Chapter 5
“I know that I have lived because I have felt, and, feeling giving me the knowledge of my existence, I know likewise that I shall exist no more when I shall have ceased to feel.”
Giacomo Casanova
Despite her assurance to Julius, Audrey was anxious as she crossed the back garden and calculated a route to Markham House that would avoid anyone watching the earl’s home.
The rain had eased to a fine mist, and as she exited into the alleyway, she turned right.
It would take longer to reach the duke’s townhouse and the grocer, but Julius’s caution echoed in her ears.
She took a circuitous route, pausing at each corner to glance back along the street she had left, ever wary of pursuit.
The cobbles were slick, the air cool with moisture, and her boots made only the faintest sound on the damp pavement.
Soon, she had delivered the note, visited the grocer, and secured a small jar of honey charged to the earl’s account.
Then she stopped at the nearby apothecary to purchase powdered bark and dried herbs she could brew into a fever-reducing concoction. She would do all she could.
When she returned to the mews, the clouds still glowered overhead, but the rain had slowed to a whisper.
Letting herself in through the mews, she crossed the garden once more, stepping inside through the kitchen door to find that the table had been cleared in her absence.
Her valise and other items remained untouched.
Rose had evidently chosen not to interfere.
The older woman looked up from where she was wringing out a towel, the stained linen red with what Audrey assumed was Julius’s blood. “Bless you, Miss Gideon, we’m that glad to see ’ee home again. We been proper worried.”
“Thank you. I took my time to ensure no one was following me.”
Rose pursed her lips, her round face still etched with worry. “’Tis hard to credit anyone would lay a hand on Master Julius, him being such a good soul.”
Audrey nodded as she began repacking her father’s old valise. The familiar scent of leather and liniment gave her courage. He had trained her well, but treating an earl’s heir under threat of fever was no small task. Fortunately, Julius was young and strong.
“It is outrageous. I have some herbs I need to brew for Master Julius. Could you prepare a tea tray with boiling water in a teapot?”
“Aye, Miss Gideon,” Rose replied, already gathering what she needed. “Just the hot water?”
“Yes. Thank you. Where is his lordship?”
“Patrick near carried him to his bedchamber, third floor, down the west corridor.”
Audrey knew the location. She had stayed on that floor before when Lady Hays acted as her chaperon.
“Could I have a teaspoon?”
Rose handed one to her. Ready again, Audrey lifted her valise and turned toward the servants’ stairs.
On the second-floor landing, Audrey set down her valise and slipped off her cape.
It was sodden and clung to her shoulders like a second skin, the damp wool chilling her to the bone.
Folding it over her arm, she gave a shiver.
Each layer of clothing she wore had grown heavy with moisture, and she silently wished for something dry.
Perhaps there would be a robe or blanket in Julius’s room.
She could have her garments dried out later.
Lifting her father’s worn valise once more, she climbed the final set of stairs to the third floor. Turning into the west hall, she walked to the last door and knocked.
It swung open almost at once to reveal Patrick. His whiskered face was pinched with concern, the lines around his eyes deeper than usual.
“Miss Gideon, you’re home safe! Master Julius is in a high fever. He’s abed now, but he’s in sore need of you.
Audrey gave a composed nod and swept past him with quiet urgency.
Julius lay beneath the deep green-and-gold brocade of the canopied bed, his form barely stirring.
She shook her head. This was precisely why she could not leave him in the care of untrained servants.
Crossing the thick rug, she set the valise down beside the bed and folded the covers back with brisk confidence.
Patrick had removed the bloodied garments, and Julius now rested in his small clothes, his limbs restless and his torso flushed with heat.
Audrey had seen her share of bare flesh during her years assisting her father, but the sight of Julius gave her pause.
His chest was broad and well-formed, his abdomen flat and firm.
Despite the sickly sheen of sweat across his skin, he looked strong. More than that, he looked beautiful.
A dusting of fair hair covered his torso, catching the lamplight. She had assumed the golden curls atop his head were an artifice of the valet’s handiwork. Evidently, it was the brown at the sides and back that was the illusion.
She pulled off her damp kid gloves and pressed the back of her fingers lightly to his brow. He was far too warm, his forehead slick with perspiration.
