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‘I highly doubt that Robert has done this on purpose.’
‘He tries to avoid the laudanum. The nurse was right. The boy has become ungovernable.’ He forced a ghost of a smile. ‘And it is entirely my fault.’
‘You are taking the nurse’s word. The woman who opened an invalid’s window during a blizzard! She could have given him lung fever! How could you have allowed such a creature in this house?’
Simon clenched his hands. What other new great insight could Miss Benedict give him?
Miss Benedict clamped her mouth shut, but her eyes burned with an even greater intensity. ‘You should have checked…’
‘I note you do not offer any references of your own. You ask me to take you on trust.’
‘I can certainly do a better job than that…that slattern!’
‘The footmen have already been called.’
‘Listen to my plan.’ Phoebe forced her voice to be calm. She had to get through to this man. The boy was in trouble. She could see his blue lips and uncontrollable shuddering. This was no act of defiance or a wish to get attention. This was something else entirely. ‘He may not be to blame.’
Mr Clare’s face blazed with a barely controlled fury, but she stood her ground and refused to flinch.
‘Do you not think every way has been tried? Tried and failed? I have had experienced nurses. This is no tea party, Miss Benedict. This is real life. The boy must take his medicine or risk dying.’
‘But not that way! It is cruel and is making matters worse! We need to speak if I am to help the boy.’
A faint sardonic smile touched his lips. ‘I am rather busy at present. If you disagree with my methods, you know where the door is.’
‘You will listen to me.’ Phoebe ground the words out. ‘Will you tie me down as well or will you listen to what I have to say!’
Mr Clare glanced at the boy and his face appeared to soften momentarily. Phoebe silently pleaded that somehow her words had penetrated, that he would finally agree to listen.
‘You have five minutes, Miss Benedict, to explain yourself.’ His quiet words filled the room. ‘After that, my coach will return you to your home.’
Phoebe blinked. He had agreed! Tension flowed from her shoulders, leaving her weak and giddy.
Mr Clare led the way into the hallway as she heard Robert’s sobbing increase, but the squeaking of the bed slowed. The fit was ending. She gave one hurried glance, but saw that the boy appeared to be coping. She carefully closed the door.
She looked Mr Clare in the face and sought to find the concerned, loving parent, rather than the stern savage who had greeted her at the door.
‘That boy is far from being mad.’ Phoebe crossed her arms and met his intense gaze. ‘He is frightened beyond measure. The threat of ropes and being forced to take the medicine is making matters worse. He had already begun to calm down when the medicine was mentioned. Yes, he is excited, but—’
‘What do you suggest should be done with him?’ Mr Clare raised an eyebrow. ‘He bit Mrs Smith two nights ago. I saw the teeth marks on her arm. Others have tried to tell me that it is my duty to send him to the madhouse. But not Robert! Not while I have a breath in my body!’
Tiredness made Phoebe’s mind clumsy, but she fought against it. All she knew was that tying the boy down was wrong. He was a frightened little boy in need of understanding. He had had scarlet fever, not brain fever. ‘Did she say why he had bitten her? Did anyone see it happen? She went against your wishes about the window.’
Mr Clare’s face took on an even more ruthless demeanour, became even more piratical. She suspected that he longed for a plank so that she could be ordered to walk it. ‘She attempted to give him his laudanum. And I saw the bite.’
‘Perhaps the nurse tried to force it down his throat— against his will. He reacted in the only way he had left.’
‘He must do as he is told, Miss Benedict.’ Mr Clare regarded her with disdain. ‘All of us must do things in this life that we dislike, but we do them. It has been explained to Robert, several times.’
‘Have you ever had medicine forced down your throat, Mr Clare?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘It matters a great deal.’
The air crackled between them, replete with some raw elemental emotion. His hard look intensified. Phoebe resolutely refused to turn her gaze away as the heat between them threatened to sear her. Suddenly he turned his face. The breath exited her lungs with a whoosh.
‘My stepbrothers never had to be tied down when they had scarlet fever, not even the youngest, and he contracted rheumatic fever,’ she said quietly. ‘I think the nurse has frightened Robert badly.’
‘Your stepbrothers were not Robert. If he will not take his medicine, measures must be taken.’ Mr Clare’s mouth became a thin white line. ‘Is that all you wished to speak me about? Your time is nearly up.’
‘Have these fits been happening long? Did he ever have episodes like this before she started to care for him?’ Phoebe asked quickly, seeking to regain the upper hand. ‘Your sister never said that he suffered from any affliction. Did the fever cause this?’
‘They started within the last few weeks. Just before Mrs Smith started or just after.’ Mr Clare ran his hand through his hair. ‘Then this started happening—these fits of madness. I knew Diana was my last chance. Robert’s cries were unbearable.’
Phoebe pressed her lips together. Thank goodness Lord Coltonby had seen the sense of it and had prevented his wife from travelling. This sickroom was the last place where Lady Coltonby should be.
‘Have you had the doctor in? What does he say?’ Tiredness made her head fuzzy, blocking her thoughts.
