Page 138 of The Summer Country

“Cholera’s not in the chest,” said Emily. “It’s in the bowels.”

“This isn’t cholera,” said Nathaniel, frowning over his stethoscope.

“I could have told you that,” said Mrs. Davenant. “It’s the grippe, that’s all.”

Nathaniel ignored her. “Breathe in.”

Mrs. Davenant took a shallow breath that turned into a fit of coughing that made her whole body shake. When she could speak again, she whispered crossly, “What did I tell you? La grippe. Nothing to make a fuss about.”

“You can lie back now.” Nathaniel straightened, looking grim. “It’s not la grippe. It’s winter fever.”

Mrs. Davenant was not impressed. “It’s summer. With all your education, I think you’d know that.”

Nathaniel packed his stethoscope back in its velvet-lined case. “Lung fever, then, if you prefer.”

“I don’t. I don’t have lung fever. I refuse to have lung fever.” Mrs. Davenant tried to sit up, and, with a cry, fell back again against the pillows.

Queenie rushed over to help settle her, casting Nathaniel and Emily a reproachful look.

“Ow,” said Mrs. Davenant.

“You have lung fever. Denying it won’t make it otherwise.” To Emily, Nathaniel said, “There’s not much to be done other than what you already know. Rest, quiet, beef tea, if she’ll take it.”

“Caroline Davenant died of lung fever.” Mrs. Davenant’s voice drifted up from the great bed, so faint that Emily could hardly hear her. “Robert and Charles’s mother. She’d been sick for as long as I could remember, but it was the lung fever ended her. Robert told me. Not that he said it that way. He thought it was his father’s neglect that killed her. He didn’t love her anymore. His attention wandered. And she died.”

“Men have died . . . and worms have eaten them, but not for love. There’s no medical precedent for dying of a broken heart,” said Nathaniel harshly. Opening his bag, he took out a phial of laudanum. “You’ll want something to help you sleep. Miss Dawson can give you four drops of this in a bit of wine.”

“No! They gave me laudanum before, after Edward. I won’t have it. I won’t have it.”

“Shhhh.” Emily went to her, settling her back against the pillows. “I’ll make you up a posset. Don’t worry. No spirits of wine.”

Mrs. Davenant grabbed at her shoulder, staring up at Emily, her face skeletal in the uncertain light. “She was like you. Answer for everything.”

“Who?”

Mrs. Davenant let go. “Jenny, of course.”

“It takes people this way sometimes,” said Nathaniel in an undertone. “The lung fever. It makes their minds wander.”

“I’m not wandering!” Mrs. Davenant’s voice broke, her protests lost in a fit of coughing. “Don’t you think I knew who you were from the first? I knew. As soon as you came, I knew.”

Emily wrinkled her brow at Nathaniel. “Don’t distress yourself, Mrs. Davenant. Queenie will sit with you and I’ll be back with that posset before you know I’ve gone.”

Mrs. Davenant subsided against the pillows. “You’ve come to be a judgment to me. Or to put things right. One or the other. Unless they’re one and the same.”

“I’ve come to help you rest,” said Emily firmly.

Leaving Queenie in charge, she went out with Nathaniel into the hall. “Thank you for coming all this way. I would never have guessed that it might be lung fever.”

“So there are some benefits to all my education, then,” said Nathaniel.

For a moment, they stood looking at each other in the dim hall, a candle guttering in its holder on the wall, the air between them charged with memory.

Feeling like a coward, Emily ducked away, saying quickly, “I know it’s late, but would you mind seeing to the patients in the infirmary before you go? Mrs. Davenant was subjecting them to the most bizarre treatments, turpentine wraps and Christmas bush. . . .”

“She might not have been far wrong with the Christmas bush.” Nathaniel’s voice was brisk, doctorly. “I’ll stay the night and go back in the morning.”

“I’ll have someone make up a room for you.”