Mrs. Drew Plays Her Hand (23 page)

Mrs. Winslow retreated to her handkerchief again. "He's so concerned! It will be such a burden on you."

"I'll be fine, my dear," she replied, drawing strength from some reservoir she must have forgotten about. "I can check Tibbie's farm record from last year and see what needs to be done until he is well again. Tell him not to trouble himself."

Mrs. Winslow nodded, gave her a watery smile, and left. Roxanna sat back down in Lord Winn's swivel chair, holding very still against any sudden motion. She took a deep breath and reached for the farm records.

"Stay at Moreland, Lady Winn, and keep your circle of visitors small," Dr. Clyde told her three weeks later, stopping in on his way back to Richmond. His eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep, and he looked as though he slept in his clothes. "I only wanted to stop by here to tell you that. This is a wicked flu. Is everyone still well?"

"Everyone except Tibbie," she replied. He had found her in the stables after a long day in the fields, trying to get the energy to remove the Empress's saddle. "Oh, thank you, sir. I seem to be too tired to lift a saddle these days."

He peered at her closely, and put the back of his hand to her forehead. "You don't feel warm. Can you identify any other symptoms, Lady Winn?"

Oh, can I ever, she thought as she shook her head. "No, Dr.

Clyde. F am just tired." She managed what she thought was a rather fine smile. "Surely it will be better when Tibbie is about on the estate again."

He set down the saddle and removed the Empress's bridle, turning her into the loose box. "That'll be some time yet. You've written Lord Winn, of course," he said. "He needs to get you another bailiff."

"No, actually, I have not written him. He's a busy man, Dr. Clyde. We'll manage."

He walked with her to the back door, but shook his head when she invited him in to dinner. "I'm needed back in Richmond," he explained as he mounted his horse again. "And my wife said something about a bed, and clean clothes in a house I vaguely remember as my own. I think I even have children."

"Oh, dear," she said and held out her hand to him. "Take care, Dr. Clyde. There's nothing wrong with any of us here that won't keep."

She could not keep her eyes open over dinner, even through Lissy's lively chatter about Meggie's drawing lesson that morning, and Helen's description of their afternoon's expedition to the stream to find watercress. Silently she blessed Meggie Watson for her cheerful taking over of the girls so she could spend her days in the saddle seeing Moreland through the busy season of sowing, shearing, and calving.

Mrs. Howell approached her after dinner, when Helen had taken Lissy into the sitting room to practice a duet. "Lady Winn, I know how busy you are." She prefaced her remarks. "It's my sister, Mrs. Hamilton. You remember how she helped out at Christmas?"

Roxanna nodded, knowing what was coming next. "Is she ill?" she asked quietly.

The housekeeper nodded, tears in her eyes.

"Then you must go to her at once," Roxanna murmured, her arm around Mrs. Howell. "We will manage. I know I can ask Meggie to come hack over here and help in the kitchen. Isn't there a scullery maid left?"

"Aye, ma'am, Sally," Mrs. Howell replied. "She can cook, too, even though she's young."

"Excellent! And you know, I imagine Helen could help, too," she said as they walked along together. Calm, calm, Roxie, she told herself. We can eat simply, and the dust can wait. "I think you should leave as soon as possible. Can the groom take you in the gig tomorrow morning?"

Mrs. Howell was gone after breakfast, waving her handkerchief from the front drive, and then sobbing into it. Roxie stood there a long while, wishing she had time to admire the handsome, full-leafed lane and the orchard close by, the apples large enough to be visible. She rested her hand lightly on her belly. She could feel the bulge now, as slight as it was. You must be a stubborn little one, she thought as she watched the gig retreat down the lane. Considering your father, why am I surprised at that? Here I have been riding and riding for weeks now, and I even fell off the Empress once. You must be well seated in there. Thank God for that.

She walked slowly to the dower house, wanting a word of comfort from Meggie. I really should tell her about the baby, she thought as she tapped on the door. She's so good with children. And with me. I'd like to put my head in Meggie's lap and make everything go away for a while.