‘Doctor MacFarlane says that only time will cure him. It is out of our hands.’ Simon Clare crossed his arms and gave her a dark brooding look. ‘Robert must be nursed here.’
Robert was not mad. It was his illness. He had contracted rheumatic fever. It had to be. It bore all the hallmarks of what Edmund had had. St Vitus’s dance. Phoebe paused, unclear how best to proceed. Then she decided that she would simply have to say it, tell Mr Clare the worst. But hopefully, once he knew, then he would stop using the ropes. It had to work.
‘My youngest stepbrother, Edmund, contracted rheumatic fever after his bout of scarlet fever. His limbs and face would shake and move. Our doctor called the condition StVitus’s Dance. It affected his heart, not his mind.’
‘And how does he fare now?’ Simon Clare’s hoarse whisper echoed down the corridor.
‘He can run as well as any man, better than most. He has finished his last term at Oxford.’ Phoebe could not resist a note of pride creeping into her voice. Of all of her stepbrothers, Edmund was the one she felt closest to. He made her feel as if she was not an outsider, as if he truly cared about what happened to her. ‘He hopes to join one of the Inns of Court soon and train to be a lawyer. Hardly the actions of an imbecile.’
She forced her gaze to meet Mr Clare’s green one, felt it bore down into her soul as if he were searching for something. Every inclination in her body told her that he would yell and storm, but she kept regarding him, refusing to flinch. He looked away.
‘Is it not an affliction?’ Mr Clare’s voice was a husky rasp. ‘Will Robert recover? Will he return to his old self? Do you promise me?’
‘I have every reason to hope Robert will recover as well. He looks so much like Edmund,’ she whispered. ‘It may take a long time, but there is hope. You do not need to use ropes. He must be kept calm. Please let me try. Your sister believed I could help.’
‘You have seen him at his worst and have not run. It is more than several of the maids were able to stand. Perhaps Diana’s judgment was not misplaced.’ The colour drained from Simon Clare’s face, but his shoulders straightened. ‘What do you propose?’
‘Keep him quiet. Speak to him gently. Reasonably. He looks to be an intelligent boy.’ Phoebe forced her voice to be calm and matter of fact. Excitement surged through her. She had this one chance to prove her worth. ‘He is not to be put under any undue stress.’
‘But he needs to take his medicine. I refuse to allow him to become a little savage. I refuse…’ His voice tailed off in exhaustion.
‘Allow me to handle this. I will get him to take the laudanum.’ Phoebe said the words with far more confidence than she felt. ‘Allow me to prove that I can nurse Robert. If I can’t, I will leave in the morning and you can hire another nurse with references.’
‘You have ten minutes.’ He held out his hand. ‘And, Miss Benedict, he must take his medicine.’
Phoebe swallowed hard and touched her fingers to his. They curled around hers for an instant, warm and strong. A pulse went up her arm and she rapidly withdrew her hand. ‘It will be enough time.’
Silently she prayed that her words were true.
Chapter Three
Ten minutes to get Robert to trust her enough to take his medicine quietly. She had made a bargain with the devil. But it did give her a slim chance. Phoebe pushed open the bedroom door as the wails started again. Her legs threatened to give way and her stomach knotted. Her easy words to Mr Clare echoed in her head. She could get this frightened child to take his medicine. She ` gave a half-smile and wondered why it was so easy to say things, but so difficult to actually achieve them.
She placed the wicker basket down at the entrance and willed the kitten to stay there. She would not need the ropes. All she had to do was to believe. A calm firm voice and slow movements—the same way she had captured the kitten earlier in the day. The same way she had nursed her stepbrothers.
At her approach, Robert stopped crying and regarded her with eyes that were too large for his face. His entire body went still. Behind her, she was aware of Mr Clare’s looming presence, watching her every move, doubting her ability. It irritated her that she was intensely aware of every little movement he made—the fierceness in his eyes, the way his fingers curled into a fist, the warning hunch of his shoulders. She stopped, turned back and shut the door with a decisive click.
‘Who are you?’ Robert shouted. ‘Go away! I want my aunt!’
‘Robert, your Aunt Diana sent me in her place. I have a message for you.’
‘A message?’ Robert tilted his head to one side. ‘What sort of message?’
A breath escaped Phoebe’s lips. She had his attention. Everything would turn out fine. She made her voice sound sing-song, unhurried, easy and light as if it did not matter that time was sliding through her fingers. ‘Your aunt is very sorry. She wanted to be at your side, but she can’t come.’
‘Who are you?’ His face was a reflection of his father’s except his eyes seemed to dominate his shrunken face.
‘Phoebe Benedict. I am to look after you until you get well. I have come all the way from London at your aunt’s request.’
‘I want my aunt! I miss her.’ A small hand scrubbed at his eyes. He looked all of about six, instead of the ten that Lady Coltonby had said he was.
‘She is…going to have a baby. Soon you will have a little cousin to love and cherish.’ Phoebe looked directly at the boy. Her entire being tensed. Would he go into another fit? And then what would happen? Why had she made such a rash promise? ‘They would not let her come. She wanted to, very much. You must believe that, Robert. She told me to tell you that she loves you and wants you to get well.’
