Chapter 19 #2
At Thomas’s bedside, Dr. Ellis was jovial and reassuring. “You must drink only boiled water, Mr. Stanton, and drink it hot.
Did you by any chance forget one time?”
“I always drink only boiled water,” Thomas replied, “here and at the office. Beer or wine when I’m in restaurants.”
“A good idea in places where hygiene is suspect,” the doctor said, “but this sort of thing is rarely serious. Do remember that raw vegetables and fruit could’ve been washed in tap water.
Also, ice is suspect. A few doses of emetine should fix you up soon.
And I’ll send over a bottle of my own formulation as soon as I get back to my surgery.
In the meantime, I’ll give you something for the pain and nausea and something to help you sleep.
I’ll telephone tomorrow to see how you’re doing. ”
“I feel better just being home,” Thomas said. He mustered a weak smile.
“Doctor, is it all right to give him hot water with lemon?” Caroline said, as she showed him out. “Thomas takes that every
morning for his digestion.”
“It can do no harm,” said Dr. Ellis, putting on his hat. “I’ve taken some samples from his chamber pot to test for parasites.
The hospital laboratory will provide the results within a day or two. Ah, it’s stopped raining. And here is Mason.”
The two men greeted each other. “And how is Thomas doing?” Mason said.
“He should be fine by tomorrow—or the day after, worst case,” Dr. Ellis said. “Just his first brush with local stomach bugs.”
They both laughed. “And now I must get back. I’ve a dinner engagement.”
Mason mounted the stairs. “I’ll give Thomas a quick summary of the meeting.”
“Can it wait, Uncle Mason?” Caroline said, hurrying to catch up with him. “He is so very ill right now.”
But Thomas was eager to learn how the meeting had gone. He winced as he pushed himself up to sit against the pillows. “Tell
me all about it, Uncle Mason. And then I have some blueprints to show you, they’re in that brown portfolio. Caroline, could
you bring it over here, please?”
“Oh, Uncle Mason, couldn’t this wait until Thomas feels better?” she said.
“No, no, it’s all right,” Thomas said, “it will take my mind off how awful I feel. And I’m actually better right now, those drugs from Dr. Ellis are helping.” He reached eagerly for the papers Mason pulled out of a briefcase.
“Then I’ll go see about getting you some clear broth,” she said, but Thomas wasn’t listening anymore. Both men were completely
absorbed in conversation and looking at the documents, Mason on a chair beside the bed, nodding and explaining.
Out in the corridor, the youngest houseboy was just coming up the service stairs, carrying a coal scuttle. He bobbed his head
to her and knocked on the bedroom door, two taps that signaled a servant wishing to enter; he pushed it open upon hearing
Mason’s impatient “Come in.” And then, with the door left ajar, Caroline distinctly heard Mason say her name.
She moved back quietly and stood by the partially open door where she could hear but not see the two men.
“We do need more funds,” Thomas was saying, “but I won’t dip into Caroline’s money until it’s absolutely necessary.”
Mason’s voice. “Thomas, you have it all. A beautiful heiress, twice as wealthy as we’d hoped. But we need to make use of that
inheritance. That was the plan. What’s changed?”
“I love her, that’s what has changed,” Thomas said. “She’s nowhere as meek and mousy as you said she would be.”
“Dear boy.” Mason’s rumbling tones. “You married her because of the money, so that we could afford this venture. You got on that train, met the Dominics and Caroline, then came very
close to losing your life in that avalanche. Make it count.”
She stuffed her fist against her mouth to stifle a cry. She wouldn’t think about it, would not think about what this meant,
or what to do about it. She would think about it later.
Thomas was asleep, in a stupor from Dr. Ellis’s drugs. Caroline and Mason took supper by themselves in the breakfast room, a simple meal for two. Their conversation was superficial, Caroline listing all the engagements in her diary and Mason commenting on the people who would be there.
“You’re very subdued, my dear,” he said. “You mustn’t worry about Thomas. Most of us get a tummy upset or two during our first
months here and then we acclimate.”
