Chelynne (54 page)

“I can’t understand it, my lord. The tiring woman knows of no recent illness save a bout of ague, yet I fear Her Ladyship is dying.”

“What the devil! How can she be dying if she’s not ill?”

“I’ve given her a complete examination, my lord. It almost seems as if she’s lost her will to live. There’s nothing I can do for her now.”

Chad stared at the small man coldly. “There must be something, sir. No matter the cost. Something!”

“If there’s a cure for this, my lord, we’ll all be rich.”

“For what? Come, man, what?”

“She simply wishes to die. That’s the best way I can figure it, my lord. She fought my attentions and is now unconscious. We cannot rouse her.”

“You’ve considered everything? She does not bleed? There’s no infection you missed?” The earl’s expression was earnest, pleading. “What of pregnancy? Is she perhaps miscarrying?”

“Pregnancy?”

“Yes, that! The simplest—”

“My lord, Her Ladyship was examined for that. Futilely. She is intact. Surely you would be aware—” The doctor stopped suddenly, not knowing if he had gone too far or was faced with a strange situation in this household. He had served the nobility for many years, had seen everything there was to see. He would be neither surprised nor offended. It was the strange light in the earl’s eyes that held him silent.

“Then you suspect she is wishing this illness? To death?”

“It seems a violent state of grief, my lord. The countess has allowed herself to deteriorate, as best I can explain it. I believe her to be badly neglected and careless with her health. I propose you have her purged, burn incense, and give her ample salt water. Keep her in bed and force small amounts frequently. There are no ulcers or fever and as I can tell she’s contracted no disease, but in her weakened condition the onset of any could quickly kill her. As it is...” The doctor paused and judged the size of the earl as he slowly rose before him. “As it is, she may not last out the week. You might call in an astronomer.”

“The devil,” Chad muttered, on his way out the study door and leaving the small, balding man to trail along behind.

“Shall I call tomorrow, my lord?” the physician asked.

“Yes, yes. Come tomorrow,” Chad replied without turning around.

“I’ll say nothing of Her Ladyship’s condition,” the doctor offered.

Chad stopped abruptly and whirled around, the physician almost colliding with him. Those piercing silver eyes darted over the little man quickly, coldly. “I don’t give a damn what you say.” Chad turned away and took the stairs two at a time, cursing under his breath as he mounted them. Damn nobility. Damn court. Damn London.

Stella was bending over Chelynne, patiently trying to coax an egg coddle into her mouth. There was a posset stirred and sitting on the table, the smell of herbs smoldering in a dish, and the windows were closed and the curtains drawn. The room was stifling and close. Chelynne did not stir from her deep slumber but there was a troubled frown on her brow. Chad took the bowl from Stella’s hands and urged her away, placing himself in the position of nursemaid to his wife.

Chad kept that vigil through the night, gently spooning tiny bits of nourishment past her unyielding lips. Memories plagued him as he worked, of a different sort now. Now with painful clarity he remembered every day since his wedding to Chelynne. The weather had cooled when he put his father to his final resting. His young bride had attempted to ease the deep ache that accompanied death. She had offered herself for the comfort he would take but he had accepted none. Instead he had gone directly to London and bade her follow, alone.

He had taken her to court because it was expected, but he had gone about his gallivanting and left her to survive as she might. When he had occasionally looked in her direction he had found that she had chosen an out-of-the-way corner to sit and wait, smiling demurely at compliments and blushing lightly at the courtly gestures that embarrassed her.

Christmas. It had been a wild and wonderful celebration in London, with decorations and parties and dinners and singing. Chad had accompanied Chelynne to all the festivities, but had not stayed by her side. He had left a gift in her room and later accepted her thanks for the small piece of jewelry. She had sought him out to personally place a gift in his hands. He had thanked her and taken it with him to his study to work. Three weeks later he had opened it to find a pin for his cravat embedded with rich stones, three monogrammed handkerchiefs, and a lock of hair encased in glass for a keepsake. He had never mentioned the gifts again and had not used them. He wondered now what she had done on Christmas day alone. He had gone to spend that time with Kevin. But he had not been reproached and had not heard her cry.

Lord Mondeloy had sent word to her several times that he would come to London as soon as he could. When that noble gentleman had arrived he was in no condition to help his niece. How long ago was that? Chad couldn’t even remember when his wife lost her kin.

He crooned to her as the mother of a sick child might. If she stirred restlessly, he lifted her and carried her to the pot. If he wasn’t forewarned of her need he changed the bedding himself, not wishing to have any servants near her now.

Thus he bore it through another night. By morning’s light he had loosened his shirt and the periwig rested on her bureau. His beard was itching and irritating and he wouldn’t take the time to shave it. He stubbornly blinked away the need for rest and kept at Chelynne to nibble and take small draughts.

Stella’s offer to relieve him was refused. He ate of meals brought quickly and went on with his duties. He dozed through parts of the afternoon close by her side. Another night and still she was helpless, weak and barely conscious.

He threw open the windows to admit the morning light and air that was none too pure. He was restless and impatient for some kind of improvement. Bestel brought him a message bearing the royal seal and he read it quickly. A summons would have ordinarily sent him hurrying off to his sovereign. Today he answered it without due concern. If the matter was not urgent he begged to be excused because his wife was in a state of illness that was most severe. He was well aware that he could be brought away by royal guards and gave little regard to the possibility. There was nothing of much importance to him now, save his wife’s well-being. The same words floated from his tongue wearily, habit to him now. “Come, darling, just one swallow more.”

