Chapter Thirteen
ONE WEEK LATER
David wasn’t certain what to think of Amelia’s note. Her terse command to Come home now sounded entirely out of character. He bristled at the idea of returning when she hadn’t bothered to give a reason.
He was within a mile of Castledon, but he couldn’t help but wonder what was happening and why she was so adamant that he should travel home immediately.
When he arrived at the estate, the coach drew to a halt. David disembarked, only to find a strange silence upon the grounds. A sense of foreboding came over him the moment he walked toward the house. Hastening his pace, he went inside, only to find grim expressions on the faces of his servants.
“What’s happened?” he asked Haverford.
The butler shook his head and let out a slow breath. “My lord, I fear it’s your daughter. She’s unwell, and Lady Castledon has—”
David didn’t wait for the man to finish, but ordered, “Send for the doctor if he’s not here already.”
“But my lord—”
He was already hurrying up the stairs, two at a time. Though he didn’t know what was wrong, the mood of the servants was entirely too somber. He could sense the presence of death, and God help him, he couldn’t endure this again.
Without knocking, he tore open Christine’s door and found Amelia seated at her bedside. The moment her eyes met his, he saw that she’d been weeping. His daughter’s skin was the color of snow, and she appeared lifeless.
“Thank God you’ve come,” Amelia said, rising to embrace him.
And though he knew he ought to hold her, he couldn’t bring himself to return the affection.
A coldness had taken root, a numbness of fear that blotted out all else.
His daughter was fighting for her life, and all he could pray was, Dear God, not her, too.
“Where is the doctor?” he demanded, stepping back.
Amelia’s face brightened, but she said, “Dr. Fraser should be arriving today. I thought he might be here yesterday, but I suspect there was a delay.”
He wasn’t certain who she was talking about, though the name Fraser seemed familiar.
“My sister’s husband, the Viscount of Falsham,” she reminded him. “He’s the best physician I know.”
“What of Dr. Greenford?” he asked. The local physician had treated Katherine’s wasting sickness, never leaving her side. Even at the end, the man had given her medicine to ease her pain when she was dying. “Why have you not sent for him?”
“She dismissed him,” Mrs. Menford said briskly as she entered the room carrying a kettle of hot water. “Lady Castledon told him not to return.”
David was aghast at that. Why would she send their only doctor away, to wait for some Scotsman who lived several days’ journey from them?
“Dr. Greenford was making her worse,” Amelia said. “He was trying to bleed her.”
“Bleeding is a respected method of treatment,” he argued back. “All the physicians do so, when it is necessary.”
“I cannot see any good reason to weaken our daughter further, when she’s already so ill.”
It was the first time he’d heard Amelia refer to Christine in that way. Before he could wonder what to make of it, his daughter opened her eyes. “Papa, are you here?”
“Yes, sweet, I am here.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it. To his shock, her fingers were limp, and she didn’t hold his hand in return.
A dismayed smile touched her mouth. “I can’t move my hands and feet anymore,” she whispered. “The sickness is creeping up my limbs.”
Horror filled him at the thought. “What do you mean?”
His daughter let out a shaky breath. “It started a week ago, with my feet. They were tingling, and I couldn’t feel them. Then it spread to my legs and my knees until I couldn’t walk. Now it’s up to my hands.”
David turned to Amelia, who was gripping her palms together.
“Papa, I don’t want to die. But I’m afraid of it spreading higher.”
“We’ll find the right medicine for you,” he promised. “If we have to hire the best physicians in London.”
“They couldn’t save Mother,” she whispered. “Why would they be able to save me?”
“Because you’re young and stronger than she was.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Rest for a moment, while I talk to Amelia in private.”
David stayed with her a moment, until he was certain she had calmed herself. Then he reached for Amelia’s hand and led her outside the room. The fury of helplessness came over him, and as he guided her toward his own bedchamber, she winced. “David, you’re hurting me.”
When he’d closed the door, he demanded, “Why didn’t you hire every doctor in Yorkshire to come and see her? Why would you send our best physician away while you wait for a doctor who might not come? If she dies…” He couldn’t even grasp the thought for fear that imagining it would make it happen.
A flare of anger caught in Amelia’s eyes. “You weren’t here when she first got sick. You decided that going alone to one of the estates was more important. I had to make the best decisions I knew how, and I knew Dr. Greenford would kill her if I let him continue his ‘treatment.’”
