Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Two weeks, six days, and lying to herself until the wedding
‘A ll I’m saying is that it’s still not too late,’ Sophie whispered, passing Phoebe another cool, wrung out cloth.
‘You could write to her, say you never intended to offend, and that you both have extremely good reasons to avoid this madness. It’s not as though you even own a phaeton for goodness’ sake…’
They both paused as Josephine descended into a severe coughing fit that made her grip the coverlet until her knuckles whitened.
‘Can you pass the honey and ginger?’ Phoebe frowned, counting under her breath. ‘Also, open the window and ask Cook for some wild garlic leaves … and, I think, send for Dr Kapoor. We need a second opinion this time.’
She gazed at Josephine’s pale face, at the bluish tinge around her lips, and the cold beads of sweat around her hairline. She’d managed so many of Josephine’s lung seizures, but this one had been brewing since the picnic, and her fever was more stubborn than any Phoebe had seen in a long while.
‘What about Dr Cox?’ Sophie frowned. ‘He knows Josephine.’
‘Dr insulate-everything-that-moves? No, I think we need fresh thinking. Could you write a note to Captain Elliot, perhaps? Ask him to contact Dr Kapoor, urgently? They’re … good friends I believe.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Sophie’s tired eyes lit up at the thought of having a legitimate reason to dash the captain a note at midnight. ‘I’ll go this minute… But Phoebe, please consider what I’ve been saying. Our presentation is at the Assembly Ball the night before the race. You should be waking up to flowers and congratulations, not a race to the death! Just imagine Thomas’s wrath if he finds out. It’s the very worst timing.’
Phoebe held the glass of tonic against Josephine’s dry and cracked lips, before looking up.
‘I imagine any wrath on Thomas’s part will be entirely connected to whether or not I can still make the wedding,’ she muttered, raising her eyebrows.
‘Phoebe…’
‘Dr Kapoor, Sophie,’ Phoebe insisted. ‘And anyway,’ she added with a faint smile, ‘I came to Bath seeking adventure; what better way to leave it than with a race in the name of freedom? Perhaps, one day, I might even consider myself heroic!’
‘But you already are,’ Sophie sighed, closing the door behind her.
* * *
Dr Kapoor came before dawn, and if Phoebe had suspicions as to how he was able to attend so swiftly, she kept them to herself. Josephine’s breathing had worsened, and one look at Dr Kapoor’s countenance was enough to know he was worried.
‘Has she had consumption? Or pneumonia?’ he asked rapidly, listening to her chest through a piece of apparatus that looked a lot like one of Uncle Higglestone’s pipes.
‘Consumption, when she was perhaps six years of age?’ Phoebe murmured, holding her sister’s limp hand. ‘My memory of that time is sketchy, though I do recall her going to Brighton for a time to convalesce.’
Dr Kapoor nodded, examining Josephine’s bloodshot eyes and counting her pulse.
‘Your sister’s shortness of breath has quite possibly been exacerbated by the fever, so we are battling both, so to speak.’
Phone nodded anxiously.
‘But I do believe if we ease her breathing, her body can fight the fever. I see you have already opened a window,’ he observed. ‘And as you already know, I believe changing the air temperature can sometimes ease the lungs…’
She nodded again, suddenly bereft of words as she conjured a memory of Florence, struggling for breath.
‘Fear makes mortals of us all, does it not, Miss Fairfax?’ he murmured.
She raised her eyes to his, wondering if he was talking of Florence, or his own predicament, as she replayed the viscount’s incandescent rage. Could it have been fuelled by her rejection in the garden? Or his own disbelief that he’d ever admired her?
‘Have you tried steam to ease the laboured breathing? And does your aunt have anything like Datura Stramonium in the garden?’
Phoebe blinked at the doctor’s gentle face, his dark eyes brimming with concern.
‘Thorn apple,’ he clarified. ‘I would rather burn eucalyptus leaves, but I haven’t seen too many eucalyptus trees in Bath.’
Phoebe smiled wanly.
‘I don’t know, but I know someone who will,’ she returned, already halfway to the door.
Much to Phoebe’s relief, Dr Kapoor remained until morning. Twice, they lifted Josephine from her bed to the open window, where she could gasp for air between coughing spasms and moments of lucidity, and once Phoebe thought they’d lost her completely.
The prescribed thorn apple turned out to be a weed Uncle Higglestone pulled from his peony borders and, without uttering a word, he pulled on his boots and procured more than enough for Dr Kapoor to burn for a week.
Slowly, it filled the room with a sweet, pungent scent that eased Josephine’s fits.
‘It relaxes the muscular fibres of the bronchia,’ Dr Kapoor explained.
‘You know how I feel, I love you and won’t give you up on a maybe…’
She watched as the gentle doctor tended her sister, quite convinced that not only was he one of the most gifted doctors she’d ever known, but that he was also a good and kind man who deserved to live the life he wanted.
‘Trying to freeze time … before life catches up.’
Did he fear it would, in the end?
Josephine’s fever refused to abate for a further two days, and while Phoebe and Sophie had nursed their sister through episodes before, they both knew it was more serious this time.
‘So much for Bath’s healing waters!’ Sophie scowled, sponging Josephine’s listless arms again. ‘The air and waters have done nothing for her! I think we should take her home.’
Phoebe agreed, but she also knew Thomas would insist she remain in Bath for her presentation and betrothal announcement, which would mean separation from Josephine at her most fragile. This she couldn’t allow, and by the time her sister’s delirium and breathing finally subsided, Phoebe felt she would willingly agree to a thousand weddings, if it meant her dearest bookish sister was spared any further illness.
