Читать книгу Impoverished Miss, Convenient Wife - Michelle Styles, Michelle Styles - Страница 7

Chapter Two

The heart-rending wails hit Phoebe as she mounted the stairs—pitiful wails to make any adult wince with pity, pleas for his aunt to come upstairs. But with each new piercing sound, Simon Clare’s face became more stonily resolute and the maid only appeared concerned that her evening had been interrupted.

‘Who is Mrs Smith?’ Phoebe asked.

‘Robert’s nurse.’ Mr Clare stopped and a wry smile crossed his face. ‘Surely you do not expect me to leave Robert under the care of a scullery maid, or perhaps lying on his own, unattended? Mrs Smith came highly recommended from Lady Bolt. She has excellent references. But Robert wants his aunt.’

Excellent references. Phoebe’s heart sank. Had she entirely misjudged the situation? She had been positive that his letter had asked for a nurse. ‘It would appear that I have made a mistake.’

‘It would appear to be the case, Miss Benedict. And you may explain the situation to Robert.’

Another loud, long echoing plea issued from the room. Phoebe’s heart squeezed. How would he react when she explained about his aunt? Would he understand any better than his father? And then what?

She glanced at Mr Clare’s stern back. His coat twitched as if he knew she would get her words wrong. Suddenly she wanted to rush down the stairs and demand to be returned to London. But that would be admitting failure.

Phoebe allowed herself three steps of panic and then regained control. She knew why she was here. James deserved his chance in the army. A friendship with the Earl of Coltonby was not to be underestimated. Who knew where it might lead not only for James but for Edmund as well? She owed it to her stepbrothers. After all, she bore some responsibility for their predicament.

She took another step and knew there was more to it. She had seen the tears in Lady Coltonby’s eyes and knew how torn she was between her love for her nephew and her need to protect her unborn child.

‘Miss Benedict, I am waiting. Unless of course you want to give up before you have begun.’

Phoebe gathered her skirts in her free hand and marched up the final few stairs. ‘Quit before I have begun? Never!’

‘Well said, Miss Benedict. I hope you will not have cause to regret those words.’

He flung open the door. Phoebe stifled a gasp. The single guttering oil lamp threw shifting shadows on to piles of broken toys and dirty linen, and an overturned bowl of congealed brown liquid oozed on the floor. A freezing wind blew through an open window as a young boy with only a few shreds of hair on his head stood screaming on the bed, his hands clenched around the rails of the iron bedstead. Phoebe shivered slightly and fought to keep her stomach from churning as all around her the echoes of his cries rose. How could anyone with an ounce of compassion in their body permit this to happen? Where was this misbegotten nurse who had been hired?

She glanced up at Mr Clare, but his face had become even more set, harder and more forbidding.

‘Robert, be quiet this instant! You will do yourself injury!’

‘Aunt Diana. I want Aunt Diana.’ A tear trickled down the boy’s face as he rocked back and forth. A terrible squeaking from the bed combined with the wailing to create an unholy din. ‘She is here! I heard the coach! You promised!’

‘Stop this racket!’ Mr Clare thundered. ‘Immediately, Robert Clare! You are ten, not four! Behave yourself, boy!’

The boy stopped his screaming so abruptly that the silence seemed unnatural. Everything appeared suspended in time as if she had inadvertently stepped into one of the panoramas at the Exeter Change. The scar on Simon Clare’s face stood out bright red against the paleness of his cheek. His hands curled tightly as if he was making a supreme effort not to hit the wall. His son’s pleading face was turned towards him.

Her stomach knotted. She felt helpless standing there watching the scene, but her voice refused to work.

A gust of wind rattled through the room bringing with it a flurry of hard stinging snow, breaking the spell.

‘Who opened the window? The room is freezing.’ Simon struggled to contain his temper. The window had been opened to the elements. Against his expressed orders. Windows were to be kept tightly latched at all times. He had been very clear on that. Every one of the staff knew the order. It could only have been one person. The blackness of his nightmare was complete. ‘Robert, did you open this window?’

Robert slowly shook his head as he hugged his arms about him. ‘I am cold. I want a fire!’

Simon slammed the window shut and threw a bucket of coal on the fire, before he turned towards the boy. ‘Somebody must have! Windows do not magically fly open!’

‘I…Ihavenoidea.’ Robert’s teeth chattered as Simon eased him back under the covers. ‘It just opened! When I woke, I was cold.’

‘My orders are quite strict on the matter! No window is to be opened!’ Simon struggled to hang on to his temper. Memories of the last time he had discovered a window open like this assaulted him. ‘Are you sure it wasn’t you, Robert?’

‘It wasn’t me!’ Robert looked up at him with injured eyes.

‘If not you, then who?’

