Still, Daisy was determined to know more than she knew at this moment. What had happened? Was there any permanent damage done?
She leaned back toward an open window, though she knew very well it was wrong to eavesdrop.
“Lord Dalton,” Doctor Sheldringham said, “let’s have a look.”
Daisy presumed the lord had made some effort to answer, but it got no further than a coughing fit.
“That happens every time he tries to talk,” Lord Burke said.
“Swallowed water, I see,” the doctor said. “You’ll need time to recuperate, I’m sorry to say. Coughing is your lungs’ attempt to clear out the salt and whatever other detritus you’ve taken in, so I will not give you an elixir to calm it. Tea to wet the throat, and a draught to assist your cough’s work will be sufficient.”
There was a long and silent pause. The doctor broke it by saying, “May I ask, why have you been deposited in this shack?”
“This is where they’ve put him to live,” Bellamy said, his voice full of the indignation he seemed to carry with him everywhere.
“Well he can’t live here at the moment,” the doctor said. “This will not do at all.”
“It’s the mistress though,” Bellamy went on. “She won’t think it proper to have him in the house.”
“I see,” the doctor said. “Then he must be moved to another house. This place is too damp. There will need to be a small fire laid to take the damp from the air and I have no faith in the chimney I’m looking at just now. It would sooner collapse than provide any benefit.”
“I am fine,” Lord Dalton said, his normally deep voice thin and raspy.
“He could go to the Minkertons,” Lord Burke said.
“Ah yes, the Minkertons. They have a fine house, set back from the sea. That would be just the ticket,” the doctor said.
“I will not—” Lord Dalton did not get further than that before being overtaken by another fit of coughing.
“There, you see?” the doctor said. “What do you want to do, my lord? Stay in this God-forsaken shack and get worse? You’re already at risk for pneumonia.”
As they argued back and forth, Daisy rose to return to the drawing room. Her thoughts were in such a muddle. She could not have Lord Dalton in the house, that would be quite wrong. On the other hand, it had given her some comfort to know that he was nearby.
The letters from her father’s friends had continued to arrive and she knew the watchmen had turned back Mr. Gelpsard only the night before. Apparently, he’d turned up after eight, worse for drink and claiming he’d been invited.
Her father’s house had been no better than a tavern when he was alive and so they would treat it still. She was grateful for the watchmen, but she would feel more comfortable if Lord Dalton were there to handle any real emergency that might spring up.
As well, she did not relish the idea of the lord ensconcing himself at the Minkertons. Through some late-night self-examination, she had begun to realize that she was fonder of Lord Dalton than she ought to be.
But what was the point of even knowing that? Did she think he would always just keep himself conveniently in her garden? How did one want somebody to stay close but also to stay away?
Regardless of how long the argument went on in the cottage about what was to be done, Daisy was fairly certain that Lord Dalton would be soon enough packed in a carriage and on his way to the Minkertons.
She would be left guarded by the watchmen, Bellamy, and Mrs. Broadbent. Bellamy would be no use whatsoever and she thought Mrs. Broadbent would be her most stalwart defender.
Meanwhile, Lord Dalton would be welcomed into the warm embrace of the Minkertons.
It was all very irritating.
Chapter Seven
Despite his many objections, Burke had packed him a bag and Charles had been deposited at the Minkertons. He could not string four words together without coughing and had finally communicated his wish for paper and pen. He’d written a note to Burke, going some way to explaining that Miss Danworth might be in danger from ill-conceived lotharios coming knocking. And also, to feed the cat.
Burke had promised he would go to the house in the evening to have a word with the guards and assure all was well. And if he really must, he would feed the cat.
Charles wrote that he really must.
The relentless coughing had exhausted him and the doctor gave him some sort of awful draught which did nothing to stop it, but produced a far wetter cough and made his breathing somewhat easier.