“You don’t know anything about medicine,” he argued.
“And neither do you! But I know enough to see when a little girl is getting worse instead of getting better. He was heating up glass cups and searing her skin with them!”
Amelia was openly crying now, but he could make no move to comfort her. This was his only daughter. His last living piece of Katherine.
“I’m sending for Dr. Greenford right now,” he said.
But Amelia shocked him when she stood in front of the door, blocking his way. “She’s my daughter too, now. And I won’t let that man hurt her.”
“Dr. Greenford has been our family physician for over twenty years,” he argued.
“How do you know Katherine didn’t die at his hands?” She had her hands on her hips, glaring at him. It was a low blow, but he knew the doctor had done everything in his power to save his wife.
“She was too sick for anyone to cure.”
“Was she?” Amelia asked. “Or is that what you tell yourself?” She stepped aside from the door and warned him, “I trust Dr. Fraser to help her. He is one of the best physicians in Edinburgh. After he inherited his uncle’s title, the Viscount of Falsham, he’s continued to write medical treatises and research the best ways to help his patients.
He’s traveled through Scotland and England to meet with many doctors.
If anyone can save Christine, it’s him.”
“But he’s not here,” David gritted out. And he wasn’t about to wait for a man who might not come.
“He will be.” Amelia softened her tone and opened the door. “I don’t want to fight with you. Christine shouldn’t hear us snap at each other, not when she needs us.”
“She needs me,” he corrected. “Her father.”
With that, he left her standing in his bedroom while he returned to Christine’s side.
Amelia felt as if she’d taken a blow to her stomach.
Did he honestly believe she’d behaved irresponsibly by sending the doctor away?
In the past five years, she’d never known Dr. Fraser to be anything but a miracle worker.
But her husband was treating her like a recalcitrant child who thought she knew best. It wasn’t that at all—she’d agreed to let the doctor examine Christine, but the moment he’d begun his “treatments,” she’d stopped him.
The last thing her stepdaughter needed was to be weakened by bloodletting or cupping.
For a moment, Amelia leaned against the wall, letting out her heartbreak. No, she wasn’t the girl’s mother. But she wasn’t about to stand around and wring her hands. She needed a trustworthy doctor, not a man who would drain away the remainder of her stepdaughter’s strength.
Hearing David accuse her of negligence was like a knife slicing her courage into shreds.
She wept harder, knowing that a good cry would give her the means to be cheerful later.
Even though the young girl had been a trial to her, they had grown closer in the past few days.
She was beginning to think of Christine as her own daughter, and the thought of watching her die was a nightmare she couldn’t bear to face.
The girl had slowly lost all feeling in her legs and now her hands. Amelia had never seen anything like it, and unless they found a way to reverse it, Christine would undoubtedly die or be left an invalid.
She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief and forced herself to return to the sickroom. But before she could take another step, she heard the voices of her sister and Dr. Fraser downstairs.
Amelia raced down to them and threw herself into Juliette’s arms. Her sister was holding her daughter, Grace, but she hugged her back, even with the child between them. “I suppose you’re glad we’ve come?”
“I pray you can save her.” To Dr. Fraser, she explained what had happened, and once Lord Falsham heard the symptoms, he held up a hand.
“I will do what I can, Lady Castledon. But you must ken that this is no’ something I’ve heard of in my studies. It sounds like a rare illness.”
Mrs. Larson arrived at that moment and embraced them both.
“Go on up and see the wee lass, Dr. Fraser. She’ll be needing ye to bide awhile.
And Miss Juliette, come inside, and I’ll find some food for ye and yer sweet bairn.
” The housekeeper ushered them inside the parlor while Amelia led Dr. Fraser up the stairs.
The doctor fired questions at her, and she answered as quickly as she could. He was muttering to himself beneath his breath in Gaelic, but the moment he entered the sickroom, a change came over his demeanor.
He walked over to the bed and greeted Christine warmly. “I’ll bid you a good morn, lass. I am Dr. Paul Fraser, and I’m also the Viscount of Falsham. Your stepmother asked me to come and look at you.”
Amelia stepped back, but she didn’t miss the wariness in her husband’s eyes. David was staring at the doctor as if he didn’t know what to expect. His eyes seemed to warn her that if Dr. Fraser couldn’t cure Christine, he would do whatever was necessary to find a physician who could.