child’s face.

“Oh, dear!” Susanna wished she could throw all Lucy’s pain out the window. When Captain Nesbitt stretched an arm around her to offer his handkerchief again, she murmured her thanks. She wiped Lucy’s tears away as she asked Mrs. Hitchens to wet another cloth. The housekeeper quickly complied.

Susanna dropped the handkerchief and took the damp cloth. She draped it across Lucy’s forehead, including the large bump that was a deep black. The lines in her brow eased slightly, so the warmth must be comforting.

Lucy’s eyelashes fluttered, then lifted off her pale cheeks. Susanna smiled when Lucy looked up at her, confusion on her little face.

“How do you feel, Lucy?” Susanna asked.

“Head ouch,” she croaked.

“I know, sweetheart.” She looked up as Mrs. Hitchens came forward with a cup of warm water.

Slipping an arm under the child, Susanna held the cup to Lucy’s lips. She was thrilled when Lucy gulped it eagerly. Not wanting to give her too much too quickly, she drew the cup away, but Lucy’s tiny hands grasped the cup.

“Slowly,” Susanna cautioned. “There is plenty.”

Lucy nodded, then gave a soft cry.

Susanna asked Mrs. Hitchens to bring the pain powder the doctor had left. Since it was willow bark, a small dose would be safe even for a child as young as Lucy.

When another cup was held out to her, this one with the powder dissolved into the water, turning it cloudy, Susanna took it. The second her fingers closed around the cup and brushed against the hand offering it to her, a buzz like a swarm of bees swept through her.

She looked up. Captain Nesbitt’s worry threaded his forehead. She whispered her thanks, not wanting to talk more loudly because she did not trust her voice. Or her fingers that yearned to smooth those lines from his face.

Lucy wrinkled her nose when she drank from the second cup, but finished it when Susanna assured her that it would make her feel better. Mrs. Hitchens took the cup, stepping back while Susanna settled the little girl down into the pillowed nest again.

The child looked from her to the housekeeper and then to Captain Nesbitt. Her eyes widened, and she mewed in pain.

“Why don’t you close your eyes?” Susanna tucked the covers in around her. “Resting will give the powder time to work.”

“I think the sun is bothering her.” Captain Nesbitt strode around the bed, grasped the draperies on the nearest window and yanked them closed. Fabric creaked a warning, but the stream of light disappeared from across the bed. Turning, he walked back to the far side of the bed and asked, “Is that better, Lucy?”

“Papa?”

Susanna pressed her hand over her mouth to keep from chuckling when Captain Nesbitt’s expression suggested the little girl had accused him of a crime.

“No, Lucy,” she said softly. When the little girl looked at her again, she added, “He is not your papa. He is Captain Nesbitt.”

“Cap?”

“Yes,” Captain Nesbitt said before Susanna could reply. “I am Cap.”

Lucy stretched up a small hand, and he bent forward. When she patted his bewhiskered chin and smiled, Susanna’s eyes were not the only moist ones in the room. The little girl’s motions were easy and showed no sign of the trauma she had suffered.

Susanna looked away before the child could notice her tears. After her weeping on the terrace, she had not guessed she could cry more. Maybe she had used up her sad tears but still had happy ones.

Hearing Captain Nesbitt’s low, rumbling laugh, a sound she had never heard before, she wanted to hear it again and again. It invited everyone to join in. She had thought his laugh would be as clipped as his words; then she wondered how she could make any assumptions when she knew so little about him. This was not like the time she had started noticing interesting aspects of Franklin, because she had known her erstwhile betrothed since they were Lucy’s age.

Don’t think of that, she chided herself. She would not let Franklin and his betrayal into her life again.

No matter what.

He will be in your heart, reminding you of the pain you suffered, until you forgive—really forgive—him and Norah. She clenched her hands by her sides. I have tried. Even her own silent protest sounded weak. She knew that trying was not enough.