‘Stay close by, keep her warm and elevated and burn plenty of Datura Stramonium. I will call on the patient daily to check her progress.’
Dr Kapoor had proven to be as good as his word, supporting them all through the worst of Josephine’s fever until the days and nights started to separate again, which had also hurried the approach of her betrothal announcement. And while her aunt could talk only of the Assembly Ball, Phoebe’s thoughts were consumed by the phaeton race that followed.
Where one obtained a high-perch phaeton at very short notice was her most pressing challenge. There was no chance of appealing to Fred as he’d only blurt it to Thomas, and then she’d find herself garrisoned in some remote turret of Knightswood. Which left one distinct option – and it was this idea that occupied her thoughts until she finally felt confident enough to leave Josephine in her aunt’s hands, and retire to her own bedchamber.
6th May 1820
Dear Captain Damerel,
I trust this letter finds you and your family in good health?
I wanted to write to express my sincere gratitude for your assistance earlier this week.
Doctor Kapoor’s knowledgeable counsel proved a critical turning point in Josephine’s recovery, and my sisters and I cannot thank you enough for your prompt action.
It is therefore with some regret, that I must appeal to your generosity once again.
For reasons I cannot divulge, I find myself in need of a high-perch phaeton and pair this forthcoming Sunday morning. The phaeton needs to be in good repair, and the horses fresh, and I will, of course, have them returned to you long before your household is risen.
I understand you may not keep such equipage yourself, but wonder if you might have use of the stable at Damerel Place and therefore be able to borrow them…?
Phoebe paused, biting the end of her quill. It was one thing asking the captain for help, quite another to ask him to appropriate his brother’s horses. And yet, there was nothing to be done, who else could she ask?
I cannot write more detail here, only assure you my intention is not to race to the coast and stowaway on the first pirate ship I find – though I’m sure you’ll understand why such a life might appeal just now!
I thank you for your utmost discretion in this matter, and remain your faithful servant,
Miss Phoebe Fairfax
A response came within the hour.
Dear Miss Fairfax
I thank you for your letter.
First and foremost, I am most relieved to read Miss Josephine is making a good recovery, and have no doubt it is the result of the excellent care provided by yourselves, and my good friend, Dr Kapoor.
On the question of a phaeton and pair, please rest your concerns. I can procure and bring both to Wood Lodge just before dawn on Sunday. My brother keeps a good stable, and as long as we ensure their safe return before breakfast, no one shall be the wiser.
I must also confess to your hour of need coinciding with one of my own. However, I have given the matter a great deal of thought, and hope I do not prevail upon your good nature in so much as to offer a compromise, which may assist us both greatly in the future.
I believe you understand the nature of the esteem in which I hold Doctor Kapoor, and that others might not share the same understanding.
Furthermore, it has come to my attention that certain rumours are circulating among members of the ton that could damage, not only the career of both my esteemed friend and myself but also, the reputation of those around us. Indeed, such are the nature of these rumours, that I am left little choice but to refute them in the only way remaining – to marry.
While this may seem rash, I can assure you I have contemplated this course for some time, and would not unburden myself, except I am persuaded you are also in need of a friend.
It is with this in mind, that I venture to suggest that we assist one other. I cannot promise wealth, but I can promise you as much freedom as you wish, within the safe confines of my name. I also believe our natures to be entirely complementary, which would bode well for future companionship.
If you find yourself in agreement, please pack a light trousseau, and bring it on Sunday morning. We shall leave for the border the moment you have concluded your prior engagement – that’s the Scottish border, and nothing to do with pirate ships which, I’m persuaded, would bring a whole new set of challenges!
Lastly, I must ask you not to share the contents of this letter whatever your decision, and to consign it to the fire, once read.
Your ever faithful friend,
Captain Elliot Damerel, Esq.
Phoebe sat beside the fire, staring at the captain’s ornate lettering. He had such a handsome hand, one that captured his personality perfectly, with swirls and loops that echoed his sunny smile. Yet, as she knew only too well, appearances could be very deceiving. And now this – less a marriage of convenience, than one of escape. The captain may have worded his concerns lightly, but they both knew either the gallows or transportation could await, should his relationship be discovered.
A cold fear crept through her as she weighed up her choices.
Refusing the captain’s proposal would save her family from social disgrace, yet she would have to live with whatever fate befell him and Dr Kapoor. Accepting would not only hurt her family, Sophie especially, but also create the very scandal she’d been seeking to avoid – while the viscount….
Phoebe’s mind overflowed with images of the viscount, from the highwayman duel, to the library, to the picnic, to the way his dark eyes had glinted with a thousand fallen stars beneath the magnolia tree, to his rage in Florence’s bedchamber, and then finally to his cold indifference at Prior Park and Pump Room.
She’d never known such an infuriating, arrogant, changeable man in all her life, so why she was even considering his view mystified her. Except that conjuring his face, and the moments they’d shared, sparked the most confused jumble of feelings in her core – a jumble that only seemed to worsen the longer she dwelt on them.
She scowled and forced his face from her mind. Perhaps you didn’t have to like people to care for their view; perhaps it was all some strange fixation that would pass once she married.
Married.
And what of Papa’s wish that she marry the earl? Could she live with her own family disgrace, to save the captain and Dr Kapoor from the gallows?
Did she have any choice?
Phoebe’s head spun with too many questions she suspected had nothing at all to do with being heroic, and everything to do with being the worst kind of coward imaginable.
‘ Which perhaps, after all, is all I am,’ she whispered before tossing the captain’s letter onto the fire, where it flared momentarily, before crumbling to ash.