Carola Dunn (13 page)

Robin leant back, eyes closed. She loosened his cravat as the servant rushed in.

“Gawd, he’s been and gone and pizened hisself!”

“Poisoned? What do you mean?” Philo glanced at the table, where a sparse array of glass dishes and jars were all that was left of the onetime tangle of equipment. “Robin, what have you been doing?”

“Tasting chemicals,” he said shakily. “It’s a common way to identify them.”

“Tasting chemicals! How could you be so foolish? Come on, Bodiham, we must get him into his bed. Really, Robin, you’ve less sense than a four-year-old. If you kill yourself, what good will that do anyone?” Scolding, half crying, she helped Bodiham support him up the narrow stair to a tiny chamber under the eaves.

He collapsed across the bed, breathing stertorously.

“I’ll get him into his nightshirt, miss, but what then?”

“I don’t know. Keep him warm and make him drink strong tea.” She had no experience of illness, let alone poisoning, but that felt right and could do him little harm—she hoped. “I must go for help. Robin, listen to me.” She dropped to her knees on the bare plank floor by the bed. With immense effort he turned his head towards her. “Promise me,
promise
you will never do that again.”

There was a glimmer of a smile in his eyes as he whispered, “I promise.”

Much as Philo wanted to stay, she jumped up and ran from the room, down the stairs, out of the cottage. Surely Cousin Cressida would know what to do.

The tears were falling faster now, making it hard to see her way. She brushed them away, then stopped, blew her nose, and took a deep breath before picking up her skirts again and hurrying on. Never had the mile to the house seemed so long.

She entered through the conservatory, ignoring Talleyrand’s welcoming warble. Aquila was reading in the drawing room.

“Where is Cousin Cressida?”

“In her sitting room, I think, giving Toby a lesson. Philo, you’ve been crying. What is wrong?”

The question made a lump rise in her throat. She shook her head and went on. Aquila followed at her heels.

After one look at her face, Cressida sent Toby to play and took the weeping girl in her arms.

“Come and sit down and tell me all about it.”

With Aquila on one side and Cressida on the other, Philo confessed. “It’s Mr Mayhew—the wizard—down at Marsh Cottage. Only he’s not a wizard, of course. He’s a chemist, and he has poisoned himself.”

“What with?” asked Cressida sharply. Rising, she went to a locked cabinet and opened it with a key from her pocket.

“I don’t know. Lots of different things, I think. He was tasting chemicals to identify them. I didn’t know what to do, except keep him warm. And I told his servant to give him tea.”

Cressida took a small leather case from the cupboard. “A good start. We shall just have to try a bit of everything, but tell me the symptoms while I fetch my bonnet. Bring this with you.”

Aquila took the case. “I’ll carry it, Philo.”

“There really isn’t room in the cottage,” said Philo, hugging her sister. “It’s tiny.”

“Pray for him,” said Cressida, disappearing through the door.

“I will,” Aquila promised, handing her sister the little case.

Clutching it, Philo trotted after Cressida, describing Robin’s condition. Cressida was relieved to hear that he had vomited and that he was not in a total stupor. Philo’s hopes revived, only to plummet again when Cressida ordered John Barleyman to run to the inn in the village and send an ostler to Lincoln for the doctor.

Bodiham was overjoyed to see them. He propped Robin, pallid and inanimate, against a couple of pillows and then scurried to do Cressida’s bidding. Down Robin’s uncomplaining throat poured a stream of warm water mixed with chalk and charcoal, egg white, olive oil, and calomel. Milk followed, and then more hot, sweet tea.

At last Cressida began to pack up her little case of medicines. “I have done all I can,” she told Bodiham. “Continue to give him as much liquid as he will take: milk, tea, and beef tea.”

Philo, whose gaze never left Robin’s face, saw him raise heavy-seeming eyelids. “Trying to drown me, ma’am?” he murmured.

Involuntarily, Philo took a step towards him, stopping when Cressida frowned at her.

“It is the least you deserve, young man.” Cressida eyed him sternly. “Are you by any chance a connexion of Baron Mayhew of Aisby?”

“Brother.” Exhausted, he closed his eyes again.

“Hmm. I believe he had best be informed. I have sent for the doctor, and I shall write down for him what I have given you.”

