A Murder at Rosamund's Gate - By Susanna Calkins Page 0,85
around Annie’s scrawny frame. She was holding a cup of tea to the little girl’s head when the physician came.
He glanced at the child, but his attention was on Mistress Hargrave. “Now, Lucy,” the physician said. “Tell me, does your mistress have any black spots on her neck, or under her arms, or in her”—he coughed—“private areas?”
“Yes,” Lucy replied. “She does. She also has fever and has been vomiting; I scarce know what to do.”
Without any more questions, the doctor hastened to the mistress’s chambers, where he remained for about a quarter of an hour. When he was done, he found them in the kitchen. Hearing Annie moan on her pallet in the pantry, he bent over her as well with a frown.
Straightening up, he turned back to them, his voice weary. “Well, there is little enough you can do, I’m afraid. As I told your master upstairs, you must keep her warm and comfortable. Dry. If she gets to flailing about, as some do, then tie her arms and feet to the bedposts with strips of cloth. Keep her linens clean.”
Cook and Lucy nodded their heads. Dr. Larimer regarded them intently. “Heed my words. Three days it is, from when the symptoms first appear, to the end. If you can survive it, then you should be fine. You must take care of yourself, too; eat, drink, think happy thoughts. Have you any posies to hang about?”
“Posies? Why, yes, sir,” Lucy said. “We kept the blossoms from last summer’s garden.”
“Well, keep them below her nose. Add some lavender if you have it. Also, rub some of this on her chest.” He handed Lucy a small pot. She sniffed it, making a face. “It will help her breathe. All right, Lucy? Can I depend on you to keep your head about you? The life of your mistress may well be in your hands. And that of the little girl there, too.”
“Yes sir,” Lucy stammered. “I understand.”
“I’ve told the magistrate that I shan’t report this as plague, but he knows what to do.”
Shortly after the physician left, the magistrate seated himself rather uncomfortably on the low bench by the fire.
“Have some soup, sir,” Lucy urged him, somewhat unnerved by the presence of the master in the kitchen. She cut a large slice from a new loaf and handed him the plate. “And some bread.”
He nodded. “How’s Annie?” he asked, somewhat absently.
“Feverish, chills. No black marks like—” She broke off. “Sir, I’m sorry!”
As if he had not heard the last comment, he simply said, “Right. Well, that’s good.” Then he looked at Cook and Lucy. “Well, Mary. Lucy. We’re in a spot of trouble here, I’m afraid. Your mistress does indeed have the plague, and maybe little Annie, too. As a justice of the peace, I am obliged to think of the public good.”
Master Hargrave crumbled a bit of bread in his fingers, looking distantly at the crumbs. “Believe me, I want nothing but to load us all into the carts and pack us all off to my family home in Warwickshire as we planned. Escape this damnable mess. However, I very much believe we’d not be escaping the plague, but we’d be bringing it along with us.”
Leaning over, he began to poke the fire with a stick. Cook and Lucy looked at each other.
“No, indeed,” he continued. “I believe we must do what is right. That means we must quarantine ourselves. No one must enter this household, and I’m heartfelt sorry to say, no one must leave, until the sickness has passed.”
They gasped. What if the sickness does not pass? Lucy thought miserably.
“We must have courage, and have faith in the good Lord,” the magistrate continued, noting their pale faces. “Above all, we must do our part to contain the sickness. That means that we must all be very brave and resolute.”
He looked at Cook, his face anguished and drawn. “Mary, I’m sorry, but we cannot let John come back in the house, if but to save him.” Blinking back tears, he swallowed. “My own son, I cannot look upon.” Straightening his shoulders, he took a deep breath. “When they return tonight, we must send them out of the city to fetch Sarah and to take her to the family seat and keep her safe. Mary and Lucy, I’m so sorry. You both deserve better than this, but with perseverance and courage, I believe we will survive.”
Cook looked as stricken as Lucy felt. A bitter and heavy silence fell over the room.