Afternoon brought an answer from King Charles. Chad was to report to Whitehall at his earliest availability, excused from this appointment. Charles was most concerned about the condition of the countess and inquired personally after her. He had also, Bestel explained, interrogated the physician attending them to be sure there was no foul play. Chad reasoned the information. Without Charles’s interest in his wife he would likely have been severely reprimanded for not charging to the palace at the first call. A man was not excused lightly for problems with his women.

He carried on, hot and tired and frustrated. He was near the end of his endurance. She was not going to live. “By damn!” he swore at his young wife. “Are you so weak that you cannot rise above some slight misfortune?” He pressed his face close to hers and whispered low. “Will you slip away and never try to better your circumstance? For the love of Christ, Chelynne! Won’t you save yourself?”

Her eyes blinked open sleepily with no sign that she heard and understood him. They drifted closed again. “Is there no reason left to live, Chelynne?” he whispered in agony. His head fell to her breast and he uttered, “No reason at all?”

She stirred slightly and her eyes opened again. There was something there, some communication. No further words were spoken. He urged the spoon close to her mouth and she ate obediently. She drank from the cup he held. The amounts were slight and she was not eager, but there was some response. Reason enough to hope.

The next day she took more and her waking periods were longer. The day after she was better still, and she asked him to help her to sit up. One more day dawned and she awoke alert, aware of her surroundings and him.

“I hurt all over,” she murmured, grimacing as she moved in the bed. “Every bone in my body.”

Chad beamed. She would mend. She could find the strength to complain of her discomforts and that was a sure sign that recovery was on its way. He was flooded with relief. His arms went around her and his lips touched her brow.

He left her that night for the first time to sleep in his own bed. The rest was sorely needed but was not nearly what was required. He, too, had suffered through this illness. His weight had dropped and his face bore the signs of worry. A bath and grooming helped the insult to his good looks and then he went to her quickly.

In the healing process the recovery is swift when there is desire. He found her sitting up with a tray of food before her. It would be a long while before she would regain that vitality and healthy appearance she had had before, but there was tremendous improvement already. He had a great many phrases on his tongue, a grand number of regrets and hopes to speak of, but he simply took her hand in both of his and spoke softly.

“You’ve been so foolish to let this happen to you. You have so much to live for.”

“You’re right, of course,” she replied softly. “But sometimes that is hard to see. I think God looks unkindly on those who wish to die.”

“That’s behind you now. You’ll get better now.”

“I’m a burden to you,” she sighed.

“You have been that,” he laughed. “You’ve a most determined nature, madam.”

“There’s nothing there you know,” she whispered.

“Where, love?”

“Death. I thought it would be gardens, perhaps. Beautiful countryside with cool streams. It’s only blackness. Nervous and dark. There is no rest there.”

“Is that what you sought? Rest?”

“My lord,” she said in that strange voice that didn’t seem to belong to her. “It would bear considerable preference to what I have had. But no matter, I know now why there was nothing there.”

“Why?”

“That is for the soul that has nothing left to believe in. Eternal life is only for the soul that in strength can endure living.”

“Chelynne, don’t ponder this so deeply. Think only about recovery now. Rest and eat.”

“I’m not much good at being a countess. In truth, I don’t much want to be.”

“That’s no fault of yours,” he said sternly. “From now it will be made easier for you.”

“I don’t like London much,” she told him.

“Then as soon as you can travel we’ll go to the country. Will that help?”

Not entirely, she thought. But she smiled and nodded her head.

“Chelynne, things will be better than they have been, I promise you. Just get well.”

How simple the matter of making a man cringe with guilt, she thought. She nodded and pretended that simple devotion. It kept him at bay better than anything else.

“I was called to Whitehall when you were ill, and begged off. I’m afraid I can’t avoid it any longer. Will you be all right if I leave you for a short time?”

Again the smile, the brief nod. She could see that he was most reluctant to leave her. She wondered then if there was some love for her after all. But she quickly put it out of her mind. He would feel obligated, of course, to help her during times of great crisis. He was not a man to take duty lightly. The one thing she had learned was that to be tolerated and endured was less dignified than being hated. And it was infinitely more painful.

He patted her hand, kissed her brow, and left her.

His Majesty King Charles had received a message early in the day from the earl of Bryant. It read that the countess was greatly improved and that he sought the earliest possible audience. Charles gave the messenger an appointment time for the afternoon. He breakfasted with the queen, dined with his mistress at noon, and played tennis in the early afternoon. He walked to his apartments with a trail of courtiers and banked by his friend George Villiers and his brother James, the duke of York.

“So, Bryant can leave the petticoats now, sire?” Buckingham asked.

“It seems Her Ladyship is on the mend,” the king replied.

“You’ve acquired an interest in her, haven’t you, sire?” James asked.

“You’ve acquired an interest in my interests,” was the reply.

“Will Bryant be going home or shall he become a guest of Your Majesty?” Buckingham asked.

“What is your wager, George?”

“There seems a full house at the Tower. I wager he goes home, sire.”

“Don’t put too much money on it,” Charles advised.

“There’s no proof he’s guilty of anything,” James put in. “So far as we can see.”

Charles was mute. He wasn’t saying any more.

“There’s no such thing as a guilt-free man,” George commented.

“And who would know that better than you, George?”

“Not a soul, sire,” he confessed.

“There are those who have the opinion you’ve not done your share of visiting in the Tower.” Charles stopped walking and waited for Buckingham to catch up. “What do you think of that?”

Buckingham bowed. “I think Your Majesty’s infinite wisdom and profound sense of justice have many times saved the innocent from unscrupulous slander and character assassination.” George smiled into Charles’s laughing eyes. The king started walking again.