There was no answer. She knocked again, louder this lime. She stepped back finally and looked at the open windows in the upstairs bedrooms. "Meggie?" she called, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Meggie?"

In a moment she was wrenching open the front door and running up the stairs, her heart in her throat. She pounded on Meggie's door, then burst into the room, her eyes wide at the sight before her.

Meggie Watson looked up at her from the floor where she had fallen. She was shaking all over, and trying to speak. Roxanna threw herself down beside the nursemaid. She touched her forehead, drawing her hand away quickly, alarmed at the warmth there. Meggie could only shiver, and stare at her.

"Oh, my dear, not you, too?" she said as she helped the woman into her bed. "Don't try to speak. Just rest. I'll—I'll think of something."

Meggie died three days later, attended at the end by Helen because Roxie was supervising the first cutting of hay in the upper meadow. She used to enjoy watching the rhythm of the workers in the hayfield as they cut and stacked the hay. But now, influenza had ripped such a swath through the North Riding that she had to help pitch the hay into wains because there were too few men to work the fields. When she rode back that evening, her arms and back on fire from her exertions, she saw Dr. Clyde leaving the dower house.

"I'm sorry, Lady Winn," he said. "The flu is hardest on the young and the old."

"Oh, no," she whispered, too tired to work up more emotion. "Please tell me Meggie will be better."

"My dear, didn't you hear me? She is dead," he said. "Helen rode to tell me."

Her mind numb, she dragged herself into the dower house, where Helen and Lissy sat on the sofa, their arms around each other, both too stricken for tears. Wordlessly, she sank down at their feet and gathered them in her arms. Lissy said nothing, but burrowed in close to her, holding tight as though afraid she would disappear, too. Roxanna clung to her daughter, then touched Helen. "My dear, I am so sorry I was not here," she murmured.

Helen regarded her with those searching eyes so like Anthony's. "Mama, I think you should write to Lord Winn," she urged. "We need some help."

Roxanna shook her head. "Helen, we have been such a trouble to him for so long."

"Mama, don't you like him anymore?" Helen asked. "We have not sent letters or pictures in such a long time."

Oh, I love him, she thought. Nothing would make me happier at this minute than to crawl into his lap like Lissy here and turn all my miseries over to him. But I dare not. I am too much trouble, and he has already done more than any man could be expected to do, considering the nature of our agreement.

"I just want to carry on without bothering him," she said. It sounded lame, but it was the best she could do without tears.

There was no funeral for Meggie Watson. The epidemic had reached such a stage that the doctors forbade mourners to gather in large groups, for fear of passing on the contagion, it tore out her heart to watch Meggie's simple coffin bundled into a farm wagon and destined for the burying ground without anyone there to lament her passing. She stood with her daughters on the front steps as the wagon rolled away, acutely aware of Meggie's devotion, and wondering what to do now, with Mrs. Howell gone, and Tibbie still too ill to do more than sit up in bed and look distressed when she visited him.

She lay awake a long time that night, too tired to sleep, going over and over in her mind all the activities of the days and weeks that seemed never to end. What if I have left something out? she thought. She hoped it would rain, so she could find an excuse to stay inside, and not risk falling off the Empress again. How nice it would be to sit still, and really, how much safer. She knew she should not be in the saddle.

Thank God you are still so small, she thought as her hands rested on her belly. Perhaps she could write Lord Winn after all, and plead for help. She could assure him that he needn't come himself, but at least loan her a bailiff from another estate untroubled with illness. She reflected a moment and sighed. Since he had not been interested enough to answer that letter she sent to Northumberland, he probably would not come. And even if he did, he would never notice. Men really weren't so observant.

"Roxanna, you are a great looby," she said as she patted down her pillow and tried to find a cool spot. "How long can you keep this baby a secret?" She couldn't bring herself to voice her greatest fear, the one that dogged her all day and left her sleepless at night. When he found out, suppose Lord Winn was so angry that he divorced her? She knew he could do it. And then will I be at the mercy of my brother-in-law again?

