The Queen's Gambit (The Wonderland Series: Book 4) Read online

  “Yes, of course,” he replied. His eyelids suddenly felt very heavy. The brandy had dulled the headache, but made him drowsy. Hugo dropped off as Neve carried Elena from the room and shut the door behind her.

  Chapter 21

  I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Robbie, the new groom, returning from Nash House with the doctor. I had never met Doctor Baldwin before, but had heard good things about him from Harriet and Cook, although the compliments were more on his bedside manner than his prowess at healing the sick. In our situation, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Anyone with medical knowledge was better than nothing, and my meager supply of herbal remedies wasn’t enough to combat any major illness. I tried not to overreact when someone ran a fever or had a bout of diarrhea or vomiting, but I couldn’t help the feeling of dread that stole over me every time someone took ill.

  Granted, most illnesses turned out to be nothing more than a cold or indigestion, but I lived in perpetual fear of someone contracting something more serious. The mortality rate in the seventeenth century was very high, especially for children, and I guarded my babies fiercely, instantly imposing a quarantine, whether the situation called for it or not. Hugo probably had nothing more serious than a sore throat, but I needed to be sure.

  “Lady Everly, an honor to meet you,” Doctor Baldwin said as he stepped into the foyer and removed his hat. I instantly saw why the good doctor received such high praise from the ladies. He was in his early thirties, and had a charming smile and luminous brown eyes which shone with kindness and compassion. I was sure that many a lass longed for a bout of indisposition just so that she could bask in the glory of that smile. According to Harriet, Doctor Baldwin was a widower with a fine house and a sizeable property — a catch indeed.

  “How is Bradford Nash?” I asked, fearing the worst since the doctor had still been in attendance at Nash House this morning.

  “On the mend, my dear lady. On the mend.” He didn’t elaborate, but I wasn’t sure that he was telling me the whole truth. Perhaps he felt it unethical to discuss Brad’s case with me.

  I led the doctor directly to our bedroom where Hugo was dozing fitfully. His face was flushed, and his breathing was ragged, bringing back horrid memories of his infected gunshot wound in Paris. Seventeenth-century medicine was brutal, but it had saved his life then, so I put my trust in Doctor Baldwin and stepped back in order to let him examine the patient. I sucked in my breath when Doctor Baldwin removed a handkerchief from his pocket and held it over his face as he got close enough for Hugo to breathe on him.

  Hugo opened his eyes, momentarily confused by the presence of the man leaning over him.

  “Good morning, my lord,” the doctor said soothingly. “I’m Cornelius Baldwin, the physician. Your wife tells me you’ve caught a bit of a chill. Let’s have a look, shall we? Open your mouth for me, your lordship,” he instructed and stared into Hugo’s reddened throat, nodding to himself. “Any nasal discharge?”

  “A bit,” Hugo replied.

  “Cough?”

  “No.” The doctor held a wooden tube to Hugo’s chest, listening intently. He removed the handkerchief as he finished his examination and stepped away from the bed. His face told me everything I needed to know, and I felt the cold fingers of fear coil around my heart as I sank into a chair.

  “Your husband has the putrid throat, my lady. He must have come in contact with someone who’d been infected. Symptoms usually begin to show after a few days, so it must have been several days ago. As I am sure you are aware, it’s highly contagious. His lordship must be kept away from the rest of the household or the pestilence will spread. No one is to come in or out of this room except for the one person seeing to his needs, and that person must cover their face as the infection is carried upon the breath. If you have any children, keep them as far away as possible,” the doctor advised sternly. “Give him an infusion of willow bark for the fever, have him gargle with salt water every two hours, and give him hot water with honey to drink. The honey will soothe some of the pain in his throat. I advise against solid foods during illness, but his lordship may have unlimited beef tea. If anyone else falls ill, call me at once.”