“There’s paper and pen below, ma’am,” Bodiham told her.

“Thank you. Come, Philomena.”

“Oh, but I must stay and take care of him.”

“Out of the question. His man seems competent enough.” Cressida swept from the room.

Philo followed, with a miserable backward glance at the bed. She could not be sure, but she thought Robin winked at her.

While Cressida wrote a note for the doctor, Philo explained to Bodiham how to make beef tea. She knew Cressida noted this further indication of her intimacy with the household, and she was prepared for interrogation as they set out for home.

“Well?”

The story tumbled out. Beyond ascertaining that Mr Mayhew had never attempted any physical familiarities, Cressida made no comment.

When they reached the house, Aquila appeared at once, with questions obviously hovering on her lips. Cressida sent Philo straight to bed, saying only, “You will be the better for a rest, and I must think what is to be done.”

Dragging her suddenly weary feet up the stairs, Philo hoped she did not imagine the kindness in her voice. She went to bed in her shift and fell asleep before she could consider the implications of the day’s events.

Aquila woke her in the late afternoon. She bore a tray with tea and biscuits, which she set on the bedside table before pulling up a chair. Not for Aquila the inelegance of sprawling on her sister’s bed.

She looked at Philo consideringly. “Toby asked me to tell you that Metternich is trying to feed his feet. I gather this is a matter of some moment?”

“Yes, it’s the first sign that he is ready for mating.” Sitting up, Philo rubbed her eyes. Suddenly everything came flooding back into her mind. “Does Cressida know you are here? Am I in disgrace?”

“Should you be?”

“I have made such a mess of everything, Aquila,” she wailed. She told her sister the tale of her developing relationship with Robin Mayhew, concluding in despair, “And the worst of it is that he turns out to be brother to a baron!”

Aquila raised skilfully darkened eyebrows. “I cannot see why that should throw you into the dismals. He is a gentleman; he will do the right thing by you.”

“Not when he finds out that Papa was not married to my mother. Besides, I don’t want him to ‘do the right thing’ by me.”

“I am not surprised. He sounds to me quite mad, and I am certain you can do better for yourself, if only you will not be so shy. Do you not recognise his name?”

“Mayhew? No.” Philo was puzzled.

“When we were in Brazil, we knew a gentleman by that name.”

“A diplomat? No, I do not remember. Cousin Cressida said she meant to send a message to Lord Mayhew at once. Even if Robin does not mind about my birth, his brother will never countenance his offering for me.”

“Then you need not worry about Mr Mayhew ‘doing the right thing,’” Aquila pointed out, uncomprehending.

Philo realised that her sister, expecting to make a marriage suitable to the wealthy granddaughter of an earl, had no understanding of love. Despite her own misery, she pitied her.

* * * *

Cressida accepted Philomena’s heartfelt penitence for her deception and, to her surprise, did not absolutely forbid visits to Marsh Cottage.

“You may go if you can persuade Aquila to go with you; or take Toby, who tells me, incidentally, that Mr Mayhew is his best friend. While Mr Mayhew is ill, you are only to call to ask after him. Once he is recovered you are not to stay longer than half an hour, and if you walk with him it must be in company.”

“You are sure he will recover?” Joyful, she was ready to accept any restrictions.

“The doctor called on his way back to Lincoln. He doubts there is any permanent damage to the organs. Philo, I am not sure I am acting rightly in this. I trust you to show me that I am.”

Philo promised fervently that she would.

Despite Aquila’s lack of understanding, she actually offered to accompany her sister to Marsh Cottage next day, claiming that she was curious to see a wizard’s lair. Bodiham assured the ladies that his master was much improved, sitting up and demanding food. Philo had to be content with that, though she longed to run up the stairs to the little chamber to see for herself. Toby went with her the day after. She nobly allowed him to go up to Robin while she waited below, mindful of her promise.

When they reached home, after stopping by the stream to see if there were any tadpoles yet, they entered through the back door as usual and found Aquila at the spinet.

She greeted Philo with the news that Lord Mayhew was closeted with Cousin Cressida.

“What are they saying? What is he like?” Philo was cast into high fidgets.

