‘Where am I?’ Claire’s throat felt stuffed with razor blades and dust, and her question rasped out. She coughed hard, her ribs aching with the effort.
‘Hush now, Miss. You are safe here. Just rest.’ Claire didn’t have much other option. Her entire body ached, and she couldn’t summon the energy to lift her head. She closed her eyes, and had no clue how much time passed until she opened them again. The room around her was completely unfamiliar. The walls were panelled to the ceiling in a light wood, and two high-backed chairs covered in striped pink and white fabric sat next to a grand fireplace. Above her, the bed had a lofty canopy, also covered in that same fabric. The spacious room had a round writing desk with a tall vase of hothouse flowers, and on the far wall a pair of large windows let a thin streak of light between yet more of that awful fabric. Where was she? And how long had she been here? If she wasn’t so exhausted, she’d leap out of bed and demand answers. From someone. Anyone. A cold shiver racked her body again, and she hunkered down under the blankets.
‘Claire.’ She opened one eye to see her brother, Wil, sitting beside her bed. He’d pulled one of those deplorably coloured chairs over, and he leaned forward with his elbows resting on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m so sorry about the colour scheme. I told Mr Howick you would hate it, but I was overruled by others in the house. Apparently, it’s a sign of respect to be granted this bedroom. It was decorated decades ago for one of those royal visits that never occurred. God, does every country house owned by the peerage have a room dedicated to such a travesty?’ he said. She grinned, her dry lips stretching as her brother’s words ran on. ‘Are you improving, my dear? You’ve given us all a scare.’
‘How long?’ she managed to croak out without a cough.
‘Over a week,’ he said. Her eyes flew open. ‘Yes. I know. I scarcely believe it myself. But you’ve never done things by halves, dear sister, so naturally when you get sick, it becomes a life and death situation that goes on forever.’ She chuckled, which brought on another bout of coughing. He picked up a bottle of cough syrup and offered her a dropper of it. She tasted the bitter droplet, then clamped her lips shut to refuse any more.
‘You’ve been having five drops at least six times a day this week. It’s the latest syrup from Baltimore. You must need more,’ he said. She shook her head violently and stared at her brother. No wonder she’d slept through a whole week. It was fortunate that she hadn’t stopped breathing altogether.
‘Come on. It says on the bottle that you can have up to thirty drops,’ he said. She read the bottle’s ingredients list, “alcohol (less than 1%), cannabis indica, chloroform, morphia, sulph, all skilfully combined with a number of other ingredients.” She’d hate to think what they were. No wonder she’d had wild dreams, swimming in a transparent pond while naked men swam beside her, feeding her morsels of food from a full dinner set that floated before them. One of the men looked uncannily like Mr Howick with his long limbs, broad shoulders, sleek brown skin, and dark hair in all the right places. She liked men, enjoyed the way their bodies moved and the strength they had, and she understood more than enough about their bodies, thanks to her training at the university hospital. She had no need to touch or explore, preferring to admire them from a distance for her own preservation. As much as she might want to be bold and physical, she knew that she would be the one hurt, that she would suffer the consequences of pregnancy or disease, while they danced away free from responsibility. The world was unbalanced, and she had to keep herself apart if she wanted to change that balance.
‘Only if you want me to die,’ she replied, her voice still rusty. The bitter taste of chloroform stuck to her tongue, and she tried to swallow it away. ‘Honey?’ she asked.
‘I’ll get someone to bring some.’ Wil stood up and crossed over to the bell-pull. He returned and sat with one leg crossed over the other, somehow both relaxed and elegant in that bright pink chair. ‘I can tell what you are thinking. Which royal had such awful taste that they wanted a pink and white striped bedroom? And it’s a hideous dirty shade of pink. Putrid Puce! Although I must say, I don’t mind the idea of strong colours against the light wood panels. And at least they aren’t mahogany. Imagine how depressingly dark this room would be with dark wood panelled to ceiling height.’ Claire closed her eyes and let Wil ramble on about the décor. His voice faded away as the medicine did its trick and she slid back to sleep.
The next time Claire woke it was dark. Someone had left a plate with a spoon of honey on a small table beside her bed. She reached out for it and placed it in her mouth. The sticky sweetness caused her dry mouth to flood with moisture. Just what she needed. She left it on her tongue, slowly dissolving, until only the spoon remained. The honey slipped down her sore throat, soothing the raw feeling. Her breath—finally—came easier, and she drew in a deep one through her nostrils. The smell of old sweat surrounded her, and she gagged back a wave of nausea. The first thing she would request in the morning would be clean sheets and fresh clothes. Her fever must have broken while she slept, and the resultant sweat had infiltrated the sheets making them reek. She slipped the spoon from her mouth, placing it back on the table. The small effort proved hard, making her pant while every hard-fought breath sent a fresh wave of that gagging smell around her. She rolled to the other side of the bed, searching for a section of the bed that wasn’t too bad. With her head almost on the far edge of the bed, she was far enough from the smell, so she closed her eyes and let her body drift back to sleep.
