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She finally looked back at me and said, “Go on to bed, Lizzy. You have been a great help, dear.”
I left my mother’s chamber and stopped by the nursery. My father had insisted I be kept from my sisters lest I fall ill, but I wanted to check on Janie. I slipped into the dark room and crept over to my sister’s bed.
“Feel better, Janie,” I whispered. She thrashed about in the bed, her face covered in a light sheen of sweat and itchy, red spots. I placed my arm on hers to quieten her. “Shh. All will be well. Lydia is already feeling much better. I am certain you will soon be better, too.”
Jane stilled under my touch and I slipped out of the nursery before nanny caught me.
The next morning, I tapped on my mother’s door to say good morning and ask how the baby fared.
“Good morning, Lizzy. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you. How is Lydia?”
“She is doing very well indeed. Are you still feeling well yourself?”
I nodded vigorously. I felt the same as I always felt, though rather bored.
“I have good news from the nursery. Jane seems to be recovering.”
I smiled so broadly I my cheeks ached. “Truly?”
“Truly. Nanny says her fever has broken and more than half her pox are completely gone, and the remainder look to be fading.”
I returned my mother’s happy smile. “That is wonderful! May I see her?”
“I do not think it wise. You have still not had the disease and I do not wish you to become ill.”
I must have looked guilty for my mother immediately became suspicious and squinted at me. “Elizabeth? Did you sneak into the nursery to see your sisters?”
I stared at the floor.
“Elizabeth.”
“Only for a minute! And I only saw Janie. She was hot and sweaty and moving about. I only spoke to her for a second to calm her. Then I left. I promise!”
My mother looked at me sternly. “You were only there a minute?”
I nodded.
She exhaled heavily. “It seems you are safe this time, but I insist you stay out of the nursery.”
I said I would and made my way to the chamber I was temporarily imprisoned in. As I passed by my father’s door, I heard him speaking to his man, Simms. I tapped on the door tentatively.
“Come in, Elizabeth.”
“How did you know it was me?” I asked as I peeked my head around the door.
“You think I do not know the steps and knock of my own child?” asked my father with a glint in his eye.
“How are you feeling?”
Simms left through the servants’ door and my father bade me closer. “I am doing better, my child. Are you still well?”
I nodded. Why did everyone continue to be surprised by that fact?
“Might you sing me a song? I have not heard any music since this wretched business began.”
I smiled and scampered onto the bed beside him. He patted my hand and I began the song he had taught me that summer. He and my mother often sang together in the evenings. No one knew it, but my father could play the pianoforte better than most and my mother had a lovely singing voice. Father often said I sounded like her when I sang. His eyes drooped and I lowered my voice until he drifted off with my hand still in his. I slid off the bed and tiptoed to the door, sneaking back to my room before my mother caught me.
