Chapter 17
Leopold awoke to crying. He was out of bed before his consciousness was in agreement with his body.
He squeezed his eyes shut and then threw them open, trying to understand what he had heard and what was happening.
The sound came again from the corridor, thin and frightening, wrong in a way that dissolved sleep all at once.
Cecily.
He pulled on his dressing gown, opened his door, and hurried down the hall without bothering to light a candle.
The nursery door stood open. Phoebe was on the floor with Cecily lying across her lap.
The baby was flushed and restless, one tiny fist opening and closing against Phoebe’s gown.
The cry was even more heartbreaking up close.
The child sounded uncomfortable, scared, and angry, in a way she could not begin to comprehend.
Leopold looked to Phoebe for answers as he stepped through the door.
Her hair came loose around her face as she looked up the instant he entered.
He saw how tired and worried her eyes were, and his heart raced.
“Your Grace.”
“What happened?”
“She has a terrible fever.”
Leopold was already crossing the room as Phoebe explained. He touched the back of his fingers to Cecily’s forehead and felt the heat immediately.
“I will send for the physician,” he said.
Phoebe nodded. Leopold turned toward the door. “Mrs. Pritchard!”
Footsteps sounded almost at once, much to Leopold’s surprise. But Mrs. Pritchard’s largely dressed and composed appearance told him that she was likely roused by the crying just as he had been.
“Send someone for the physician,” he told the housekeeper. “Tell whoever goes that if he must be awakened, I will pay double for the inconvenience.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Leopold knelt beside Phoebe. “Has she been like this long?”
“Only a little while, I believe. She woke me crying. I came immediately, and I noticed right away how hot she felt.”
Cecily whimpered and turned her face toward Phoebe.
“Is she drinking?” Leopold asked.
“No.”
“Breathing normally?”
“It is hard to know for sure with her crying so terribly.”
He looked at Phoebe. “And you?”
She blinked. “What about me?”
Leopold gave her a sympathetic smile.
“You look exhausted.”
“I am fine.”
He gave her a look that made it clear that he did not believe that answer, but he understood it. She lowered her eyes to Cecily.
“You look rather tired yourself, Your Grace.”
Leopold shrugged.
“I was not yet asleep,” he lied, pushing thoughts of the business he had arranged to conduct in town over the next couple of days far from his mind. He could sign some papers and shake some hands with a bit of fatigue. Cecily mattered far more than a little extra sleep.
Phoebe gave him a look that was almost identical to the one he had just given her. He was surprised when, despite the severity of the situation, they shared tired, wry smiles.
The nursery became a flurry of chaos a moment later. Mrs. Pritchard and a maid who looked as though she had been dragged from her bed rushed around the room, bringing fresh cloths, more cool water, and lavender oils to try to help soothe the ailing baby.
The efforts were slow to offer relief, and Cecily’s cries continued, painful in their suffering. Leopold watched helplessly as the servants tried to help Phoebe comfort the child, and he did not miss how Phoebe grew more worried with each shriek and hiccup.
The physician arrived before the hour had passed, looking as though he had, indeed, been awoken by the call to visit Cecily.
By then, the child had grown a little quieter, though the heat of her skin had grown worse. Leopold silently ushered the servants out of the nursery, leaving only himself, the physician, and Phoebe, who refused to release Cecily until the physician put a gentle hand on Phoebe’s shoulder.
“It is all right, Miss,” he said gently. “I will ensure she gets the help she needs, and then I shall put her back into your arms myself.”
Phoebe looked reluctantly at the kindly physician, but she eventually allowed him to take the baby.
The physician carried out a careful examination, listened to her breathing, checked her pulse, and then glanced at Phoebe and Leopold.
“How long has the fever been present?” the physician asked.
“I am not sure,” Phoebe said. “Though she did not feel warm in the slightest when I put her to bed at around nine o’clock.”
“Has she taken anything?”
“No milk, and hardly any water.”
He nodded. Cecily squirmed and whined as he listened to her chest.
“Have you noticed anything else out of the ordinary?” he asked. “Rapid, uncontrollable movements, her vision becoming unfocused suddenly for no reason, tugging at her ears or throat?”
“No,” she said.
The physician nodded slowly, finishing his examination. He felt both himself and Phoebe draw in a breath and hold it in unison.