‘Mrs Smith did,’ Robert mumbled, ducking his head. ‘She did it, because I was naughty.’

‘Mrs Smith? You will have to do better than that, Robert. Mrs Smith is a trained nurse. I cannot abide a

liar. Who threw the beef jelly on the floor?’

‘Hate beef jelly. Particularly when it is cold.’

Behind him, Simon Clare could hear Miss Benedict make a little tutting noise in the back of her throat, judging him and finding him wanting. His humiliation was complete. And Robert had been exposed as the liar the nurse had said he was. Why had his life come down to this?

He glared at Mrs Smith, who had come into the room with a superior expression on her face. She was the fifth nurse he had hired for Robert. ‘Did you open that window against my expressed orders?’

The woman looked uncomfortable, but did not speak. The back of Simon’s neck prickled.

‘I did, sir,’ Mrs Smith said finally. ‘I thought the cold air would calm him. In such cases—’

‘Balderdash. I have no wish to hear about other cases and theories. You disobeyed me!’ Simon fought to retain a leash on his temper. For once Robert had not been lying. Did the foolish woman not realise what damage she could have done? The nurse cowered slightly as if she expected to be beaten. He heard Miss Benedict’s sharp intake of breath. Simon sighed. When had he ever had a servant beaten? He might shout, but it was beneath him to discipline his servants in that fashion. He was no boorish aristocrat who gave way to his passions.

‘But…but…please, sir, it was the only way. He was yelling something fierce. I thought it would shock him back to his senses. He threw beef jelly at me.’

‘Never, ever disobey me again!’ Simon banged his cane down on the floor. ‘In fact, get out of my sight and pack your bags!’

‘You need not ask me twice. No amount of money would make me stay and look after that…that monster of a child!’ The nurse turned on her heel.

He shook his head in disgust. Yet another staffing problem to deal with.

The pain in his head grew, throbbing and blotting out everything. He gave his head a shake and with an effort forced the pain to recede.

He thought that once Diana arrived, everything would get easier, and he could dispense with the nurse. But instead he had been landed with a former débutante and Robert was becoming more unmanageable by the day.

He refused to even think about what the doctor had said about how Robert’s mind could be affected by the illness. He wouldn’t let it happen. Robert would get well. He wanted his boy back.

‘I want Aunt Diana. I heard the carriage.’ Robert’s green eyes blazed defiantly as he banged his hand against the iron bedstead. ‘Aunt Diana! Aunt Diana!’

‘And this is the way you behave? Creating a mess like this? To get attention? You would make your aunt cry.’

‘Mr Clare,’ Miss Benedict said in a soft voice, as if he had done something wrong.

‘I want my aunt!’

‘You have shamed me, Robert. Truly shamed me.’ Simon shook his head. ‘When this is cleaned up, then we will discuss your aunt.’

Robert closed his mouth, attempted to draw a breath and failed. As Simon watched in horror, the boy’s limbs and face began to jerk uncontrollably.

A small noise came from Miss Benedict behind him in the doorway. Simon wanted to tell her that this was not the Robert he knew.

‘Stop that, Robert! You can control yourself if you want to. Concentrate, boy!’ A surge of fear swept through him as Robert gave no indication that he had heard. He wanted to do something for the boy. He wanted to prevent what was coming next. ‘Cease that noise this instant!’ He put a hand to his head and whispered, ‘Please!’

‘Shall I get the footmen and the rope, sir?’ The maid peeped out from behind the door. ‘It is the way I had to do it last night when Mrs Smith refused to help. The boy will not take his medicine. It is more than a body should have to deal with. Like Mrs Smith said—he should be sent away to one of them hospitals.’

‘Are ropes really necessary? The boy seems frightened enough,’ Miss Benedict asked in a clear voice, breaking through Simon’s desperation. ‘Does he have to be tied down?’

‘I am trying, Papa. I can’t seem to stop.’ The boy’s limbs began to move of their own accord, jerking and dancing. A ghastly parody of the boy he knew and loved.

‘You must stop, Robert. Or else you will leave me with no choice…’

‘I am trying, Papa.’ Robert struggled to contain his movement but the jerking and rocking only increased. ‘Truly I am.’

Prior to Robert’s illness Simon had considered the accident when his travelling engine had exploded to be the most frightening experience of his life, but now he knew it was far more dreadful to watch Robert suffer this torment. Robert raised two trembling hands. The night shirt fell away from his wrists and the red welts from last night were clearly visible.

Simon winced, hating the necessity of restraining the boy. He had no other choice. Robert had to take his medicine. It was a fight for Robert’s soul, but it did not mean that he had to like the method.

The boy’s breath rattled again, an awful sound. Simon cursed his own useless arm. Once he would have been able to administer the medicine himself, but no longer. ‘Bring two footmen. Quickly!’