‘I miss her.’
‘And she misses you too. It is why you must be a good boy and get well.’
Phoebe pressed her hands together and willed him to stay quiet and to trust her. She resisted the temptation to brush the sweat from the back of her neck and simply stood there, hands outstretched.
‘Are you going to tie me up?’
‘No ropes.’ She held out her hands and showed him they were empty. She bent down so her face was level with his. ‘I don’t believe in tying boys up.’
‘Me either.’ Robert gave a decided nod as his limbs began to convulse again. ‘But I don’t like this either.’
‘You need to relax and the spasms will ease.’
‘What is happening to me?’
‘You are ill. You need to rest. Your body wants to get well.’ Phoebe kept her voice soothing. ‘Take a deep breath, Robert. In. Out.’
‘I can’t catch my breath. It frightens me. Really frightens me.’ His eyes swam with tears. ‘I want to live and not go to hell like Mrs Smith said I would.’
‘Your body will find it easier if you are quiet.’ Phoebe cast her eyes upwards and wished she could throttle the nurse. What was Mr Clare thinking when he hired her?
Robert closed his eyes. The trembling and jerking in his limbs subsided slightly. Phoebe risked another step towards the bed, willed him to keep calm. She touched his forehead and breathed a sigh of relief. Cool and without fever. The worst had passed, but Robert would need a long time before he recovered his strength. Phoebe lifted her hand from his forehead and stared at the wallpaper. A mixture of anticipation and misgiving filled her.
She had written to her stepmother that it would be for a few weeks at most. She had never considered that the time might run into months. Months. Maybe her presence would be missed. Maybe they would realise they missed her and how much she tried. She wanted them to be proud of her, to feel that she was part of their family, instead of part of the furniture. She had given her promise and she would see that this boy became well. She paused. As long as she could get him to take his medicine.
‘Why did you do that?’ Robert asked, bringing her back to the present.
‘Because I wanted to see if you had a fever.’
‘And do I?’ Robert screwed up his face. ‘I have had such strange dreams. I want them to go away. They frighten me.’
‘The doctor has left something to keep the fever and the dreams away.’ Phoebe reached for the medicine bottle.
‘What are you going to do?’ Robert rubbed his shaking hand across his eyes.
‘I am going to give you something to drink. It will make you feel better. A little sleepy, but better.’
‘I don’t want any medicine. Nasty.’ Robert pulled a face. ‘I won’t take it. I won’t!’
‘Robert!’ Mr Clare’s voice echoed throughout the room as the door came open. His footsteps resounded on the floor and Robert’s eyes grew wide again.
Inwardly, Phoebe cursed and willed Mr Clare to the devil. She had gone too quickly, she knew that, but little time remained. She could get Robert to take his medicine if only Mr Clare would be quiet. ‘It will help. I promise you that. It helped my youngest brother when he was ill like you.’ Her tongue flicked over her lips. ‘Shall I tell you about Edmund? I started looking after him when he was a boy about your age.’
‘I want my aunt. She won’t make me drink anything!’ The boy’s voice started to rise again. ‘Aunt Diana! Aunt Diana!’
‘Miss Benedict!’ She heard Mr Clare’s warning sound behind her.
‘My time is not up! You promised!’
She spun around and nearly collided with his hard chest. Behind him, two footmen stood with ropes dangling from their fingers.
‘No!’ Phoebe put out her hands and placed her body between Robert and the men. ‘I won’t let them pass. He will take it! Give him a chance! Give me this one chance!’
‘Stand aside, Miss Benedict! He must take his medicine. You had your chance and failed. My only consolation is that I was correct in my assessment.’
‘Ten minutes. I want ten minutes.’
‘You can see what Robert is like.’ Mr Clare nodded towards the bed. ‘Why are you intent on making him suffer?’
‘You are frightening him. Please let me try again. You didn’t give me ten minutes.’ Phoebe glanced at Robert. His mouth was set mutinously as his eyes flickered between them. ‘What harm will a few moments do?’
‘Miss Benedict! No one defies my orders in this house!’
‘Mr Clare! Someone should!’
She stood toe to toe with the man, aware that with one sweep of his arm she could be brushed aside. But she refused to allow her gaze to waver. Each breath she took seemed like an eternity.
Finally he bowed his head and took a half-step backwards. ‘Very well, a few moments. One more chance.’
‘I rescued a kitten earlier today,’ Phoebe said, speaking rapidly and praying that her words would provide a distraction. She kept her eyes trained on Robert, but every particle of her body was alert to Mr Clare’s movements. ‘Would you like to see it? Shall we see if your cries have made him wake?’
Robert’s mouth closed and he lifted a thin shoulder. Phoebe ran to where she had placed the basket and opened the cover. Despite the uproar, the kitten had gone to sleep.
Carefully she carried the basket over to the bed. The kitten gave a loud purr, but did not open its eyes. Robert put his fingers to his lips. ‘It’s asleep. I don’t want to wake him.’