  “Will he recover?” I asked, suddenly terrified. The putrid throat was diphtheria, as it was known in my time, and was rampant in the seventeenth-century. It often wiped out entire families in a matter of days, the close proximity and lack of hygiene allowing the infection to spread unchecked. I had been vaccinated for it as a child, but neither Hugo nor the children had any immunity against the disease. I could see the look of sympathy on the doctor’s face as he faced me.

  “My lady, I don’t believe your husband’s case is a severe one, but it might take a turn for the worse over the next day or two. If it doesn’t, he will begin to recover. Don’t lose heart.”

  “Thank you,” I replied woodenly. Hugo must have come in contact with someone while he was searching for Brad. Did that mean that Brad had just brought the putrid throat to his family as well? Only time would tell. In a few days, we would know if anyone else had been infected, and if the whole village was in danger.

  I saw the doctor out and rushed back inside to issue orders. Frances was in the parlor with Valentine and Michael, who’d already breakfasted in the kitchen. Elena was still asleep, having fallen asleep so late last night. The children were playing some game of their own invention while Frances sat on the settee and gazed out the window, her look one of wariness.

  “Neve, what is it? What’s happened?” she asked as soon as she saw the doctor driving his trap away from the house.

  “Frances, Hugo has the putrid throat. Keep the children away from him and from Elena as well. Wash their hands with soap and hot water several times a day. I will be looking after Hugo, so I cannot come in contact with them or anyone else in the house.”

  “Understood,” Frances replied. “Give him my regards for a speedy recovery.”

  “Thank you, Franny. What would I do without you?”

  “You would manage; you always do. I will look after the children; just see to his lordship.”

  I gave her a nod, and fled from the parlor before the children got bored of their game and decided to follow me. I marched to the kitchen, knowing this part of it would be more difficult.

  “Lord Everly is ill with the putrid throat,” I told Cook and Ruby, who were in the midst of eating their own breakfast porridge. “You are to boil every dish and cup that he uses, and set them aside. You are to wash your hands before and after you handle food. You are not to touch anything his lordship has touched without using a cloth to shield your hands from infection. The cloth then has to be boiled as well. Is that clear?”

  The two women stared at me as if I’d just told them to turn pewter into gold on demand, but they both nodded obediently. No doubt they thought me strange, but I didn’t care. I knew something of the way infectious diseases spread. It wasn’t just through breath; it was also by touching infected surfaces, such as dishes that a sick person had used, or their chamber pot. I’d instructed Cook to wash her hands often, but I doubted she washed them as often as I would have liked, and not in hot water with soap. Both Abigail and Ruby were clean by modern standards, but they knew very little of hygiene and needed to be told what to do. I gave them both the gimlet eye and went on to talk to Harriet and her sister Polly, who were already going about their morning chores.

  “Is it bad?” Archie asked as he met me on the stairs. I could see the terror in his eyes. Archie didn’t fear much, and I suddenly made the connection.

  “Was it the putrid throat?” I asked carefully. Archie’s sister’s children had all died within days of each other, leaving their parents desolate with grief. Their father hanged himself in the barn after the funeral, and Archie’s sister eventually found her way to a convent where she devoted herself to God, finding it impossible to survive her loss any other way.

  “Aye,” was all that Archie said as he gave my shoulder a squeeze and continued down the stairs.

/>   “Don’t panic,” I told myself as I leaned against the wall, suddenly weak in the knees. But I was consumed by fear, especially since Hugo had been in contact with Elena last night. He’d held her and kissed her, and only a miracle would keep her from getting sick. I finally peeled myself away from the cold comfort of the stone wall and went to check on my baby.

  Elena was still asleep in her own cot, her breathing even and clear. She was wrapped in the blanket, just as I’d left her, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I touched her face. No fever. There was hope, but if I continued to go between her and Hugo, I might carry the infection to her. I left Elena to sleep and retraced my steps to the kitchen.

  Ruby was peeling turnips, having finished her breakfast, but she set down the knife when she saw me and glanced at Cook to see if she should continue.

  “Ruby, you are one of eleven, you said?” I asked, smiling so as not to alarm the girl. I tried to be gentle with her, but every time I addressed her, she acted as if I were about to scold her or dismiss her entirely.