Vulgar inquisitiveness was beneath Aquila, but she had happened to be coming down the stairs when his lordship was admitted to the house. “Unless I am much mistaken, it is the gentleman we knew in Brazil, when we were children. He was not then a baron; I should remember that.” As she spoke, she continued to play, competing in a desultory way with Metternich and Talleyrand. “We called him Theo.”

“I meant, does he look amiable?”

Aquila shrugged.

“I
wish
I knew what they are saying!” Philo moaned.

* * * *

At that precise moment, after an exchange of the amenities, and expressions of gratitude on the baron’s part, he was saying to Cressida, “I imagine you had some particular reason for asking me to call before I see Robin?”

“I did. I do.” Cressida hesitated.

“I am very anxious to see my brother.”

“Of course, but I promise you he is in no immediate danger.”

Looking relieved, Lord Mayhew accepted a seat. “You were saying?”

“I fear you will think me very remiss. I must warn you that a young lady who is in my charge has been visiting your brother unbeknownst to me.” She flushed at his look, at once astonished, unbelieving, and amused, and she hurried to add, “I do not believe that anything of a...an
indecent
nature has occurred.”

“I trust not!” His lordship now sounded grim. “Robin has always been too busy with his experiments to run after the petticoats—if you will excuse the expression, ma’am—but you may be sure that if he has in any way compromised your ward he shall do the gentlemanly thing by her. I will not permit a member of my family to ruin a respectable young lady.”

Cressida’s face grew still hotter. Gamely she struggled on. “As for that, my lord, I fear that Philomena Ware’s antecedents are not—”

“Philomena Ware! Good lord, are we speaking of little Philo? Sir William’s daughter? My dear ma’am, I was intimately acquainted with the family some eight or nine years since. I am well aware of Philomena’s history. Ware never made a secret of it.”

“I expect you will change your mind, then, about your brother.” Cressida sighed, with relief that awkward explanations were unnecessary, and with pity for Philo.

“You mean I think Robin above her touch?” Lord Mayhew’s grin was charming. “On the contrary, ma’am. Because of his peculiar activities, the stuffier members of my family already consider him a black sheep. If he has compromised Miss Philomena, he shall wed her.”

“I would not go so far as to say she is compromised. However, I suspect she has fallen in love.”

“Little Philo in love with Robin?” The chemist’s brother was torn between amusement and dismay. “I am sorry to hear it, for he is wedded to his profession, and I doubt he has noticed her existence. Shall I go and beat some sense into his thick head?” He paused. “You know, come to think of it, I had been wondering why he lingered here. His place was completed a good month since.”

“His place?”

“He recently inherited a house in Staffordshire; no estate, but enough money in the funds to keep him—and raise a family—comfortably. My sisters object to his experimenting at Aisby, so he rented the cottage here while he was having the stables at the new place converted into a laboratory. The work was finished weeks ago. Hmm, I shall have to have a chat with young Robin.”

Cressida was beginning to like the baron. “I need not ask you not to reveal what I said of Philo’s feelings.”

Again the charming grin. “No, of course not, yet I feel we need not despair. Tell me, is Philomena’s half sister also with you? What was her name—Madame de Cressy called her an unfledged eaglet—Aquila, is it?”

“Yes, she is here.”

“I should like to meet her again, and Philo, of course.”

“Doubtless the girls will be delighted to renew the acquaintance.” Cressida rose with a smile—good-looking young gentlemen were in short supply in the village, and she was aware of Aquila’s boredom. “Pray come this way, my lord.”

* * * *

Philo retained only a confused impression of a gentleman who bore an astonishing likeness to Robin, though slightly shorter and more compactly built. All that mattered, to her mind, was that far from frowning upon her, he had smiled. He had even teased her gently about not remembering him from Brazil.

“Of course, I was only one of the young men prostrate at your feet,” he reminisced, “and you skipped blithely over us to go and chase the birds and butterflies.”

Tongue-tied, Philo was grateful when Aquila, at her most languid, came to the rescue and told him about her continued interest in birds.

She was afraid the baron’s cordiality stemmed from ignorance of her behaviour or of her illegitimacy, but Cousin Cressida assured her that he knew everything. She dared to dream again.

Toby went with her again the next day to see Robin. He was downstairs, well wrapped up and ensconced in the inglenook in the kitchen. His brother was there too. Lord Mayhew had taken rooms at the village inn and announced his intention of staying until the invalid was fully recovered.