A shuffle of feet on the rug, and the crackle of the fire woke her. She rolled onto her back and watched the maid poke the fire back to life in the hearth. She licked her lips.
‘Excuse me,’ she said.
The maid spun around. ‘I’m sorry for disturbing you.’
‘It’s fine. I wonder if I could trouble you for clean sheets, and a fresh nightgown,’ said Claire. Her voice still rasped, but not as bad as before, and she didn’t feel like coughing. A wave of relief spread over her body. She was getting well again.
‘Absolutely, Miss.’ The maid hung up the fire tools, and put the hearth protector back to prevent any hot sparks escaping. Claire laid her head back on the pillow as the maid raced off to fulfil her request. She still had no clues about her location—a maid who does her job quickly and efficiently could be at any one of the thousands of country estates scattered through England. She blew out an exasperated breath, and wondered where Wil was. In bed, of course. She rolled her eyes. It was still only early, and her brother didn’t rise before mid-morning for anyone. Maybe she was still in London, but why wasn’t she at her father’s house? A blurry memory of travelling with Mr Howick sidled into the edge of her thoughts, but she couldn’t grasp the picture properly. What did Mr Howick have to do with it? Gosh, how many days ago was that? When Wil had said a week, did he mean a working week, or the full seven days? So many questions romped around. Where was that maid?
Claire tried to sit up. It took her far too long, at least in her own mind, to drag her tired body up so that she could sit propped up against the rich wooden head-board. A sharp carving dug into her spine, and she wriggled sideways until she found a spot that didn’t stick her with elaborate hard wooden decorations. This bed wasn’t exactly designed with comfort in mind. She scowled as the door opened slowly. Two maids, dressed in identical gowns with their arms full of folded white sheets, walked in. A swirl of bleach entered the room with them. The two maids lay the folded sheets on a seat, and moved to the edge of the bed.
‘Come on, Miss, we are here to change the sheets,’ one of them said. They reached for her arms, and helped her out of bed to stand on very wobbly legs between the two maids. The nightgown stuck to her legs, all the old sweat had dried out leaving the nightgown stiff and uncomfortable.
‘Let us help you to this chair, and we’ll get you sorted soon. Would you like a sponge too?’ Claire flicked a glance around the room, then nodded briefly in agreement. She craved a proper bath, but a sponge could suffice for now. The two maids wrapped their arms around her, and assisted her as she walked with slow steps to the chair.
‘Good. Now rest, Miss.’ They sprang into action, stripping down the bed, and replacing the sheets with new ones. One of them opened a cupboard and pulled out a few blankets which were soon added to the bed. The other took more of that pink and white fabric from the cupboard, and spread a cover over the bed, so the four poster bed with awning stood brightly in the room. It would have been regal, if in a different colour scheme. Claire blinked at all the action, and let her eyes droop closed.
‘Wake up, Miss.’ The pile of old sheets were gone, and one of the maids stood before her with a pail of steaming water. The other maid held a new nightgown. She must have nodded off again. She let the maids help her stand. They stripped off her old nightgown, washed her quickly, towelled her down and slipped the new nightgown over her head. It smelled faintly of bleach and roses. A huge improvement on her old one.
‘Thank you,’ she said with her eyes closed. The idea that maids had to do basic tasks for her gave her a pain in the base of her skull, and she growled under her breath.
‘Come on. Back to bed with you.’ They helped her back to the bed, where she sat wearily on the edge. Exhaustion made her legs heavy, and her head sagged on her neck. She was barely aware of the maids working to swing her into bed, before she sunk into the fresh sheets and slept again.
Claire’s stomach grumbled. She stared longingly at the bell-pull, debating if she had the strength to walk over and give it a tug. It was dark again, and there was a possibility that the household cook had finished for the day. What was the risk of all that effort and not getting fed? Her stomach rumbled again, and she pressed her hands against it. She smiled, pleased that her body was finally hungry. Moonlight seeped through the crack in that lurid curtain, the effect dampened by the soft light which glinted off a piece of metal on the bedside table. She turned to stare at it, and let out a little sigh of pleasure. She wouldn’t have to get up. Someone thoughtful had left a meal for her, or at least she hoped that was what was under the metal dome plate cover. She sat up, a much easier process than the last time she’d tried, and leaned over to pick up the plate cover. Underneath was a bowl of soup, cold probably, and a piece of buttered bread. Her hand shook a little as she reached for the small plate with bread on it. She held the plate in one hand, and ate carefully, slowly, over the plate to prevent crumbs landing on the bed. Claire chewed every bite cautiously, not wanting to rush the food and choke now that she was finally feeling better. She put the plate back on the table and leaned against the pillows to sleep once more.