  “Aye, me lady.”

  “So, you have some experience of small children?”

  “Aye, me lady. I helped me mam rear all ten o’ me siblings.” Ruby looked confused, but I had no choice but to proceed.

  “Ruby, Elena came in contact with Lord Everly last night. We won’t know if she’s been infected for a few days yet, but I need someone to look after her and keep her separated from the others while I nurse his lordship. Would you be willing to take on the task? You can say no, Ruby; I won’t get angry,” I added, feeling that I had to give Ruby a choice.

  “I would be glad to help, me lady,” Ruby said with another glance at the cook.

  “Can you spare her?” I asked Abigail, more as a formality. She could hardly say no. Looking after Elena was more important than peeling turnips.

  “Of course, your ladyship.”

  I gave Ruby a list of rules to follow and a large, clean handkerchief. “Wear this over your face. Elena will try to pull it off, but don’t let her. Pretend it’s a game. You must not get sick, Ruby. Do not touch your face after touching Elena, and wash your hands thoroughly after every time you help her use the chamber pot or feed her.”

  “Aye, me lady,” Ruby responded like an automaton. I could tell that she was scared, but there was no one else to ask except Harriet, who had recently been ill herself. She didn’t have the putrid throat, but it seemed unfair to expose her to another illness so soon after she’d recovered.

  I dispatched Ruby to mind Elena and went to fetch some beef tea for Hugo. The next few days would be crucial, and I had to be vigilant.

  Chapter 22

  After three days, I was physically exhausted from taking care of Hugo, and emotionally overwrought from constantly worrying about the children. Being so small, they refused to understand why their parents wouldn’t see them, and I heard their cries echoing through the empty corridors. Frances and Archie did their best to keep Valentine and Michael busy, but Michael only wanted me, and Valentine was throwing temper tantrums purely out of principle. Elena cried softly in the next room, begging Ruby to let her see her papa. She even asked for me from time to time, but it was Hugo she wanted.

  Hugo spent the first two days lying prone, his eyes closed, and his breathing labored. His throat was swollen and hot to the touch, and his fever rose and fell all day long, giving me false hope before spiking again. Hugo gargled dutifully, drank hot tea with honey, and consumed liters of beef tea without complaining, but I could tell that he was feeling much worse than he was letting on.

  Doctor Baldwin stopped in on his way to Nash House, but was satisfied with my report and didn’t go up to see Hugo for fear of bringing the infection to the Nashes. He believed Hugo was on the mend, and I agreed with him. Another day or two and Hugo would be up and about, if the sudden increase in complaining was anything to go on.

  I set down the tray with a bowl of beef tea on a small table and walked over to the bed to check if Hugo was awake. He was, so I reached over and felt his forehead. It was mercifully cool, and his throat looked better. He still had some difficulty swallowing, but he looked much better this morning, his color no longer a sickly gray. He wasn’t contagious any longer, by my estimation, but I refused to allow him out of bed until he was fully recovered. Better to err on the side of caution.

  “I think it’s safe to say that you are on the road to recovery,” I pronounced cheerfully as I brought over the bowl of broth.

  “Can I at least have something to eat?” Hugo asked, sounding like a miserable child. “I can’t take any more broth. I need food; I’m starving.”

  “All right; you may have some bread and butter, and a cup of milk for your dinner.”

  “Not exactly what I had in mind,” Hugo grumbled.

  “I know, but you must start slow. Eating meat might make you sick,” I explained.

  “I’ll take my chances,” he mumbled as I held out the bowl to him.

  “Stop being such a grouch,” I said with feeling. I was tired and cranky. All I really wanted was to curl up and go to sleep for a few hours, and then wake up and have a good meal. I’d barely eaten over the past few days, too busy running between the bedroom and the kitchen, and hiding from the children who wouldn’t be able to understand why their mother refused to give them hugs and kisses. I wasn’t ill, but I could be a carrier of contagion, and I would do nothing to put my babies in danger.

