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‘Where does the closest doctor or surgeon reside, Angus?’
Angus grimaced, his scars twisting even further as he strode up the stairs beside her.
‘Doctor Harris is gone to Edinburgh this week so there’s only Dr Mitchell and he’ll be deep in whisky this hour. We don’t send for him after the sun sets unless we send for a priest, too. I don’t want to worry Benneit...His Grace...unless we must. Tonight of all nights.’
‘Well, we shall see first what is ailing Jamie and then decide.’
* * *
Nurse Moody was in the room when Jo entered, bending over Jamie’s bed. Jamie himself was curled up into a ball at the corner of the bed and she saw immediately this was not merely one of his nightmares. His face was chalky and his forehead glistened with sweat, his eyes tightly shut.
‘I want Jo!’ he moaned and she hurried forward.
‘I’m here, Jamie.’
‘My pudding box hurts! Worse than in the carriage...’
She sat down beside the little ball and touched his forehead. He was cool and one worry erased itself.
‘Was he asleep?’ she asked Nurse Moody and the older woman shook her head worriedly.
‘I don’t rightly know, Mrs Langdale. I heard him moaning and I came.’
Jo ran her hand down his clammy cheek and her fingers snagged on a red substance at the corner of his mouth. For one horrible moment she feared it was blood, but without thinking she raised her fingers and sniffed at them. Before she could comment a harsh shudder ran through Jamie.
‘Angus, the basin, now!’ she called and to his credit Angus grabbed the basin quickly enough and she had it under poor Jamie’s head as his body heaved. For several moments the only sounds were his dreadful retching and choked sobs, mixed with her murmurs as she tried to calm the little boy. When the retching settled into shudders, she handed the basin to Angus who took it with all the fastidiousness of a London dandy and hurried out. Nurse Moody handed her a dampened towel and she bathed Jamie’s face as he lay exhausted and shuddering.
‘Jamie! What is wrong?’ Benneit burst into the room and Jamie gave a little wail and burrowed into his pillow.
‘Hush, Benneit,’ Jo admonished.
‘Don’t hush me, what is wrong?’
He sank on to the other side of the bed, turning Jamie towards him, his face as pale as his son’s, though less grey. Jamie moaned and a tear squeezed out of the corner of his tightly shut eyes.
‘’m sorry...’
Benneit turned to her, his face pale and fierce.
‘What happened? Tell me!’
‘Too many tarts,’ she replied, bathing Jamie’s forehead and cheeks. ‘You needn’t worry, Jamie. No one is angry with you.’
‘Tarts?’
‘I believe Jamie didn’t want to wait until his punishment was lifted to sample Mrs Merry’s jam tarts. To be fair, they are delicious... Sorry, Jamie, I should not have said that,’ she amended as the little body heaved. Benneit cupped his son’s face in his hands, his profile tense and hard, and Jamie began crying weakly.
‘I feel awful, Papa.’
‘Hush, Jamie, don’t worry,’ he murmured, stroking the damp curls back from the boy’s brow. ‘It will pass.’
Jamie shook his head, crying harder. Jo thought of leaving them, but did not move. As if sensing her hesitation Jamie’s hand crawled from under his blanket and tucked itself under hers. Benneit directed her a hard, angry look, as if either his son’s illness or this gesture were transgressions on her part, which perhaps they were.
He is merely scared and a little jealous, she assured herself. But it hurt more than it ought, especially after his chivalry that evening and the moment of raw heat during the dance. It hurt, but not enough to convince her to leave.
They sat in silence. At some point Benneit took the damp cloth from her and soothed Jamie’s face. Eventually the shudders calmed and Jamie’s body stretched out, inch by inch, his eyes fluttering open and a little colour returning to his cheeks.
‘I’ll never eat tarts again, Papa,’ he whispered, his voice raw. ‘Ever.’
Benneit set aside the cloth and smiled.
‘Not for a while, at least, little turtle. Can you sleep now?’
