Chapter Eight
The next day showed no great improvement in Dickie, much to the dismay of the Kendall household.
Despite the entire family urging her to rest, Lavinia would sleep but an hour or so, then, upon awakening, rush back to the nursery to sit by her son who continued to cry and whimper.
Soon, she declared she would not leave the nursery, but would sleep on the small day bed, even when Miles came to watch over their son.
She called for another small cot to be brought in for the nursery maid.
Dickie’s fever had lessened slightly, and he was not wailing as violently as before, but he was still suffering seizures several times a day.
Each time one occurred, it was all Lavinia could do to keep from screaming out in agony and fear.
Would her precious son survive? And if so, how might the fits affect him later?
She was too afraid to voice her thoughts, but her mind continually worried that her boy would no longer be the bright-eyed, curious baby he had been, and, instead, would hereafter suffer some great mental defect.
The thought filled her with terror. She spent much of her time on her knees next to the crib, praying to a God she hoped would be merciful.
Gilbert knew he should offer some solace to Lavinia, but was at a complete loss of what to say or do.
He peeked into the nursery on the morning after Dickie became ill to see his sister-in-law bent over, weeping softly and, yet, he could not bring himself to walk over and even place his hand upon her shoulder in comfort.
Some pastor I would make. I can think of no words to say to her, or to God. While Frederick had spoken his prayers asking for God’s mercy so easily last night, my mind is a complete blank.
He turned away and went downstairs for breakfast. The dining room in Clayton House was beautiful, with mahogany furniture, elegant floral wallpaper, and tapestries and oil paintings hung upon the walls.
Tall windows let in an abundance of light, yet the room seemed gloomy and dull today to Gilbert.
Both Miles and his father were seated at the long table, pushing food around their plates with obvious disinterest. They nodded to Gilbert as he entered.
He could see how weary they both appeared, as if they, too, had slept but little.
Gilbert served himself from the covered dishes set on the sideboard, took a seat at the table, and began to eat. He felt guilty for his hearty appetite—another sign, he felt, of his unsuitability for the clergy. Wouldn’t a true minister be unable to eat in this time of crisis?
The silence was oppressive and, finally, Gilbert asked softly, “Is Dr. Baker returning this morning?”
Miles nodded. “He should be here soon. I will ask him for a sleeping draught that I might somehow persuade or trick poor Lavinia into taking. She has hardly slept in her agony and will become ill if she does not rest.”
“A sound idea, son,” Evan said.
“Yes, but, if she sleeps and the boy… passes… she may never forgive you, Miles,” Gilbert said.
The look of shock on his father and brother’s faces showed him the impact of his poorly chosen words.
“For—forgive me,” he quickly said. “I do not wish to anticipate in any manner such a horrible and unhappy event. I only think that Lavinia may see it as an act of betrayal for you to take her choice away from her. That is all that I meant…” His voice trailed off and he stared miserably at his plate.
After a pause, Evan said, “Your argument does carry some merit, Gilbert, but let us speak first with our physician and solicit his advice on what is best for Lavinia.” He pushed back from the table and rose. “I shall be in my study. Miles, do let me know when Dr. Baker arrives.” He left the room.
Gilbert finished eating while Miles sat in silence, idly playing with the knife at his place setting, his eyes seemingly not focused on anything in particular.
Gilbert was longing to fill his plate again, but felt such a big appetite might clearly signal to his brother that he had a decided lack of anxiety over the situation, so he simply drank his tea.
If Miles departed soon enough, he could eat more, he told himself. Finally, Miles spoke.
“Little Dickie was an answer to years of prayers,” Miles said softly.
“We had expected to easily produce children the first year of our marriage. After all, most families do. Yet, year after year, there was no sign of a baby. Poor Lavinia felt the disappointment so keenly and, I fear, blamed herself. When she finally was expecting, I was constantly worried that things may not go well, yet Dickie was born hale and hearty. Our lives were now complete. We were blessed with such a delightful, perfect baby. I do not brag, for I know you have seen for yourself how sweet and alert Dickie is, or… was. To see him now, so weak and helpless, cuts me to the core, Gilbert. I am an absolute wreck. If we should lose him—” He stopped speaking and raised a napkin to his mouth, shutting his eyes tightly, as if unable to complete the thought.
Gilbert nodded and mumbled, “I believe all will be well, Miles. Dr. Baker is an excellent physician.” He tried to think of more comforting words, but none came to him.
The front door opened, and Gilbert and Miles heard voices approaching. Charlotte, Frederick, and Nancy appeared at the dining room door, anxiety etched on all their faces.