‘Claire.’ Her brother barged into her room and pulled open the curtains. Bright summer sunshine flooded the room. How much more time had passed since she ate?
‘Wilberforce,’ she said.
He hesitated.
‘Yes?’ She smiled at his cautious tone, caused by her use of his full name.
‘Must you come in here without knocking? I am a grown lady now, please show some decorum,’ she said. Wil laughed, and his striking face relaxed. He had their mother’s blue eyes, and blonde hair, which he styled deliberately ruffled. She took after her father, but she didn’t mind. It was hard enough keeping all the fortune hunters at bay, without having to believe them as they glorified her physical assets. At least being a plain brunette, she knew they were lying when they called her beautiful. They only wanted her beautifully big fortune.
‘Oh, I’m so pleased you are well again. Welcome back to the world, sister dear.’
‘Well, don’t just stand there. Come and sit down. Be useful and tell me where I am,’ she said. She shook off the unwelcome thoughts about her appearance. It must be the illness that led to those thoughts. She wrinkled her nose—that wasn’t strictly true. She loved fashion, and often wished that she had more fashionable colouring. To be a dark brunette and therefore striking, or properly blonde and fashionable, not the middling brown hair and bland brown eyes she’d been given.
‘Don’t you know? Father didn’t leave a note for you after he sent you to the country to convalesce?’ said Wil with a cynical laugh, as he sat in one of those bright pink chairs. He stretched his legs out before him, and crossed his ankles.
‘Wil. I wouldn’t ask if I already had the information.’
He smirked at her snarky tone, and winked.
‘This is Belfington House in Lincolnshire,’ he said. She stared as his smiled widened slowly. ‘That doesn’t help, does it?’
‘No. I don’t know anyone in Lincolnshire.’
‘Would it help if I told you that this is the country estate of Lord Dalhinge?’
‘No. Should I know who he is?’ she asked. She resisted the urge to rub her forehead, and concentrated on pinning Wil to the seat with a fierce gaze. He appeared to be amused by her ignorance.
‘Damn it, Wil. You are just pushing my buttons. You know how much I hate not knowing things,’ she said. He just laughed, and she did rub her head, pressing her fingers against her temples.
‘I believe you may have met Lord Dalhinge’s younger brother,’ said Wil. She dropped her hand and glared at her brother, as he wallowed in the one-sided enjoyment of teasing her. She raised her eyebrows. He didn’t answer, but instead, he just leaned back on the chair with his arms folded and his face smug. She clenched her jaw and waited. The stubborn pause stretched between them.
‘Fine.’ She glared as Wil’s face broke out into a big smile. ‘Who is Lord Dalhinge’s brother?’ she asked.
‘Maybe you should come to tea and find out for yourself?’ said Wil.
‘Wilberforce,’ she exclaimed.
‘Oh, you are no fun!’ he said with a laugh. She growled in the back of her throat. ‘Fine. Lord Dalhinge’s brother is—’ He uncrossed his arms, and leaned forward in his chair. Claire would have bounded out of bed and shoved him on the shoulder, if she wasn’t still so weak from this blasted illness. Wil waved his hand through the air in an elegant motion. ‘His brother is … Mr Howick.’
‘The lawyer?’ she asked. What? Had she become involved in some elaborate scheme to … She sagged against the head-board and stared at Wil, unable to process any sort of answer. ‘Are you sure?’
‘No, I’m just joking.’ She peered at Wil between narrowed eyes. ‘Yes. It’s Mr Howick. When you got sick, he was at the house with Father. They decided to get you out of town, something about the Ripper and needing to keep you safe, and Mr Howick offered his brother’s estate. Well, you know how Mother feels about the peerage, and Father is always keen to have something up his sleeve to keep her happy when she’s on a rampage. Which is pretty much all the time. Anyway, I got railroaded into being your chaperone, and so we have both been here for near on a week.’ Wil sighed, and tossed his fringe back off his forehead with a flick of his head.
‘I’m sure it’s been such a trial to you, playing chaperone to me while living it up on a fine estate,’ she said. There was so much to process in her brother’s little speech that she would have to put it aside for later when she had time for reflection. Mr Howick had a Lord for a brother. Oh dear, that comment back in his office about poor second sons. No wonder he’d told her to be careful. She blew out a long slow breath.
‘You have no idea, dear sister, of the difficulties I’ve faced this past week,’ said Wil. She would have to apologise, again, for her inability to control her mouth. She closed her eyes, and waved her hand.
‘I’m sorry, Wil. I need to rest now,’ she said. She slid down into the bed, and pulled the covers up over her burning cheeks. She waited until she heard the door shut before rolling over and beating the pillow with her fists. What a fool he must think her, and yet, he’d been kind enough to offer her a quiet place to recuperate.