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CHAPTER25
Acrisp knock sounded on the door of Henry’s bedchamber. He had been pacing, unable to relax for even one moment. “Come in,” Henry called out.
The door opened, and Georges stood there, his shoulders drawn back, his bald head gleaming in the light of the early morning sunlight. “Forgive the disturbance, Your Grace,” Georges said, tipping his head respectfully at Henry.
Henry brushed aside the comment. “It’s no intrusion, Georges. I am merely pacing. I can do that any old time.” Henry found he could not still his feet. Throughout the long night, he had wandered back and forth. Even after he met with Dr. Wexler and the physician assured him that Eleanor only had a minute headache, Henry could not shake the feeling that something was dreadfully wrong. Now, seeing Georges standing before him at this very early hour, Henry feared that his suspicions had been correct.
“Her Grace is asking for you,” Georges said, bowing and then taking a small step backward. He moved quickly to get out of Henry’s way, as Henry wasted no time rushing toward the door and out into the hall. He did not bother to knock on Eleanor’s bedchamber door, either.
If Eleanor has asked to see me, I have no need to announce my presence. She will know that I am on my way.
Henry burst into the room and found Eleanor surrounded by visitors. Curiously, Dr. Wexler was nowhere to be seen, but it seemed as though everyone else in the household was gathered around Eleanor’s bedside. Lady Clay sat in a chair right next to Eleanor’s bed and Frederick stood behind her. On Eleanor’s opposite side sat Henry’s grandmother. She was wringing a lacy handkerchief in her hands. At the foot of the bed stood Eleanor’s mother. Her face was pale and appeared withered. Her hair had not been fixed properly this morning and it showed a streak of grey that Henry had never noticed before.
“What is all this?” Henry demanded. There were so many people crowded around Eleanor’s bed, he couldn’t see his wife. The gathering turned to glance at Henry, and it wasn’t until Eleanor spoke that Henry was able to spot her.
“I’m here, Your Grace,” Eleanor said softly, and Henry’s eyes drew toward her. She was positioned so that she was sitting upright, but an inordinate number of pillows were being utilized to produce this result. She was wearing a wispy white nightgown that had a very high collar. Her skin was so washed out, it nearly blended in with the nightdress, and that caused Henry’s pulse to spike.
“If you don’t mind, I should like to speak to my wife now… privately,” Henry added, just in case anyone in the room thought they might hang around and listen to their conversation. One by one, everyone filed out of Eleanor’s room. Henry’s grandmother lingered. She placed her hand on Henry’s arm.
He could feel her bony fingers trembling. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Henry’s brow contracted, as he had not the faintest clue what his grandmother might be referencing. Eleanor’s lady’s maid lingered, but Henry bid her leave as well. He wanted to be able to speak freely to his wife, without anyone absorbing their conversation and possibly repeating it later.
As soon as the room cleared, Henry fell into the open seat Lady Clay had just vacated. “Eleanor,” he said, leaning forward and running a hand over her forehead. She felt a tad warm, but it was rather stuffy in her room. “What has happened?”
“I can’t be sure,” Eleanor replied, her eyes widened as if she were frightened.
“When I spoke with Dr. Wexler just a few hours ago, he assured me you were only suffering from a headache. He said a good night’s rest would set things right. But…” Henry paused and looked over Eleanor’s pale complexion, “… I feel like his diagnosis might have been inaccurate.”
“That’s just the thing,” Eleanor whispered. Her eyes darted around the room as though she feared someone might somehow still be listening in on their conversation. “When I spoke with the physician, I was feeling better, but…” She grabbed hold of Henry’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “…now, I feel differently. It is as though my headache subsided, but my uneasiness went elsewhere.”
“Where does it hurt?” Henry asked, leaning into Eleanor.
“My stomach aches and my vision is blurry. I can see you, but you are sitting very closely, and I know your face almost as well as I do my own.”
Henry allowed himself a small smile at that comment. His wife, his Eleanor, was so very dear to him. She was so precious.
I will do anything to see her well again.
“Tell me about your morning,” Henry prompted. “If you were starting to feel better last night, then something must have happened this morning to alter things. I would ask if you’ve had any visitors, but it seems the whole house has been at your bedside.”
Eleanor dropped Henry’s hand and slumped back against her pillows. “I am rather exhausted by all the attention. I recall seeing the doctor before first light, but then, as soon as the sun came up, Rosalin was here.”
“Yes, I spoke with her last night. I hope you do not mind that I allowed her access to your bedchambers.”
“Of course not, Henry. Rosalin is always welcome, but…” She paused and fixed her stare on Henry.
“What? What is it?” Henry asked, perplexed by her searching look.
“Rosalin shared some rather distressing news with me,” Eleanor answered, still scrutinizing Henry’s face closely.
“So—she did tell you. Perhaps that can account for your worsening condition,” Henry supplied logically.
“No,” Eleanor shook her head. “I will not deny it. I was surprised by Rosalin’s confession of her feelings, but that has nothing to do with my illness.”
“I’m sorry, Eleanor. I should have told you the moment Frederick confided in me. It must have been quite a shock for you to learn that your brother and your dearest friend had formed such an attachment,” Henry said reaching forward once more to take Eleanor’s hands in his own. They were cold and clammy, so Henry began massaging them.
“The thing is… I can understand Rosalin and Frederick becoming close. I can even understand how they might fall in love with one another, but to act on it in such a careless way. It is as if they do not care at all about Lord Clay. They act as if he is already dead.”
Henry shook his head despondently. “I will send a servant to his house.”
