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Now that I had done so I found myself asking once more…what was the purpose? No good could come from her and me being near each other. Had anyone seen us, I could have easily stained her reputation.
“Enough, I must keep my distance from her,” I whispered as I made my way through the crowd. It was for the best.
“Pardon me, sir,” I said as I slightly bumped into a frail blond-haired man with skin so pale, I could see the blue of his veins underneath. I was not at all a small person, but I was not so large as to knock him off his feet at the mere colliding of our shoulders. However, the man screamed as if all the world were attacking at once. He collapsed into my arms, gripping his head.
“Alistair!” A woman dressed in periwinkle with white gloves dashed to his side, her brown eyes wide with fear as the man once more struggled to stand on his own.
Nevertheless, he reached out for her white hand through gritted teeth. “It…I…sorry.”
“My lord, you must breathe,” I said, checking his pulse. It was dangerously slow. I looked to whom I could only assume was his wife. “My lady, we must get him home at once, he is—”
“Brother?”
Within mere seconds another man, slightly taller than myself, with blond hair similar to the man in my arms, rushed to our side.
“What is the matter? Yumiko, what happened?” he immediately asked the woman beside us.
“I do not know! He wished to leave, as he was feeling a slight fever, and next he was falling and screaming—”
“Tristian…It…AHH! AHH!” From the name of his wife and brother, I was sure he was none other than the first son of Lord Wyndham, Lord Alistair Yves, the Viscount of Tregaron. And it was far too late to be worried about a scene. Everyone within hearing distance had now turned to look at the spectacle.
“My lord, I am a doctor, and we must get him home at once!” I said, regaining their attention as they seemed to have all but forgotten I was here.
“I shall help you move him,” his brother replied, already on the other side of him and placing his arm around his shoulders.
“I can walk…on…my own.”
“My lord, you can barely breathe on your own!” I said as we quickly moved toward the exit.
“Make way! MAKE WAY!” his brother yelled at any and everyone, with clear panic and fear in his voice as we rushed.
It took us nearly eight minutes to reach his carriage, and when we did, he was all but unconscious.
“Brother!” Tristian yelled as we laid him on the back seat.
“ALISTAIR!” his wife screamed. I understood but neither was helpful.
“Sir, I need you to go to the carriage of Lord Fancot; there you will find my medical bag!” I said directly to Tristian and he was off running a second later, leaving me with his wife, who had also entered the carriage, gripping her husband’s hand.
“Alistair? My love, open your eyes, please open your eyes, please!”
I thought it foolish, not in the realm of possibilities, for he was so clearly ill, and yet somehow his eyes opened, and he glanced up to her and smiled. How? I was not sure, but soon they closed once more and immediately I reached for his neck. He was so weak. I had heard the rumors that Lord Wyndham’s heir was nearly upon his death bed so…
“What on earth was he doing on his feet?” I asked, mostly to myself as I undid his ascot and his shirt in order to make sure neither restricted his breathing.
“It is my fault!” the woman cried beside me. “He knew I wished to see the exhibit, so he pushed himself to come with me.”
Before I could say anything, his brother returned with my bag. “I have it and I have sent a man ahead to alert the house. You all go now, I will ride behind,” he said, shutting the door and ordering the coachmen to make haste.
Reaching inside the bag, I pulled out my mixture of lungwort, peppermint, and featherfew, tilting his mouth open to help pour it down. It was not much in the way of treatment but it would keep his airway free and open and soothe his heart.
“What are you giving him? And I have not even gotten your name. Who are you?”
“I am Dr. Theodore Darrington, and I need you to tell me everything about his condition thus far. Everything.”
And she did.
For six months, the Viscount of Tregaron had suffered from the gravest headaches, loss of balance, overall weakness, and rapid weight loss. There were even times when blood came from his nose and ears. No doctor, physician, or scholar consulted could diagnose the reason for his condition, and even worse no one knew a method to help him either…no one other than Sir Grisham, who had offered him a tonic that seemed to have helped him to venture out today.