He heard the maid’s footsteps hurrying down the hall. He forced his hand to pick up the beef-jelly bowl, heart sick at his own failure. Behind him Robert’s wailing rose and fell.

‘I wish to speak with you, Mr Clare. In the corridor.’

‘Is there some new problem, Miss Benedict? Has the noise disturbed your kitten per chance?’ A bitter laugh escaped his throat. ‘If you will excuse me, other matters are more urgent.’

‘We need to speak.’ Her eyes became rapiers. ‘Now, Mr Clare, before you make a big mistake.’

He looked down at her, tempted to brush her aside. The avenging angel with the flawless skin and disapproving beestung mouth, so righteous in her indignation, so sure in her clipped tone of voice—what did she know about his fears? Or how the laudanum appeared to return Robert to his former self for a few hours? He knew what Mrs Smith thought and what the four nurses before her had thought.

All he wanted was for Robert to get well. A great weariness descended over him. Every particle of his body ached. He hated this. He would loathe himself afterwards, but it was the only way to get Robert to take his medicine.

‘As you wish.’ Simon ran his hand through his hair and waited. He had had such hopes when the carriage had arrived back, but now all he had was an interfering, meddlesome woman. He did not need to be told that tying down his son with ropes was wrong. With her disapproving look and crossed arms, Miss Benedict failed to understand that he was doing the only thing he could to save his son. Robert had to take the medicine whether he liked it or not.

‘I highly doubt that Robert has done this on purpose.’

‘He tries to avoid the laudanum. The nurse was right. The boy has become ungovernable.’ He forced a ghost of a smile. ‘And it is entirely my fault.’

‘You are taking the nurse’s word. The woman who opened an invalid’s window during a blizzard! She could have given him lung fever! How could you have allowed such a creature in this house?’

Simon clenched his hands. What other new great insight could Miss Benedict give him?

Miss Benedict clamped her mouth shut, but her eyes burned with an even greater intensity. ‘You should have checked…’

‘I note you do not offer any references of your own. You ask me to take you on trust.’

‘I can certainly do a better job than that…that slattern!’

‘The footmen have already been called.’

‘Listen to my plan.’ Phoebe forced her voice to be calm. She had to get through to this man. The boy was in trouble. She could see his blue lips and uncontrollable shuddering. This was no act of defiance or a wish to get attention. This was something else entirely. ‘He may not be to blame.’

Mr Clare’s face blazed with a barely controlled fury, but she stood her ground and refused to flinch.

‘Do you not think every way has been tried? Tried and failed? I have had experienced nurses. This is no tea party, Miss Benedict. This is real life. The boy must take his medicine or risk dying.’

‘But not that way! It is cruel and is making matters worse! We need to speak if I am to help the boy.’

A faint sardonic smile touched his lips. ‘I am rather busy at present. If you disagree with my methods, you know where the door is.’

‘You will listen to me.’ Phoebe ground the words out. ‘Will you tie me down as well or will you listen to what I have to say!’

Mr Clare glanced at the boy and his face appeared to soften momentarily. Phoebe silently pleaded that somehow her words had penetrated, that he would finally agree to listen.

‘You have five minutes, Miss Benedict, to explain yourself.’ His quiet words filled the room. ‘After that, my coach will return you to your home.’

Phoebe blinked. He had agreed! Tension flowed from her shoulders, leaving her weak and giddy.

Mr Clare led the way into the hallway as she heard Robert’s sobbing increase, but the squeaking of the bed slowed. The fit was ending. She gave one hurried glance, but saw that the boy appeared to be coping. She carefully closed the door.

She looked Mr Clare in the face and sought to find the concerned, loving parent, rather than the stern savage who had greeted her at the door.

‘That boy is far from being mad.’ Phoebe crossed her arms and met his intense gaze. ‘He is frightened beyond measure. The threat of ropes and being forced to take the medicine is making matters worse. He had already begun to calm down when the medicine was mentioned. Yes, he is excited, but—’

‘What do you suggest should be done with him?’ Mr Clare raised an eyebrow. ‘He bit Mrs Smith two nights ago. I saw the teeth marks on her arm. Others have tried to tell me that it is my duty to send him to the madhouse. But not Robert! Not while I have a breath in my body!’

Tiredness made Phoebe’s mind clumsy, but she fought against it. All she knew was that tying the boy down was wrong. He was a frightened little boy in need of understanding. He had had scarlet fever, not brain fever. ‘Did she say why he had bitten her? Did anyone see it happen? She went against your wishes about the window.’

Mr Clare’s face took on an even more ruthless demeanour, became even more piratical. She suspected that he longed for a plank so that she could be ordered to walk it. ‘She attempted to give him his laudanum. And I saw the bite.’