“That’s also what Dr. Ellis told us,” she said, “and I hope that’s all it is.”
“Thomas needs to recover quickly—things are moving at top speed.” Mason finished a glass of wine, poured himself another.
“And he will recover, so cheer up. Put a smile on that sweet face.”
Caroline couldn’t hold back anymore. “Uncle Mason, I feel you’ve deceived us,” she said. “We agreed to pay for fixing up this
house, and it’s in a terrible state, far worse than you led us to believe.”
“Ah, well, I admit the state of things surprised me too when I took a closer look,” he said, “however, it’s all repairs that
you’d have to do anyway once the house is yours, and far better to take care of things now than later.”
“We agreed because you promised Thomas this house would be his,” she said, “but I’ve learned that you don’t own Lennox Manor.
It belongs to a Mr. Liu. And I’ve told Thomas.”
A long silence.
“I see you’re as thorough as your husband when he decides to look into something,” Mason said. He was silent for a moment.
“I live here, in the house where my son died. For his sake, I can never leave this place. And it will belong to me in a few
years’ time. I’ll buy it back.”
“With what, Uncle Mason?” she said.
“With my share of profits from the railway,” he said. His speech was starting to slur. “Thomas is clever, the most astute
businessman I’ve ever met. Even my small share will prove extremely valuable.”
“Did you lure him here, Mason?” She dropped the “uncle.” “Did you promise him great things in Shanghai?”
“Not at all. I laid out the opportunity and he gave it careful consideration.” Mason’s face was shadowed, turned away from
the firelight. “I gave him advice and he took it.”
Caroline stiffened. “What was the advice?”
“When I told him about the railway opportunity, I said we would need more funds.” Mason chuckled. “And he married you, an
heiress twice over. What a treasure you are, Caroline.”
He took a decanter from the sideboard and opened it. The fragrance of fine whiskey drifted across the space between them.
She couldn’t seem to take in enough air to fill her lungs.
“Is there anything you’ve done that was for Thomas and not yourself?” she said, standing up. He had preyed upon her husband,
holding out family ties like silken ropes when he sensed Thomas’s longing for a family, his need to take care of an older
family member after losing his mother.
“You wouldn’t understand,” he said, “you were born into wealth, never a day’s worry. But I must say, someone taught you about
money. Your father perhaps? Or Mr. Dominic. In any case, Thomas is a lucky man.”
“I’m going to sit with Thomas,” she said, pushing her chair away from the table. “Good night, Mason. Please don’t disturb
him again tonight. He needs rest.” He raised his glass to her, firelight sparkling red and gold on the cut crystal.
At Thomas’s bedside, Caroline turned on the lamp. He slept deeply, his color much improved now that he was no longer in pain.
Did Thomas truly love her? Did she hold any sway over him at all?
She moved about the room, as familiar to her as her own.
There had been nights when Thomas wanted her here, in this bed, under the velvet canopy and with all the drapes pulled open.
She thought of the words he’d murmured after making love to her.
How he described the life they’d have together, the children who would bring them even more joy.
The drapes were open and it was a rare clear night, moonlight casting shadows on the ground and glinting off puddles, water
droplets hanging on twigs like tiny crystals. Out by the lake, someone was walking under the willow trees. The burly figure
couldn’t be anyone else but Mason. It was beyond her why he would want to stroll where the ground was soaking and muddy, the
man-made lake so swollen by rain its waters sloshed up to the willows’ roots. Yet there he was, and as she watched him circle
the slate-gray oval of the lake, it seemed to her that Mason’s every step spelled dejection.
Behind her, Thomas groaned. She moved swiftly to bring the chamber pot beside him, then wiped his mouth with a damp towel.
She rang for a houseboy to bring hot water and a lemon, then helped Thomas sit up to swallow a bit of food, washed down by
hot lemon water.
Thomas. And Andrew Grey. She knew what she had to do.