Laura told herself, trying to squelch her ever-present anxiety, that Lord Beaulieu’s sister might recognize her.
Deliberately garbing herself in the ugliest of Aunt Mary’s gowns and the most voluminous of the lace dowager caps, Laura forced her face into a mask of serenity and knocked at the door of Lady Elspeth’s sitting room.
But as she entered, a small figure bounded up. “Did you nurse Uncle Kit and keep the angels from taking him to heaven?” she demanded.
“Catherine!” her mother protested from her reclining position upon the sofa. “You mustn’t pounce upon people like that. Greet Mrs. Martin properly, if you please.”
With a sigh the girl straightened, then dipped a curtsey. “Good day, Mrs. Martin. I trust you are well?”
The speech was so clearly parroted—and practiced—Laura had to smile. “Good day to you, Lady Catherine. I am quite well, thank you. And you?”
“Very well, but Mama’s not. That’s why she’s so cross. Uncle Beau said you kept the angels from taking Uncle Kit. I’m so glad! He’s ever so much fun, and I’m not finished with him yet.”
The vision of angels tussling over Kit Bradsleigh’s bed tickled Laura’s whimsy, and some of her nervousness fled. She took the hand Lady Catherine held out and walked with her to the sofa.
“Perhaps God wasn’t ready for him yet,” Laura said. Unlike my Jennie. A dull ache permeated her at the unbidden thought, and wearily she suppressed it. “But Dr. MacDonovan did most of the work, you know.”
The little girl looked thoughtful, then nodded. “Angels would surely leave Dr. Mac alone. He talks too loud and he makes you drink nasty medicine.” She gestured to Lady Elspeth. “I think that’s why mama is sick.”
“Don’t be impertinent, Catherine,” her mama reproved with a frown. “If you cannot confine your conversation to more proper subjects I shall send you back to the nursery.”
The small face grew instantly contrite. “I’ll be good, Mama. Please let me stay. Uncle Beau said we can’t ride for hours yet and Mary doesn’t know any games, and the books Uncle Beau left are full of big words.”
Lady Elspeth, looking in truth very pale and weary, sighed and leaned over to ruffle her daughter’s hair. “I’m sorry, pet. Mrs. Martin, I’m afraid Catherine’s nurse came down with a putrid sore throat this morning and has taken to her bed. I can’t seem to summon the energy to go out, which leaves poor Catherine stranded in the nursery with only Mary for company. She’s a kind girl, but not at all used to dealing with children.”
Laura felt an instant sympathy for the spirited, active little girl forced to remain cooped up indoors. “Should you like to take a walk, Lady Catherine? The gardens are still pretty with the late roses blooming. That is, if you would permit, Lady Elspeth.”
Lady Catherine’s face lit. “Oh please, Mama, may I?”
“Are you sure, Mrs. Martin? I wouldn’t like her to tease you, and she can be quite—energetic.”
“I would love to! I used to tend my older sister’s girls when their governess was—” Alarmed, Laura caught herself before she blundered into revealing more details. “Occupied,” she finished, hoping Lady Elspeth hadn’t noticed her sudden dismay. “I do enjoy children.”
“Then I should be grateful. Mind, Catherine, that you let us drink our tea in peace.”
“Yes, Mama.” Lady Catherine looked up to give Laura a beaming smile. “You’re nice, just like Uncle Beau said. I like you, even if you do wear such ugly gowns.”
Lady Elspeth’s eyes widened and she straightened, as if to make a grab for her lamentably plain-spoken child. But as she leaned forward, her face grew paler still. Clutching a handkerchief to her mouth, she struggled from her seat and seized a nearby chamberpot.
“Ugh,” Catherine said over the ensuing sound of her mother’s retching. “I hate Mama being sick. Uncle Beau says soon she’ll be better, but she’s been sick ever so long.” The small chin wavered. “It scares me,” she admitted, tears forming in her eyes.
Laura had intended to keep this meeting as brief as possible. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave a frightened little girl in need of comfort, or depart without attempting to help alleviate the distress of her suffering mother.
She hugged Catherine, who came into her arms with no resistance, her body trembling. “Your uncle Beau is right, Catherine. Your mama won’t be sick for too much longer.” Not knowing what the child had been told, she decided not to explain further. “I’ve nursed lots of people, and I can tell when someone is very ill and when they’re about to get better. Your mama will get better.”
“You’re sure?” The child looked up at her, anxious eyes huge in her troubled face.
“Cross my heart,” Laura promised. The girl sighed. “If you could keep the angels from taking Uncle Kit, I suppose you can keep them from Mama.”
“Why don’t you go back to the nursery and find your cloak and some heavy shoes. Then you’ll be ready to walk when your mama and I finish tea.”
The child nodded. “She won’t drink any, though. She doesn’t drink anything at tea now, and we don’t have the pretty pink cakes anymore ‘cause she says the smell makes her ill.”
“How disappointing,” Laura said. “You know, if we meet Squire Everett on our walk and you ask him nicely, I wager he’d have his cook bake some pretty pink cakes. You could share them with your uncle Beau in the nursery, where the smell wouldn’t bother your mama.”
The small face brightened. “He would? I shall ask today!” The child leaped up and hugged her. “You must have some cakes, too. Oh, I do like you! I’m sorry I said your gown was ugly. Though truly it is.”
Grinning, Laura bent down until her lips were close to the girl’s ear. “I know,” she whispered, and winked.
With a giggle, the little girl skipped out. Laura turned to the mother, who was now wiping her face and trying to gather the remnants of her dignity.
“M-Mrs. Martin, I do apolo—”
“Please, Lady Elspeth, there’s no need! I’m a nurse, you will recall. Come, sit down and try to get comfortable. Has your physician given you any remedies to help alleviate the sickness?”
Wearily Lady Elspeth settled against the cushions. “He said an overheating of the blood causes it, and ordered Nurse to mix up some vile concoction that was supposed to cool the humors, but I couldn’t keep it down. Nor would I let him bleed me, as he urged and Wentworth pleaded. I—I’m already so weak, I cannot see how bleeding would help.”
Laura nodded. “My uncle found, after much study, that bleeding does tend to weaken the patient. He recommended more gentle means—teas blended with chamomile and peppermint to soothe the stomach, and lozenges composed of sugar, ginger root, and lavender to suck on when the queasy feeling strikes. I—I have a stock made up and could obtain some for you, if you should like to try.”
“Just now I’m willing to try anything short of a pistol bullet to the head,” Lady Elspeth replied grimly.
“I