‘Perhaps the nurse tried to force it down his throat— against his will. He reacted in the only way he had left.’

‘He must do as he is told, Miss Benedict.’ Mr Clare regarded her with disdain. ‘All of us must do things in this life that we dislike, but we do them. It has been explained to Robert, several times.’

‘Have you ever had medicine forced down your throat, Mr Clare?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘It matters a great deal.’

The air crackled between them, replete with some raw elemental emotion. His hard look intensified. Phoebe resolutely refused to turn her gaze away as the heat between them threatened to sear her. Suddenly he turned his face. The breath exited her lungs with a whoosh.

‘My stepbrothers never had to be tied down when they had scarlet fever, not even the youngest, and he contracted rheumatic fever,’ she said quietly. ‘I think the nurse has frightened Robert badly.’

‘Your stepbrothers were not Robert. If he will not take his medicine, measures must be taken.’ Mr Clare’s mouth became a thin white line. ‘Is that all you wished to speak me about? Your time is nearly up.’

‘Have these fits been happening long? Did he ever have episodes like this before she started to care for him?’ Phoebe asked quickly, seeking to regain the upper hand. ‘Your sister never said that he suffered from any affliction. Did the fever cause this?’

‘They started within the last few weeks. Just before Mrs Smith started or just after.’ Mr Clare ran his hand through his hair. ‘Then this started happening—these fits of madness. I knew Diana was my last chance. Robert’s cries were unbearable.’

Phoebe pressed her lips together. Thank goodness Lord Coltonby had seen the sense of it and had prevented his wife from travelling. This sickroom was the last place where Lady Coltonby should be.

‘Have you had the doctor in? What does he say?’ Tiredness made her head fuzzy, blocking her thoughts.

‘Doctor MacFarlane says that only time will cure him. It is out of our hands.’ Simon Clare crossed his arms and gave her a dark brooding look. ‘Robert must be nursed here.’

Robert was not mad. It was his illness. He had contracted rheumatic fever. It had to be. It bore all the hallmarks of what Edmund had had. St Vitus’s dance. Phoebe paused, unclear how best to proceed. Then she decided that she would simply have to say it, tell Mr Clare the worst. But hopefully, once he knew, then he would stop using the ropes. It had to work.

‘My youngest stepbrother, Edmund, contracted rheumatic fever after his bout of scarlet fever. His limbs and face would shake and move. Our doctor called the condition StVitus’s Dance. It affected his heart, not his mind.’

‘And how does he fare now?’ Simon Clare’s hoarse whisper echoed down the corridor.

‘He can run as well as any man, better than most. He has finished his last term at Oxford.’ Phoebe could not resist a note of pride creeping into her voice. Of all of her stepbrothers, Edmund was the one she felt closest to. He made her feel as if she was not an outsider, as if he truly cared about what happened to her. ‘He hopes to join one of the Inns of Court soon and train to be a lawyer. Hardly the actions of an imbecile.’

She forced her gaze to meet Mr Clare’s green one, felt it bore down into her soul as if he were searching for something. Every inclination in her body told her that he would yell and storm, but she kept regarding him, refusing to flinch. He looked away.

‘Is it not an affliction?’ Mr Clare’s voice was a husky rasp. ‘Will Robert recover? Will he return to his old self? Do you promise me?’

‘I have every reason to hope Robert will recover as well. He looks so much like Edmund,’ she whispered. ‘It may take a long time, but there is hope. You do not need to use ropes. He must be kept calm. Please let me try. Your sister believed I could help.’

‘You have seen him at his worst and have not run. It is more than several of the maids were able to stand. Perhaps Diana’s judgment was not misplaced.’ The colour drained from Simon Clare’s face, but his shoulders straightened. ‘What do you propose?’

‘Keep him quiet. Speak to him gently. Reasonably. He looks to be an intelligent boy.’ Phoebe forced her voice to be calm and matter of fact. Excitement surged through her. She had this one chance to prove her worth. ‘He is not to be put under any undue stress.’

‘But he needs to take his medicine. I refuse to allow him to become a little savage. I refuse…’ His voice tailed off in exhaustion.

‘Allow me to handle this. I will get him to take the laudanum.’ Phoebe said the words with far more confidence than she felt. ‘Allow me to prove that I can nurse Robert. If I can’t, I will leave in the morning and you can hire another nurse with references.’

‘You have ten minutes.’ He held out his hand. ‘And, Miss Benedict, he must take his medicine.’

Phoebe swallowed hard and touched her fingers to his. They curled around hers for an instant, warm and strong. A pulse went up her arm and she rapidly withdrew her hand. ‘It will be enough time.’

Silently she prayed that her words were true.