The thought so unnerved her that she got out of bed and went to the window. She opened it and breathed deep of the fragrance from the park. Somewhere she could smell orange blossoms, and it calmed her. She stared at the moon, so full and benevolent, wondering how the night could look so serene when people were dying of influenza and her own life was a turmoil. Soon high summer would come. The flu could not hang on forever, and perhaps she would find the courage to tell Lord Winn, before he discovered it himself, or heard from others.

She climbed back in bed, trying to compose her jitters. Her eyes were finally closing when the door opened. Fletch, is that you? she thought, caught halfway between awake and dreaming. I wish I looked better.

Helen ran to the bed, her eyes wide with fear. Roxanna sat up and grabbed her daughter. "My dear, what is it?" she asked, holding her close.

"Mama! Lissy is so hot! And she is coughing like Meggie did." Helen started to cry, a helpless sound that made Roxanna suck in her breath. "Mama, I don't know what to do! Look what happened to Meggie!"

Roxanna closed her eyes in agony, seeing in her mind Helen standing helpless as Meggie died before her. She gathered her child close as she sobbed, even as she got out of bed, her heart and mind on Lissy. "Helen, you did everything you could. No one could have done more. Let us go see to Lissy now."

She compelled herself to walk slowly, her arm resting on Helen's shoulder, when she wanted to run into the other bedroom, grab Lissy, and run with her to the doctor's house. I will not panic, she told herself. She sat down on the bed, willing her hand to stop shaking, and touched Lissy's forehead.

It was so hot that Roxanna shuddered. Lissy's skin was oddly clammy, and as she sat staring down at her sweat-soaked hair, the child shivered and opened her eyes. She reached for Roxanna. "Mama, make me better," she whispered.

Roxanna grasped Lissy's hands, fearful of their feverish heat. God give me strength, she thought as she stared down at her daughter.

"Mama?" Helen asked, her voice filled with terror.

Enough of this, Roxanna, she told herself. "Don't worry, Helen," she said calmly. "I am sure that Lissy will be fine. Hand me that pitcher of water and a facecloth. Very good, my dear."

She wrung out a cool cloth for Lissy's face and then took her by the hand, kissing her fingers one by one. "Now you must try to sleep, my love," she told Lissy. "I'll be here with you. Helen, go to my bed. You need to sleep so you can help me tomorrow."

She held Lissy all night, crooning to her as she sobbed with the fever. In the morning she left Lissy in the care of the scullery maid and Helen, and hauled herself into the saddle for a half-day in the field, after sending the groom for Dr. Clyde.

She watched the farm laborers, some of them newly recovered from the flu, and then she did not care anymore. She turned the Empress toward Moreland, hoping that Tibbie would be well enough to take her place in the field. And if he was not, well, then, it didn't matter, not the harvest, or the animals. Nothing mattered but Lissy.

Dr. Clyde could promise nothing, and do little but offer fever powders of dubious value, and advice that might or might not bring about a change in Lissy's condition. He could only visit every other day, peek into the sickroom, and say "h'mmm" in that way of all doctors, and shake his head. As much as she clung to his visits as a sign of hope, she began to dread the familiar sound of his footsteps on the stairs.

"You're doing everything I would do," he assured her one afternoon as June began to turn into July with no change in Lissy's condition. He picked up Lissy's hand, frowning at her limpness. "Where's our old Lissy?" he asked, more to himself than to Roxanna. "This damnable flu just doesn't let go." He tried to smile, but it was a failed attempt. "And it preys on anxious mothers, too. Lady Winn, can you remember when you last slept?"

Roxanna stared at him stupidly, then shook her head. No, I cannot, she thought, or even when I last ate something. She could only look at him, as though he had the power to change the situation, and then look away, aghast at the helplessness in his eyes.

"Roxanna, you need some help here," he said. "I wish I could think of anyone who could help you that isn't already tending the sick."

"I just wish it would let go of her," Roxanna said as she squeezed out another cloth to wipe Lissy's body, feeling as wrung and pummeled as the rag she held. "She is so thin now."