“Miles.” Charlotte hurried over and took his hand. “What news?”
“Dickie still has a fever and the fits continue to plague him—nearly every two hours or so,” Miles replied in a dull voice. “Lavinia is with him now and we are awaiting our physician.”
“Let us go to her,” Charlotte said. “Has she eaten anything?” When Miles shook his head, she murmured, “That will not do,” pressed her lips together and went straight to the sideboard.
She buttered two freshly baked rolls, adding jam before setting them on a plate.
She then chose some sausages. “Is the tea still hot?” she asked, then poured a cup and nodded with satisfaction.
“Come. We will insist she eat at least something. Gilbert, pray, act as host to our guest. We met Miss Slade as we walked over this morning.”
Miles rose and joined her and Frederick as they exited the room.
Gilbert cleared his throat. “Nancy, good morning. Would you care for some tea?”
“Thank you, that would be nice.” She held up a basket.
“I went to the tea shop before it even opened, that I might collect some fresh scones and bring them to you.” She shrugged and gave a small laugh.
“Silly of me, I know—you have a perfectly wonderful cook, I am certain, and have no need of them, I suppose. I only wished to show you how sorry I am for the terrible situation with the baby.”
Gilbert took the basket from her and peeked inside at the baked goods.
“You are very kind, Nancy. Pray, be seated and I shall get you a cup of tea.” He set the basket on the table and went to fill a cup for her.
Then, he served her, and, taking a scone from the basket, sat again, sampling the treat.
After a moment, he paused and gave her a curious look.
“Tell me—how did you come to learn of our unhappy news so soon, Nancy?”
“I ran into Dr. Baker quite late the evening after the assembly concluded. I saw you all leave the dance in such a frantic manner and heard someone say that your family had been called away most urgently. So, when I saw him riding home, I hailed him to inquire if all was well at Clayton House. I think he was aware I was not asking merely for gossip’s sake, so he told me all.
Oh, Gilbert, I am so very sorry to hear of your nephew’s affliction. ”
“Thank you. Dr. Baker should return here soon. I hope he will give us some reason for optimism. It was quite frightening, Nancy. The poor babe had such violent fits—I have never seen anything like it. Lavinia was near hysterics.”
“I am grieved to hear it. I am certain you were a great comfort to her and Miles.”
Gilbert shook his head, avoiding her gaze. “Frederick certainly was. He knew what to say, how to act. I stood like a store window dummy, unable to conjure even a word of consolation. I was worse than useless.”
“You are surely too hard on yourself.”
He gave a short laugh. “If there was ever a man less suited to be a rector, it is I.” He sighed heavily. “I wish I could be anywhere but here at home, Nancy. I do not know what I wish to do with my life and nothing interests me. I feel at such loose ends—truly, I am a rudderless ship.”
Nancy gave him a look of sympathy. “You will find your way, Gilbert, I am certain of it. You are too clever and good to waste your life in idleness. Something will come up to spark your interest, you will see.”
“I appreciate your encouraging words, Nancy. You sound so confident. I wish I felt half as much myself.”
At the sound of the front door’s bell, Gilbert jumped up from the table and left the dining room, Nancy following. Entering the hallway, they saw Dr. Baker being admitted by Mrs. Wilson.
The physician nodded to Gilbert. “Good morning, Mr. Kendall, Miss Slade. Did the child survive the night?”
“He did, sir, but I will not detain you. Please attend to my family upstairs in the nursery. Mrs. Wilson, will you take him? I will show Miss Slade out.”
“Yes sir,” Mrs. Wilson replied. She held forth a folded paper. “This came for you just now, Master Gilbert.” He took it, and she and the doctor went upstairs.
Gilbert examined the letter, at first not recognizing the handwriting. Then, he smiled.
“Happy news?” Nancy asked.
“It is from my good friend at Oxford, Mr. Carter Milbourn. A finer fellow you could not hope to meet. He is from the Commoner class at school—well, he was a Foundationer, in truth, for he had a scholarship. Hs is a very clever man, indeed. His father is a prosperous importer of goods from the West Indies. Mr. Milbourn is not a gentleman, but both he and his son are very pleasant, gentlemanlike sort of men. I spent Christmas with them last year.” He led Nancy to the door, and opened it for her. She smiled up at him.
“I hope your letter brings you some welcome distraction from your unhappy situation, Gilbert. And I pray to soon hear good news of the baby’s health. I shall leave you now.” She curtsied and he bowed his head, but he was already turning away from her, his attention upon his letter.