We worked all night, my mother and I. Dashing from room to room, tending Lady Isobel, and young Christy and the laird’s mother, Lady Kincaid.
Just before dawn, I went to find Ma, who was in Isobel’s bedchamber. The laird was asleep with his head on his wife’s bed and his hand on hers, and I entered quietly so as not to disturb them. The room seemed misty, as though it was cast in shadow, even though the sun was beginning to rise. I frowned at Ma and she gave me a small shake of her head. Lady Isobel was not long for the world.
‘How is the boy?’ she whispered.
‘He’s no worse but I don’t think he is over the fever yet,’ I told her. ‘Ma, what will we do if he dies? If he and Lady Isobel …’
Ma shushed me, looking over to where the laird sat. ‘I can’t save Isobel, but we can help the boy,’ she said. She bit her lip. ‘I need your help.’
Together we slipped out of Isobel’s room and down the corridor to where Davey was pacing his son’s bedchamber. There was a misty pall to this room too. Perhaps not as dark as in Lady Isobel’s but the sight frightened me. Did this mean the lad would die, too?
‘He’s struggling to breathe,’ Davey said as we entered. ‘I tried to sit him up but it’s not helping.’
Ma went to the boy, whose breathing was shallow and gasping, and gently pulled him upright and forward, leaning on her. He looked floppy like one of my old dolls and it made me scared. ‘Support him like this,’ she told his father. Obediently, Davey did as she asked and immediately the boy’s breathing eased slightly.
A howl from down the hallway made me jump. Ma looked sick.
‘My brother?’ Davey asked, his eyes wide.
Ma didn’t speak, just nodded. ‘I should go to him,’ she said. ‘You can use pillows to prop Christy up. If you help him stay upright, it will help him breathe.’
Looking worried, she left the room. I began rearranging the bolsters and pillows.
‘Sir?’ We both looked up. Kyla was there. She gave me a tiny smile and then turned her attention back to Davey. ‘Your mother is awake and asking for you.’
Davey’s expression cleared and he looked relieved for a moment, then he looked back at his son and frowned once more.
‘Go,’ I said. ‘I can stay with him for a few minutes until you return.’
‘Thank you.’
He kissed his son’s head, where the blond curls were stuck to his skin with sweat, and went to find his mother. I marvelled at a God who would spare an old woman, and take a young bride and an innocent boy. Perhaps this was nothing to do with God, I thought. I looked at Christy again, his breathing laboured and his face pale. And that awful shadow hanging over the room. ‘Fight,’ I whispered. ‘Fight with everything you have.’
Not really knowing what I was doing, nor why, I put my hand on his forehead, and closed my eyes, willing my energy into him, hoping he could feel the strength I was trying to pass to him.
I wasn’t sure how long I stayed there but slowly, I felt the boy’s breathing become deeper and more even. I opened my eyes. His cheeks, which had been pale, had more colour.
‘Come on, Christy,’ I said quietly.
Perhaps it was just the dawn breaking, and the sun rising over the sea, but the room lightened. The shadow lifted. I looked at Christy, where he lay on his pillows and to my relief saw he was sleeping peacefully.
‘What did you do?’ Kyla was standing beside me, her face drawn with tiredness. I started. I had forgotten Kyla was there. She looked straight at me and I saw fear in her eyes. ‘What did you do?’
‘Nothing,’ I said hurriedly. ‘I did nothing. My mother gave him a tincture to break the fever and it has worked. That’s all.’
Kyla shook her head. ‘You put your hand on his forehead and he slept.’ Her voice was small and trembling. ‘The room lightened.’
I went to her and touched her arm gently. ‘Kyla, you need to rest. You’re exhausted. The dawn has broken, that’s all. The sun has come up and the storm has passed. Christy is recovering and you should sleep.’
She looked at me, but she didn’t speak. She just turned and left without a word. I felt a flutter of fear. Had I done something? No. Like I’d told Kyla, it was Ma’s tinctures that had helped, not my touch. I was tired too.
‘He sleeps?’ Davey appeared at the door.
‘His fever has broken and he’s breathing more easily.’
He leaned against the doorframe, weak with relief. ‘Thank God.’
‘Your mother?’
‘She is asking for food,’ he said with a small smile. ‘She will be fine.’
I hardly dared ask about Isobel, but I had to know for sure. ‘And your brother’s wife?’
Davey shook his head. ‘Your mother is washing the body.’
‘Your brother …’
‘He’s angry now, but he will understand there was nothing your mother could do.’
There was a pause. I wanted badly to run away. To turn on my heels and run down the stairs and out of the big house and back home. But there was work still to be done.
‘We need to change Christy’s sheets,’ I said. ‘And burn the ones on his bed. Though his fever has broken he could still spread the sickness.’
‘I’ll ask Kyla to do it.’
‘I can do it,’ I said. I didn’t want to see Kyla.
‘You should go home and rest. You’ve been awake most of the night.’
‘Our house is flooded,’ I said, suddenly remembering.
‘Then stay.’
‘No,’ I almost shouted. I didn’t like this house with its high ceilings and too many rooms. I didn’t like the laird, nor his bullish mother, nor their silent servants. Not even Kyla. I thought about the way she’d looked at me and shivered.
‘Can you lift Christy?’ I asked Davey. ‘If you lift him, I can change the sheets without disturbing him.’
‘There is linen in the dresser, there,’ Davey said. He got to his feet and I found fresh sheets and blankets in the drawers.
‘Be careful with him,’ I warned as Davey went to pick up his son.
Davey gave me a withering look. ‘I’m his father,’ he said. But there was no irritation in his voice. Just fondness and pride.
‘Ma says the sickness can stay in the sheets and in their clothes,’ I said. ‘I don’t know if it’s true but I’ve learned to do as she says.’
‘Your mother is a clever woman.’
‘She is.’
I pulled the sheets from the bed and quickly replaced them with clean ones and a warm blanket. Davey put Christy down and the little lad snuggled into his bed. I tucked him in and Davey sat down next to him, stroking his head.
‘What should I do with the linen?’
‘I believe your mother has arranged for it to be burned,’ Davey said. ‘I can smell the fire beneath the window. Perhaps you can take it down on your way out?’
I went to the window and looked out. I could see a fire burning fiercely and a man turning it with a long pole. Kyla stood nearby. As I watched, Gregor appeared. He walked over to her and they spoke. They both looked emotional. Upset. Understandable, of course, because Lady Isobel was dead, but I felt that flutter of fear again. What was Kyla saying? Whatever it was, Gregor was listening intently.
‘Alice?’
Davey’s voice made me start. ‘Sorry,’ I said, still looking at Kyla. ‘I’ll take the sheets now.’
‘I like the view from this window,’ Davey said. ‘You can see the sea.’
‘And our cottage,’ I said, hoping the animals hadn’t been disturbed by the storm.
‘What is between your cottage and our estate?’ Davey asked.
I turned to him. ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘It’s our land. We have animals and my mother’s garden.’
‘You have a lot of land.’ Davey looked impressed.
‘My father was a shrewd man.’
There was a slightly awkward pause. I wasn’t sure what to say or why he was interested in our land. I picked up the bundle of bed linen. ‘I should find my mother.’
‘Of course.’ He looked at Christy and then up at me, and I saw his eyes were full of tears. ‘Tell her thank you.’