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All save his friends. Samuel and Ralph remained, though David had managed the courtesy to at least see Annabelle to the door, as a proper dinner partner ought at the end of an evening.
Arthur wondered if he ought to say something. On one hand, he wanted desperately to be alone with his thoughts. On the other, his friends were a welcome distraction from those same thoughts, which bid fair to drive him mad with their unanswered questions. Then again, both men had clearly consumed too much alcohol, and neither of them were the best of company when inebriated, as their behavior over the course of the evening proved.
His mother solved the issue for him by fixing his wayward companions with a stern look that made both men flush like chastened schoolboys. “I believe, gentlemen, that I asked you to depart.”
That got them both moving. Within moments, Arthur and his mother were alone in the dining room amid the remains of a half-eaten meal and a promising evening reduced to shambles.
His mother came round the table and set a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You should not take his words to heart. You know Nora better than that, my son.”
“Perhaps.” He pushed himself to his feet. “I shall be in the drawing room. Have one of the servants watch for her to return and send word to me when she arrives.”
She had to return. She had to. His mother’s words echoed in his head, and he clung to them as he ascended to the drawing room and closed the door behind him.
Yes. He knew Nora better than that. She was intelligent, well-bred, and honorable. She would not play him false.
And yet, Ralph’s words echoed as well, and the thoughts of the day before came back, whispering around his mind like hissing snakes.
What do I truly know of Nora?
* * *
Nora entered the cottage at a near run, breath hitching in her throat and roaring in her ears as she flung the door open and dashed inside.
Scarlett looked up from where she bent over Lydia, and relief showed clear on her face. “Nora. Thank goodness you’ve come.”
She flung her cloak to the side and moved to the bedside. Her heart clenched at the sight before her.
Lydia lay tangled in the blankets, shivering even as sweat beaded and dripped off her tiny forehead. She was in her lightest clothing, a thin, soft shirt nearly transparent with age and two sizes too big, and it was near soaked through. Even as Nora watched, the child shifted restlessly and opened fever-glazed eyes. “Mama….” Her voice was a thin, pitiable wail of sound.
Nora kicked off her shoes and clambered on the bed, leaning down to embrace her daughter. She winced at the heat emanating from the small frame, like a roast straight from the cook fire. Nonetheless, she hugged her daughter close. “It’s all right, darling. Mama is here. I’m here for you.”
“Mama…” Another ragged sob and Lydia curled into her side, sniffling fretfully. “Hot. Too hot.” She whimpered.
“I’m sorry, love. I’m sorry.”
Scarlett moved into view. “Shall I go for a physician?”
“Yes. I rather think you must. I cannot leave her in this state.” Nora swallowed back her fear.
“All right.” Scarlett caressed Lydia’s hot forehead gently, then vanished out the door.
Time passed. Nora left the bed every now and then to dampen cooling cloths to bathe Lydia’s fevered skin. She hugged her daughter close when the wee child cried out, comforting her with songs, nonsense whispers, and rambling stories whenever the fever made her vision wander and produce images for her eye alone.
Once, Lydia blinked at her with glassy eyes. “Mama... hot…”
“I know, darling, I know.” She pressed a new cool cloth against the child’s forehead.
“Shadow beasts, mama…” The youngster shivered and weakly tried to cuddle closer. “Don’ want to get... don’ let them eat me?” The words were tentative and frightened and tore at her heartstrings.
“Never, my little love. Never. Mama will be here to hold you close and chase the shadow beasts away.” Her voice quavered as she started a soothing lullaby and watched Lydia sink back into a fitful rest that hovered between sleeping and awake.
She cradled her babe close and tried to slip a little liquid into her mouth when she could. Cold tea, lukewarm small beer, even a tiny drop or two of cheap wine. But Lydia either spit it back out, choked, or whimpered and turned her head away.
Time passed, plodding on in what seemed like an eternity of endless nights. She was near despair when the latch clicked, and Scarlett slipped into the cottage.
She was alone, carrying a heavy-looking bowl with a cloth wrapped tightly around it. Her expression was grim as she came to stand at the bedside and set her burden down.
“I am sorry, Nora, love. The physicians would not come. Not at this hour, though I tried. I got naught but curses and threats for all my efforts.”
