Читать книгу To Win A Wallflower - Liz Tyner - Страница 11

Barrett nodded at Carson’s recounting of stitching used in the air balloons as he and Carson returned to the house. The man’s notion of a rousing evening left a little to be desired. It didn’t improve with the tenth telling. Barrett had had to insist they return home early as he couldn’t bear another moment of the camaraderie.

Barrett gave the servant his hat, letting Carson ramble on. Three days. He could not take another balloon story and he had yet to see the daughter. Several times he’d caught a whiff of perfume in the air or heard skittering noises above his head, and just a hint of a voice that he’d heard only once before. He remained in the house, surprised that he was willing to stay, but aware he’d always had a persistence inside him that he couldn’t quite understand.

Carson remained at the doorway, giving the butler instructions to pass along to the housekeeper to pass along to the cook. Barrett continued up the stairs.

As he ascended the stairs, he realised she stood at the top, watching him.

A slender woman, with little of her face left over if you subtracted her eyes and lips and hair. She was seemingly frozen at the sight of him.

It would not have been out of place for her to be bathed in sunbeams and yet she hardly seemed the incomparable that his brother had spoken of. More like a whisper of a woman than the temptress his brother described.

He walked into her presence, unable to look away in those moments, trying to discern what was different and yet not staring. ‘You must be Miss Carson.’

She nodded, dipping her head to him.

‘Annabelle,’ her father called out behind Barrett, ‘you are supposed to be in your room.’ His voice intensified so much that Barrett turned to him.

‘I thought you were to be out all evening,’ she responded.

The man moved up the stairs with more speed than Barrett would have thought him capable of.

Barrett stepped aside.

‘You are not to be bothering our guests.’ Carson’s face had reddened and Barrett didn’t think it all from the exertion of running up the stairs.

‘It’s no bother,’ Barrett reassured Carson.

‘She’s not to be about,’ Carson said, shooing her away with his hand. ‘I’ve told her many times that she is not to interfere with business.’

The smile left her face. ‘Yes, Father. I was just going to see how Myrtle is doing. Her feet were hurting her so, as she has been running up and down the stairs to make sure I am fine.’

‘You are not to be traipsing after the servants. It is their duty to care for you. I would not want Mr Barrett to get the wrong impression of you.’

She looked down, but Barrett wasn’t sure if it was submissive or to hide her eyes. He’d seen the set of her jaw.

‘Go to your room,’ Carson instructed.

‘Wait.’ Barrett held out a palm in Carson’s direction. ‘It’s her house. I wouldn’t want to displace her. And my only impression seems to be that she understands someone else’s discomfort.’

‘She doesn’t mind staying in her room,’ Carson said. ‘Annie is used to it. Prefers it most of the time.’ He spoke the last words almost as an accusation.

‘I’m sure she wishes to keep out of the way. And I would imagine she does quite well at it.’ Barrett could attest to that. He’d tried for three days to see her in the family quarters and apparently the only time she would be there was when no one was around.

‘You don’t realise what it is like to have a daughter,’ Carson eyed Barrett. ‘Annie is the sunshine of our days. She tried to keep her older sisters from upsetting us. She’s the youngest and above all else I want her protected from business and the strife life can bring.’

‘My sisters—I have two,’ Annie said, lifting her eyes. ‘Father is concerned that I don’t follow in their footsteps. They’ve both recently...moved away.’

‘Laura married and Honour is visiting family because she could not be content at home. Annie is all we have left. And we don’t want anyone getting any wrong ideas.’ He glanced at Barrett. ‘She’s half-betrothed, but I must beg your confidence in the matter.’

‘Of course you have it,’ Barrett said.

Annie took in a breath and stared at her father. Barrett caught the apologetic glance her father gave her.

‘I’m sure there are few men who are good enough for a woman who might be concerned for a staff member’s feet,’ Barrett said.

She turned to him. A glimmer of appreciation flashed across her face.

Carson nodded. ‘It is indeed difficult to find someone suitable. I’d thought the man her sister Laura married half-good enough for her and—’ he shook his head so that his chin wiggled ‘—he sorely disappointed me.’

