Page 6 of A Daring Desire

“My lord,” she said to Kilbane, who had subsided against the pillows. He was sweating, his face pale as parchment, and there was a blue tinge to his lips she did not like in the least.

He opened his eyes, favouring her with a baleful glare.

“The doctor is here to see you.”

His eyes widened at that, and he shook his head. “No,” he managed. “You.”

Cat stared at him in astonishment, not having expected that.

“But I am no doctor, my lord. I have sent for my dear Pippin, for she has always cared for my family, but I do not know yet when she will get here, and you are gravely ill.”

A stubborn expression lit his eyes, and he shook his head again. “You,” he insisted struggling for breath. “Won’t be killed by some damn… quack! If anyone gets to murder me… ought to be… you.”

She gave a startled laugh at this declaration and stared at him in wonder.

“Earned the right,” he grumbled, closing his eyes.

“Well….” Cat began but there was a soft knock and Berrycloth hurried in before she could answer him.

“And here is Dr Fanshaw, my lord,” he said with obvious relief. “He’ll have you right as a trivet in no time.”

Cat turned to see an imposing and good-natured looking man stride into the room carrying with him an air of competence. The doctor was a big, bluff looking fellow with a ruddy countenance and a shock of white hair.

“Good day, my Lady Kilbane, my lord. Let me see what I can make of his lordship, then,” he said jovially, taking hold of Kilbane’s wrist and looking at his watch intently for a while. “Hmm, very fast and irregular. You’ve quite a fever raging there, too. From what your man here has told me of your coughing and other symptoms, and what I see before me, I think it is undoubtedly pneumonia.”

“Astonishing,” Kilbane muttered acidly.

“But,” the fellow said, eyes twinkling, “I shall give you a thorough examination first, to be certain. Though I don’t expect to change my diagnosis. Then we shall begin with mercury as a laxative and antimony to induce vomiting. Cupping and blistering agents ought to be applied to his chest to draw the pneumonia out of his lungs and to the surface of the skin. I’ll also prescribe morphine to ease the pain, and we’ll have you back on your feet in no time,” he added with a warm smile.

Cat listened to the doctor’s prescription with growing agitation but held her tongue until Kilbane fumbled for her hand among the bedcovers and gripped it hard.

“Catherine,” he whispered urgently, then fell into a horrific coughing fit that left him gasping and wretched.

“I think we ought to begin at once,” the doctor said, listening to the appalling cough with a grave expression, adding. “In fact, I think I ought to begin by bleeding him.”

“No!” Cat exclaimed, knowing full well Pippin’s view of a treatment she considered utterly barbaric and wrong-headed. “I beg your pardon, Mr Fanshaw, and I pray you will forgive me, but my husband does not wish to be bled or induced to vomit or to submit to any other of the practises you suggest. I apologise for wasting your time, but he wishes me to care for him, and I must obey his commands,” she added primly, doing her best to act the dutiful wife and vaguely aware of a muffled snort from the bed.

“But, my lady,” Berrycloth objected. “You cannot think to dispense with advice from a man with so many years’ experience.”

Cat stared at them, not giving a farthing what the doctor thought of her, but a little daunted to have Mr Berrycloth believe she was taking a fatal risk with her husband’s life. Still, she put up her chin and pulled the icy cloak of impenetrability around her she had become used to wear of late. “I thank you for your time and your advice, sir. My husband does not wish to be treated by you. That is all. I bid you a good morning,” she said, her voice haughty and clipped.

“My lady,” the doctor said kindly, his words soft now. “I completely understand and applaud a wife’s very natural desire to follow her husband’s orders, but in this instance, he is out of his head with pain and exhaustion and a good wife must in such circumstances place her trust in a medical professional who knows far better than she what to do in such cases.”

Thoroughly irritated now, Cat had no trouble in replying. “Nonetheless. We do not wish for your services. I am sorry you have been put to so much trouble for no reason. Please send me your bill to cover any inconvenience we have caused. Good day to you, sir. Jefferies will show you out.”

The doctor’s expression darkened, but he gave a taut nod and reached for his bag. “As you wish, my lady, but you likely just signed his death warrant. I pray you do not live to regret your decision.”

Cat held her breath as the doctor stalked out, closely followed by Berrycloth, who shot her a reproachful glare before he closed the door.

She let out an uneven breath and turned back to the bed where Kilbane was watching her, his expression unreadable.

“Well, I hope you’re pleased,” she said tartly. “Now if you turn up your toes, I shall be deemed a murderess.”

A cynical smile quirked his wicked mouth and Cat concluded that he was well pleased indeed.

Lord Kilbane’s conditioned worsened steadily as the day wore on, and Cat felt the weight of Berrycloth’s judgement upon her with increasing anxiety. She watched for any sign of her father’s carriage, praying that Pippin would be with her soon. A soft knock at the door had her on her feet, and she opened it to see Rose smiling at her.

“Come and have a cup of tea and some cake. You must eat, Cat, and it’s been hours since you took even a drink,” she said.