Page 17 of Once Bitten, Twice Mine

Lifting the silver cloche, her porridge was a congealed mess with soggy green apples slowly sinking to the bottom of the bowl. No matter. Her breakfast was interrupted by new repairs so frequently she was more familiar with cold porridge than warm.

The sweet flavor burst on her tongue as her mother burst through the door.

“Good morning, Mam,” she said between bites as she tried to tamp down her annoyance.

“Caroline,” her mother wailed, a balled-up handkerchief in her hand. “Your father has taken ill.”

Caroline paused, her spoon halfway to her mouth as she comprehended her mother’s words. “What type of illness?”

“I’m not sure. Last night at dinner he was a little distant, but he’s been so worried lately that I thought it was just nerves. This morning I could barely rouse him, and when he finally did wake up, he said he was dizzy, and his chest hurt.”

“Does he have a fever? Or is he complaining of a chill?”

Caroline delicately placed her spoon back in the bowl, her hunger lost as her mind raced through the options.

“He didn’t feel feverish when I checked him, and he hasn’t complained of feeling cold. I left the blankets on him just in case, but he said he only wanted to sleep.”

Caroline blew out a breath. There seemed to be little overlap with symptoms of the three sick people in her home besides a deep desire for sleep. She remembered what Dr. Murnau said when she helped him during an influenza outbreak the previous summer. The first step to diagnosis was to gather information. Symptoms, habits, prior history, anything that could lead them to answers.

“Let’s go see him.”

Caroline followed her mother to their wing. Her parents’ bedrooms were across the hall from each other, which was typical for estates such as theirs. What was less typical was that she had never known her parents to have ever slept apart.

Even after all these years, walking into her parents’ bedroom felt strange. It both wasn’t a place for her, but was also stunningly, achingly familiar. The smell of her father’s tobacco, the greenhouse flowers on her mother’s vanity, the daguerreotype the three of them took years ago at an exhibit in London on the bureau. It was all familiar from years of crawling onto the couch at the foot of their bed to sleep when she had a nightmare, but it also felt like a place where she didn’t belong.

Her father lay still on his side of the bed. Looking down on him was strange; his face was relaxed, the laugh lines were slack, and it was clear how prominent the lines on his forehead and around his eyes were. His hair was thinning more than his artful hairstyles let on. He looked vulnerable, and Caroline hated it. She wanted to shake him awake, scream at him for getting sick. For scaring her mother and making her cry and interrupting Caroline’s breakfast. For scaring her too.

“Papa.” Her voice was small as she placed her hand on his forehead.

Instead of the heat Valeria had, or the chill from Nelly, he felt fine. Normal. His breath stuttered in his chest, though his eyes remained closed. Still, she relaxed at this movement, no matter how small it was.

“How was he last night?”

“Fine. He read for a bit before falling asleep, but there was nothing strange.”

Caroline’s eyes flicked up to see the gauzy white curtains floating in the wind.

“Did you open the window?”

Her mother frowned. “No, I hate sleeping with a breeze, and I didn’t open it this morning.”

Caroline walked over to inspect the latch. These windows had been replaced more recently, sometime in the last ten or so years, so the lock slid easily into place unlike Nelly’s. And while Nelly’s room was on the ground floor and it was technically possible for someone to enter that way, her parents’ room was on the third floor, and there wasn’t so much as a trellis for someone to scale.

“Caro,” her father wheezed, and she rushed back to his side.

“What’s wrong, Papa?”

“I don’t know, my head hurts. I was dizzy earlier, but I’m feeling a little better. Will you close the drapes? The light’s hurting my eyes.”

“You gave us a scare, George,” her mother said as she pulled the heavy drapes over the windows, leaving only the dull orange glow of the gaslamp to light the room.

“I’m sorry, love. I don’t know what came over me. I had the strangest dreams last night, and I feel so strange now. I’ll be fine if you give me a minute.”

Caroline frowned. “What kind of dream?” Nelly mentioned a nightmare as well.

“Nothing in particular.” He gave her a weak smile as he patted her arm. “It was one of those dreams that frighten you in the moment, but you can’t remember why once you’re awake. Maybe I ate something that disagreed with me.”

“I’ll send for Dr. Murnau.”