“Has anyone sent for a doctor?” Papa asked.
Charlie shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“I can fetch him, sir,” Kade said. “Anything I can do to help.”
“No, I’ll send one of the grooms,” Papa brusquely replied. “But someone needs to tell me now what the hell is wrong with my son so the blasted doctor will know what he’s going to be dealing with.”
The bedroom door suddenly opened, and Charlie’s mother stepped out. “Please stop shouting, Henry. It is not helpful to have such a commotion.”
Papa immediately looked contrite. “Sorry, my dear. My valet just informed me that Johnny has taken a bad turn, so you can’t blame a father for being upset.”
“From what I saw earlier,” Angus observed, “ye could shoot off a cannon in the lad’s room without wakin’ him.”
“Good God,” Papa exclaimed. “What’s wrong with the lad?”
“I don’t know,” Mamma replied. “Melissa and I finally managed to rouse him, but the doctor should certainly be sent for. Johnny is clearly not himself.”
“I’ll send a groom to fetch . . . no, hang it, I’ll go myself. I’m already dressed for it. What do I need to tell the doctor, so he brings the right gear to treat the boy?”
“I’ll walk with you to the stables. We can talk on the way.” Mamma glanced at Charlie. “Please go in and help your sister, my dear.”
Once her parents hurried off, Charlie glanced at Kade. “You’ll find Sir Leslie and keep an eye on him?”
He gave her a reassuring smile. “Yes, and don’t worry. Just take care of your brother.”
Then he strode off in the direction of the guest wing.
“I need to go in with ye, lass,” Angus said. “I might be able to tell what’s wrong with wee Johnny and get a jump on treatin’ him.”
“But shouldn’t we wait for the physician?” she asked.
He regarded her with a kind but serious expression. “The lads like to twit me about my doctorin’ skills, but I do ken a great deal about herbs and medicinals. My dear wife taught me. If someone’s slipped Johnny somethin’, I might be able to tell what it is.”
Charlie nodded as she opened the door. “Of course. That makes perfect sense.”
Only one lamp and the small peat fire in the grate lighted the room. Johnny, clad in a wool robe, was in a chair by the fire. Melissa knelt in front of him, helping him drink a glass of water while their housekeeper was putting fresh linens on the bed.
Thank God.
If her brother was out of bed, he must be feeling somewhat better.
“Och, it’s as dark as a dungeon in here,” Angus said, crossing to the closed curtains. “Johnny could stand a wee bit of light and fresh air, I reckon.”
“Don’t open the curtains too much,” Melissa warned. “The light hurts his eyes.”
Angus cast her a sharp glance. “Does it, now? Well, that’s somethin’ to think about.”
Charlie went to her brother and sister. Johnny, rumpled and bleary-eyed, seemed to be having trouble focusing on her.
When she took his hands, they felt clammy. “How are you, dearest?”
“I feel like the devil,” he slowly replied, his words a bit slurred. “Don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
When Angus drew aside one of the curtains, letting light into the room, Charlie had to bite back a gasp. Johnny looked ill as death. His features were wan and pasty and sweat had plastered the hair to his forehead.
“Ugh,” he muttered, scrunching his eyes against the light.
Charlie cast a worried glance at her sister.