  “Neve, why don’t you have a lie-down? You look worn out,” Hugo suggested gently. “I can fend for myself for a few hours. I’m hardly an invalid.”

  “Perhaps I should,” I conceded. “I am tired, and hungry. And I miss the children,” I added tearfully.

  “It’s been four days now, and no one else has fallen sick,” Hugo reasoned. “Perhaps it’s time to end the quarantine.”

  The incubation period could be as long as a week, in some cases, and I didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances. I’d opened my mouth to state my case when a timid knock sounded at the door. Ruby stood outside, her face the color of whey, and her eyes round with fear. She was stepping from foot to foot in her nervousness, as she raised her face to meet my gaze.

  “Ruby, what’s happened?” I asked as my heart sank.

  “Lady Elena is ill, me lady,” she replied. “She’s fevered, and her throat is that swollen. She’s crying for ye.”

  “I’ll be right there. Wash your hands with hot water and soap and go to your room, Ruby. We must keep you from getting ill and infecting others.”

  “Aye, ma’am,” she replied demurely. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

  “You did everything you could, and I am very grateful to you. Now go wash your hands before you touch anything.”

  Ruby left in a hurry and I leaned momentarily against the door, willing my knees not to betray me. I had been so sure that everything was going to be all right and no one else would get sick, and now this.

  “Neve,” Hugo called through the door. “Is everything all right?”

  “Elena is ill,” I replied as I poked my head into the room. “I must go to her.”

  I could see the look of horror on Hugo’s face. It was mirroring my own. “I’m scared, Hugo.”

  “I am, too. May I see her?”

  “No. I will keep all of you completely separate until this passes. Quarantine is the only way to contain cross-infection,” I replied with more authority than I felt. Hugo was a grown man, but Elena was just a baby. She was susceptible to infection, and her immune system wasn’t developed enough to fight off such a terrible sickness without the help of medicine.

  “I know. Please let me know how she is,” he asked, his own complaints forgotten.

  “I will.”

  Chapter 23

  When I came running into the nursery, Elena was lying on her cot, her face flushed, and her body limp. Her eyes were partially closed, and her breathing ragged. Her chest rose and fell along with the cloth dolly she clutched with both hands. The child seemed to shrink i
nto herself every time she needed to swallow. My heart nearly burst at the sight of her, but I smiled calmly and lifted her into my arms.

  “How are you, my darling?” I asked as I brushed the damp curls off her forehead. Elena barely opened her eyes, but she melted into me, eager to be comforted. I nearly gasped in shock at the heat coming off her body. She was like a tiny furnace.

  “Hurts Mama,” she whispered.

  “I know. You’re going to be all better in a few days; I promise. Papa is feeling better already, and he will come to see you tomorrow. In the meantime, you need to drink some broth. It will make your throat feel better.”

  Elena stubbornly shook her head. “Hurts,” she repeated. I would have done anything to take the pain away, but my choices were few. All I could do was be there, and keep her hydrated. I managed to get her to swallow a few spoonfuls of broth before she fell into a fitful sleep. I climbed into bed next to her and curled around her little body, offering whatever comfort I could. I must have dozed off, but woke up with a start when Elena woke up crying. She was rubbing her eyes and clutching at her throat as she tried to swallow.

  “Take a sip of water,” I begged her, but Elena pressed her lips together, refusing to drink. Hot tears ran down her face, her eyes begging me to make her feel better.

  “Darling, please,” I pleaded. “Take a sip of water with honey. It will ease your throat.”

  “No,” she moaned stubbornly.

  “All right,” I conceded. “Let’s try something else.”

  I poured some cool water into a basin and began to sponge Elena’s face and upper body. The coolness brought some relief and helped to reduce the temperature, enough to allow her to sleep comfortably for several hours after drinking half a cup of honeyed water. But, Elena’s temperature spiked again during the day, and she went from being weak to being lethargic. The only thing that roused her was the horrible cough that seemed to tear straight from her chest and sounded like the barking of a seal. The coughing fits left her drained and gasping for breath.