“Please open the windows, Patrick. We need to cool Master Julius down.”
Patrick nodded and crossed the room, unfastening the latches on the tall mullioned windows. The view overlooked the rear gardens, ensuring privacy from the street. A faint breeze stirred the curtains.
Julius opened a bleary eye, his gaze struggling to focus. “You are back.”
“I am,” Audrey said softly.
“Thank heavens,” he mumbled, the eye sliding closed again. A visible shiver rippled across his chest, and gooseflesh broke out where the air met fevered skin.
Patrick shifted his weight awkwardly near the foot of the bed, clearly uncertain what to do.
Just then, Rose appeared in the doorway with the tray Audrey had requested.
Her face was pink from the heat of the kitchen.
Audrey directed her to place it on the dressing table.
She poured a little water into a small china cup and turned to her valise, finding the stoppered vial of white willow bark.
She would need to research a more effective combination later, but this would do for now.
She stirred a spoonful of the bark into the water and carried the bitter mixture to Julius’s bedside. Behind her, Rose and Patrick stood together, both visibly anxious, their hands twisting in aprons and coat fronts.
“Rose, I will need a fresh supply of boiled water every hour,” Audrey said, measuring her voice for calm efficiency. “Perhaps … broth. I would like some broth brought up as well.”
The maid nodded, her expression visibly relieved now that she had a specific task to perform.
Audrey leaned over Julius, cupping the back of his head with steady hands, her palm brushing against sweat-damp curls as she lifted him enough to drink. His eyelids fluttered, fever-bright and glassy.
“I need you to swallow, Julius,” she said gently.
Tilting the cup to his lips, she watched as he obeyed, gulping the bitter brew in two swift swallows.
“’Tis foul,” he muttered, his head falling back onto the linen pillow.
Audrey straightened, glancing toward Patrick, who still lingered by the fireplace, awaiting direction.
“I need to raise him to remove the bandage.”
Without hesitation, the old servant hurried over to assist, gently lifting Julius’s shoulders. The patient gave a low groan of protest, but did not resist.
Audrey unwrapped the linen bandage, peeling it away with slow care, and set it aside. She collected the jar of honey she had brought up from the kitchen, removed the lid, and dipped in the teaspoon. Returning to Julius’s side, she seated herself in the carved armchair Patrick had positioned nearby.
Scooping up a spoonful of the golden salve, she drizzled it over the reddened sutures, watching it catch the light before using the back of the spoon to smooth it evenly across the length of the wound. The scent of it, floral and faintly medicinal, rose in the still air.
Rising, she crossed to the washstand to rinse the sticky residue from her hands, the cold water biting at her fingertips. After drying them quickly on the linen towel, she returned to the bed.
Patrick helped lift Julius again. With careful hands, Audrey positioned a clean strip of cotton over the wound, then reached around his solid torso to secure the new bandage, snug but not constricting.
“No one must be aware we are here,” she murmured.
The servant gave a solemn nod, though he remained where he stood, his gaze lingering on the flushed face of the man in the bed.
Julius had always left an impression. His confidence, his charm, his ostentatious character.
Patrick’s concern was etched in the way he rubbed the back of his neck, his brow deeply furrowed.
“Is there a robe for me to change into? My things are damp, and I need to get dry.”
A cold breeze from the open windows crept beneath her damp skirts, making her shiver. Audrey still needed to prepare a more advanced fever draught from her father’s notes, but if she did not change soon, she would risk falling ill herself.
Patrick gave a curt nod and crossed to the wardrobe, pulling out a banyan robe and a loose pair of cotton trousers. “I’ll be in the ’all.” He exited, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Audrey stepped behind the dressing screen and began the awkward task of peeling herself out of her sodden gown. The fabric clung stubbornly to her limbs, and the damp buttons tested her patience, but at last, she exhaled in triumph as the dress dropped to the floor in a heavy, wet heap.
She stepped into the trousers, rolled the waistband down twice, and tied them off at the hip. The banyan followed, slipping over her chemise with a whisper of fabric, and she knotted the sash securely around her waist. Its cotton was warm and dry, a blessed relief against her chilled skin.
Gathering her damp garments, she returned to the door, opening it for Patrick.