Susanna looked at the bed, where Lucy held up Captain Nesbitt’s handkerchief and waved it like a flag. When it fluttered against his mouth, he blew it away, making Lucy smile. He showed a patience with the little girl that Susanna had not expected.

Again she scolded herself. She knew nothing of Captain Nesbitt other than he had fought off the French and ended up with his ship and crew in Porthlowen Harbor. No, that was not quite true. She had seen he was a man of deep compassion and deep anger. He had a strong sense of duty and just as powerful a sense of honor. Yet, he did not mind being silly if it made an injured child feel better.

She needed to acknowledge that Captain Nesbitt might continue to be a surprise, but he and his ship would soon be gone from Porthlowen. Her life would settle back into its routine again.

A tiny hand patted her fingers on the covers as Lucy asked, “Mama?”

Now it was Susanna’s turn to be shocked. Somehow she choked out, “No, my dear Lucy.”

“Yes. Mama!” A surprisingly stubborn scowl settled on the child’s face. The motion must have hurt because she whimpered.

Susanna realized the futility of arguing with her now. What did it matter how Lucy addressed her? Once the pain was gone, Lucy would be herself again.

“Captain Nesbitt,” she said, “I am sure Lucy would love to hear about how you fill your ship with all sorts of things.”

Now she had surprised him. He gave her a peculiar look that was halfway between a frown and bafflement. When she hooked her thumb toward the door, he nodded and began to spin a tale for the child that had more to do with dolphins and mermaids than the grain his ship carried when it limped into the cove.

Susanna hurried to the door with Mrs. Hitchens following. She asked the housekeeper to have a maid fetch Mollie. As close as the twins were, she guessed Lucy would be thrilled to see her sister. And, according to Caroline, Mollie had been asking for her sister all night. Reuniting the twins would be good for both of them.

* * *

Drake brought his absurd story to a close when a maid holding Mollie’s hand arrived at the bedchamber door. He watched as Lucy turned her head to see what was happening.

She looked back at him and said, “More fish. Cap, more fish.”

“No more fish tales right now,” he said, smiling when she began to pout. “There is someone here who wants to see you.”

“Mama!” she called and held out her arms to Lady Susanna.

“Mama?” repeated Mollie, looking around eagerly. Her curls bounced on her shoulders. “Where?”

“There.” Lucy sat and pointed to Lady Susanna.

He was not sure who looked more stricken. Lady Susanna or Mollie. He fought the temptation to pull them both into his arms so he did not have to see the dismay on their faces. Hadn’t he learned anything from the mistake he had made on the terrace? Seeing a woman cry undid him completely, no matter her age.

No one spoke until Lady Susanna lifted Mollie and brought her to the bed. In a falsely cheerful voice, she said, “Lucy, Mollie wants to see you now that you are awake. She has been very worried about you.”

“Who?” asked Lucy. “Why?”

“She is worried about you because you fell down.” He did not explain how horrifying it had been to discover her at the base of the long staircase. “Why don’t you give Mollie a hug?”

Lucy gave him a puzzled frown. “Who?”

“Mollie.” Lady Susanna’s smile began to waver.

“Who?”

Drake cleared his throat, halting Susanna’s answer. When she glanced at him, he said, “I think she wants to know who Mollie is.”

“Don’t be silly.”

He looked at Lucy, then paused when Mrs. Hitchens came in with a steaming bowl of what smelled like chicken broth. He ignored how his stomach rumbled and that he had not had anything to eat in almost a full day. Instead, he came around the bed, and taking Lady Susanna’s elbow, he drew her and Mollie aside so Mrs. Hitchens could spoon the broth into Lucy’s mouth.

Before Lady Susanna could say anything, he steered her and Mollie out into the hallway. He called to a nearby maid, who was carrying an armful of clean bedding, to take Mollie back to wherever the other children were. He could see Lady Susanna was amazed that he would give orders in her father’s house, but as he had with his growling stomach, he paid her astonishment no mind.