“She has no sign of anything more serious at present,” the physician said at last.
Leopold exhaled sharply with relief. Phoebe, however, appeared wary.
“There is nothing causing this fever?” she asked. “How can that be?”
The physician shook his head.
“I can see she has recently been teething,” he said. “Her lungs sound clear and strong, and her stomach feels perfectly soft and unobstructed. Her eyes, though tired, are alert and aware, and she reacts perfectly well to aural stimulus. I am certain that her fever is connected to her teething.”
At that, Phoebe finally began to relax. Leopold would have sworn he could read her thoughts in that single instant. I know how to help her feel better while she is teething, her eyes proclaimed. Thank heavens, I know how to help her if it is nothing more serious.
“Is there anything we should do?” Leopold asked, trying to show Phoebe that he would support any care Cecily needed.
“The fever should pass, but she must be watched carefully through the night,” the physician said.
Phoebe nodded.
“I am happy to sit up with her,” she said.
“Keep her cool,” the physician continued.
“Light clothing. Plenty of fluids, whatever she normally drinks that she will accept. Do not force her to drink if she refuses, at least for the next day or so. Wake her if she sleeps too deeply. And call for me immediately if she does not improve in the next two days, or if other symptoms suddenly develop, though I very much doubt that will happen.”
Leopold nodded, his relief deepening.
“Thank you, Doctor,” he said.
The physician gave Leopold a kind, satisfied smile and nod. He reached for the child’s wrist to check her pulse again.
“Cold compresses on her wrists may help,” Phoebe murmured, looking lovingly at the baby as the physician gently handed Cecily back to her.
The physician glanced toward her. “Yes. That may make her more comfortable.”
“It helped before,” Phoebe added, nodding.
Leopold’s attention stayed on her face. Before.
Cecily had never had a fever at Belgrave.
Before meant somewhere else. He stared intently at her, as if he could pick more thoughts from her mind as he had previously.
But Phoebe noticed his expression and her cheeks flushed.
“I meant with a child at my previous position.”
Leopold said nothing, but he could not forget. She had clarified herself, but she had done so just a moment too late. Her eyes, more than her words, told Leopold that she had not simply misspoken.
She had said something she had not intended to. He had learned, over the years, that people revealed more in the corrections they made than in the answers they prepared, and he knew perfectly well what it looked like when someone did such revealing. And Phoebe just had.
After the physician left, the nursery seemed much quieter. Cecily was still warm, still fretful, and not remotely interested in sleep. Leopold remained silent, watching Phoebe carefully. As he did, he began to doubt himself. The fatigue was becoming rapidly more apparent with the nursemaid.
And he knew that he was no less affected by sleeplessness. Perhaps she had simply said something that did not make sense without further explanation. Perhaps his own tired mind heard something odd in a simple mistake made by an exhausted woman.
Perhaps he was imagining how scared Phoebe had looked when she corrected herself.
It was easy enough to believe. And it was better than pressing and getting an answer that could possibly change the warmth and affection he had started feeling for Phoebe.
I must have been wrong, he thought. I must have been.
Phoebe walked Cecily first, moving slowly around the room with the baby against her shoulder, whispering whenever Cecily whimpered. Leopold sat in the chair beside the fire and watched them for several minutes before standing.
“You should sit down.”
Phoebe shook her head. “She settles better when I walk.”
“I can carry her.”
She looked at him, then at Cecily. “You do not mind?”
Leopold looked into the soft brown eyes he had come to enjoy watching, his suspicion slowly melting.
“We can take turns. You do not have to care for her alone right now.”
Phoebe smiled softly as she passed the baby over. Cecily protested for about three seconds, then settled against Leopold’s chest. He walked the length of the nursery, then back again, while Phoebe watched him from the chair.
He continued walking. The room was dim except for the fire and the lamp near the crib. The servants had settled again as soon as the physician arrived. At that moment, the house felt suddenly far away, as though Belgrave had withdrawn behind its walls and left only the three of them.
Cecily stirred. Leopold stopped and shifted her carefully.
“She is still too warm.”
Phoebe rose. “Let me.”
He handed the baby back, and their hands touched. For a moment, both of them held her at once, not moving their hands from one another.