‘Perhaps Miss Annie and your wife could join us for a cup of tea,’ Barrett said.

Now Carson turned to him, suspicion in his eyes. ‘The women would not be interested in the things we men like.’ He clasped his hands behind his back and frowned at Barrett.

Annie smiled, but it dimmed her eyes. ‘I would not.’ She turned and walked down the hallway, head proud as any peer, and disappeared around a corner. The servants’ stair.

‘I don’t remember ever seeing your other daughters about London,’ Barrett said.

‘No,’ Carson said. ‘They chose to leave. I expect them both to return eventually, sadder but wiser.’ Carson stared at the path Annie had taken to leave. ‘Sons would have been so much easier to raise...’

The older man walked to the door of the sitting room, went through the doorway and then, within seconds, returned for Barrett, seemingly forgetting about his daughters. ‘Oh, and I’ve some balloon drawings to show you. I sent for them and they arrived while we were out.’

‘Certainly,’ Barrett said. He didn’t need drawings of balloons. He had something else entirely to visualise. In fact, based on the exterior of the house, the rooms he’d seen and Annie’s departure up the stairway, he knew the house as well as the one he lived in. Annie’s movement up the stairs had filled in the last question in his mind.

* * *

‘Dearest.’ Her mother stopped at the doorway, head down, her hand shielding her eyes. ‘Please close the curtain. I fear my head is going to start hurting. I see the little waves of pain prancing in front of my eyes.’

Annie turned, noticing the green beads sparkling on her mother’s slippers.

‘Of course.’ The curtain fluttered back into place.

‘Would you please read to me until the physician arrives?’ Her mother’s voice wavered.

She held an arm out and Annie guided her to the darkened sitting room, helping her sit. Annie picked up the footstool. Raising her feet, her mother waited for Annie to put the stool directly under the slippers. The older woman settled in place, fidgeting into a comfortable position.

‘I could fetch you something from the apothecary. I’d take Myrtle for a chaperon,’ Annie offered.

‘Nonsense, dear,’ her mother muttered, waving a hand but still keeping her eyes closed. ‘The housekeeper can send someone else. You have a weak constitution. I won’t have you catching your death from that tainted air. And please hand me the cinnamon biscuits.’ She waved an arm. ‘The physician has had them made to his instructions. I can see why he has been physician to so many families of the ton. He is so knowledgeable and so caring.’

Annie stepped away from her mother and lifted the tray of confections, the scent of them trailing behind her as she walked. She put them on the table at the side of her mother. Her mother took the nearest one, leaned back in her chair, shut her eyes and crunched at the edges of the biscuit, tasting more than eating.

Annie looked over her shoulder at the flowing velvet covering the windows. Some days she didn’t care if the air was unhealthy or the people all carried the plague and vermin crawled about. Some days she would just like to go to the shops without having to fill the carriage with people who must go with her.

Then her mother peered over Annie’s shoulder, and the older woman’s face brightened. ‘The physician can verify that you need to take care and stay inside.’

Annie moved, her eyes following her mother’s gaze.

‘Your mother is right.’ The physician stood in the doorway, perfectly dressed, perfectly perfect and very perfectly annoying.

Now she was sure she didn’t like the man. If he wished to keep her locked away, too, then she had no use for him. The house was bigger than a crypt, but just as closed. Well, no. The people in the crypt had more freedom.

He walked in, placing his bag on the floor, next to the pedestal with the bust of King George.

‘Oh...my...’ The physician stared at her. His eyes widened. Then he put a hand to his coat pocket and pulled out a monocle.

Annie leaned backwards as she pulled in her breath. Her mother straightened, as if waiting for a life-or-death pronouncement in a trial.

The doctor paused. He turned to her mother. ‘How long has your daughter been this way?’

‘What?’ her mother gasped.

In one stride he stood in front of Annie. He held the glass against his eye and peered at her. The scent of dried weeds tainted the air. The man smelled like a poultice. ‘Her skin. It’s too thin.’

Annie didn’t move. Her stomach knotted. She would be a near-invalid like her mother. She would be trapped forever. Her breath caught. She put her hand over her heart.

His head darted around, vermin-like, and he did all but wiggle his whiskers. ‘I can’t see straight through to the bones exactly. But I’m sure they have the texture of sawdust now.’

He lowered the glass to his side and bowed his head. ‘I would hate to see one so young forever... Well, forever not with us.’

Annie took a step back. She had to get away from his words. And if she was going to die anyway, she’d rather do it away from the house.

‘I can save your life. Should it be necessary.’ He raised his face. Then he saw the look in her eyes. ‘Don’t worry, Miss Annabelle. I have a cure.’ He held out a hand in a calming gesture. ‘A very reliable cure.’

Her mother tensed. ‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘She has epidemeosis.’ He patted a hand to his chest. ‘That term is my own as I am the first to be aware of it. In the rest of the world it’s unknown—for now.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Well. Nothing really.’ He blinked his words away. ‘The cure is so simple as to be...simple, for lack of a better word.’

‘But her illness?’

‘It’s merely a lack of bile. A serious bile blockage.’

‘The humours again,’ her mother whispered, eyes widening. ‘Those devilish humours. They never stay in order.’

‘Yes. But she’s young. She’ll recover fast. I just would not want it to hurt her spleen. If it reaches the stage where it damages the spleen...’ He shook his head, and expelled a lingering breath, seeming to paint the room with his concern.

‘I will recover?’ Annie asked. She clutched the back of the chair, using it to keep herself upright.

‘Of course.’ The physician turned in her direction, but he glanced briefly at the ceiling, as if he’d heard the words before and perhaps did not even believe himself.

Annie sensed something wrong, but she wasn’t sure if he lied about her recovery or something else.

Then he took the manner of a tutor. ‘It seems the night air right before dawn can build strength. By exposing a person to a small amount of some poisons, they can build a resistance. Edward Jenner discovered this with his cowpox theory when he created a way to save us from smallpox.’ He puffed at the glass of the monocle, blowing away a bit of fuzz. ‘But we mustn’t be overzealous. Give me a few moments and I’ll search out the room which has the highest chance of filtering the air in the right amounts.’

‘Are you sure it will help?’ Annie asked.

‘It’s very simple. You’ll have to sit alone, awake, in the room between four and five in the morning—breathing. Those are the best hours for the air. You can read, or sew or whatever suits your fancy.’

He tapped the monocle against his leg and stared at her mother. ‘I would certainly pass the word throughout the staff and family that they are definitely not to disturb her at this time. It seems the humours are most likely to be put askew by the people who are closest to her the most often. I—’ He put his monocle away. ‘I could speak with her for hours and it wouldn’t bother her as I’ve hardly been near her. But there’s something shared, a miasma of sorts, in people who have been closest to her... She needs to be away from them for a bit.’

‘Are you certain it will cure her?’

‘Oh, yes. I have studied this extensively. For years. I wrote a paper on it.’

‘Well, let me know which room and I will tell the maid to wake her in time for her recovery regime.’

‘I don’t want to do that,’ Annie said. She didn’t trust the man.

The doctor looked at her as if her spleen had just spoken back to him.

‘Miss Annabelle. You must. You have no choice. I have my reputation to keep.’

‘You’ve not been able to cure Mother’s headaches.’

Her mother leaned towards Annabelle, reached out a hand and swatted at Annie’s arm. ‘They are so much better, though. And the lavender oils he has the maids rub into my feet... It always eases my pain.’

The doctor raised a brow in one of those I told you so gestures.

‘Very well.’ She stood and looked at her mother. ‘But only if you promise to let me go somewhere the next week.’

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. ‘Where do you wish to go?’

‘Anywhere. Anywhere but a soirée or a gathering. I would just like to not feel I am being coddled every moment.’

‘Your father will forbid it.’ Her mother’s lids lowered. Her eyes drooped closed and she pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘My pain just increased tenfold.’

‘We will get that corrected right away.’ The doctor stepped forward, but glanced at Annie. ‘I will discuss which room for you will be best and I expect you to be there from four to five in the morning.’

‘Yes, Annie.’ Her mother opened one eye. ‘Do as the physician says.’

Annie left. She would do as the big miasma of a physician said, but if it became too tedious, she would walk in the gardens, darkness or not. She was tired of being a puppet.