The Bride Sale (7 page)

“Perhaps she does,” Mrs. Tregelly replied. “But likely she don't know it, else she would have made these concoctions herself to help her little boy.”

“'Ee could teach us.”

Verity looked up from her reduction into the anxious eyes of young Gonetta, who had just entered the kitchen. Verity shook her head. “Here,” she said ladling the hyssop infusion into a teacup. “Take this to your brother. Be sure he drinks as much as he can. He will not like the taste, but see that he drinks a good portion.”

Gonetta dashed away to her brother's sickroom, her hand covering the teacup to keep it from sloshing.

While Verity began to mix the reduced horehound liquid with honey, Mrs. Tregelly watched in interest. “It is almost as strong-smelling as the infusion, is it not?” Verity said. “But the honey makes it go down easier. After drinking the hyssop, Davey will no doubt be glad to swallow something sweeter.”

“Netta was right.”

“About what?”

“You could teach us some of your skills. We'd be that grateful. There be no telling when Dr. Trefusis will return.”

Verity shook her head and continued to stir the honey. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly. “I will not be staying long.”

Mrs. Tregelly clucked her disappointment but did not press the matter. A few minutes later, Gonetta bounded back into the kitchen. “He do be takin' it!” she exclaimed. “He don't like it, but Ma be gettin' it down him.”

“That's good,” Verity said. “Now find me a jar or a crock to hold this syrup. We'll see what else we can get down him.”

When they returned to the sickroom, Mrs. Chenhalls smiled up at Verity, her eyes moist with emotion. “Thank 'ee, ma'am, fer helpin' my boy,” she said. “See here? His breathin' do be better already. No more wheezin'. He goin' to be all right now, in't he?”

Verity leaned over the bed and touched the boy's cheek. He'd been bathed and wrapped up warmly. It was much too soon to know if the fever would break. Simply inhaling the steam of the infusion, with its heavy camphor aroma, would momentarily ease the child's breathing. But it was a temporary relief at best.

“I cannot promise anything, Mrs. Chenhalls. These remedies should make him more comfortable, allow him to breathe easier for a time. But please do not get your hopes up too soon. I cannot guarantee a cure. He is a very sick little boy. We will just have to wait. Now, see if you can get him to swallow a spoonful of this syrup. Then give him more infusion every hour. Be sure it is warm. And give him a teaspoon of the syrup every three hours. If he gets any worse, there are other treatments we can try.”

“Thank 'ee, ma'am,” Mrs. Chenhalls said. “Thank 'ee. I do be grateful 'ee come to stay with us.
Gras e dhe Dhew. Drusona!”

Verity darted a questioning look at the woman's daughter, but the girl kept her eyes averted. “She do thank God that 'ee came,” Gonetta whispered.

“Come along,” Verity said, eager to escape the emotions that tugged at her. “Let me teach you and Mrs. Tregelly how to make more of these remedies, so you can tend to Davey after I leave.”

Gonetta followed in silence. While Verity gave instructions for making both the infusion and the syrup, Gonetta did no more than nod now and then. Mrs. Tregelly made precise notes.

“Now, the only problem,” Verity said, “is the supply of hyssop. I have enough horehound to leave with you. It takes very little to make the syrup. But I do not have much hyssop left. Do you suppose your mother has hyssop in her kitchen garden, Gonetta?”

“Don't know, ma'am. Wouldn't know it if I seen it.”

“But I would,” Verity replied. “Let's take a look.”

Gonetta led her to a tidy, prosperous kitchen garden just beyond the scullery door to the outside. There were rosemary, sage, parsley, dill, fennel, thyme, tarragon, lovage, tansy, and lemon verbena. Verity scanned the plantings for the familiar tall stalks of hyssop. Sure enough, there they stood, next to their minty relatives.

“See here,” Verity said, breaking off a leaf and rubbing it between her fingers. “You have everything you need. This is hyssop, which is used in the warm infusion. But I used dried leaves. You must double
the amount if you use fresh leaves. Can you remember that?”

“Prob'bly not,” Gonetta replied in a petulant tone. “I do think 'ee ought to stay. Then 'ee can take more time to teach us and make sure we don't do somethin' bad wrong. We do be simple folk, not educated like 'ee. We do need 'ee to help us, 'specially with no doctor an' all.”

The girl's plaintive tone was almost more than Verity could bear. She wanted to help, she really did, for against her better judgment she found herself growing quite fond of Gonetta. And she could not forget the grateful, trusting look in Mrs. Chenhalls's eyes.

Even so, she could not do as they wished. It was impossible.

“I cannot stay, Gonetta,” she said without looking at the girl. “I am leaving Pendurgan, as I've told you. Today, if I can finish my packing and locate his lordship.”

“'Ee don't
have
to go. Not yet. 'Ee could stay just till Davey be better, like.”

“Oh, Gonetta.” Verity steeled herself against the doleful look in the girl's eyes. She had to leave Pendurgan. She had to get away from Lord Harkness, who, whatever his motives, still made her decidedly uneasy.

“Please,
ma'am. Davey woulda died if 'ee didn't been here. We do
need
'ee, Miz Osborne. Please don't go.”

“Gonetta—”

“Please, ma'am. Stay. His lordship won't mind. Will 'ee, my lord?”

Verity stiffened.

“Not in the least,” said a deep voice behind her.

 

James watched her tight shoulders relax somewhat as she brought her discomposure under control. Even from behind he could see her chin tilt up at that defiant angle he'd seen last night. He could not suppress a mocking smile as she turned around.

But the smile slid from his face, leaving his mouth slightly agape. It was the first time he had seen her in full light without a bonnet shielding her face, and without a heavy cloak or that ridiculous mountain of clothing of last evening. He had not realized how attractive she was. He might almost call her beautiful, though she did not have sort of the fair-haired porcelain beauty he generally preferred.

Her hair, the color of rich, black coffee, swept off her face in deep waves. A few wayward wisps escaped at the nape of her long, slender neck. So lovely a neck, he thought, should never be hidden by bonnets—or be encased in a leather harness. She had a full mouth, a straight nose, and clear, fine-textured skin that made him think of Devonshire cream. Her large brown eyes—now glaring at him while he stood gaping like a schoolboy—were fringed with long lashes and set off by perfectly arched brows. They reminded him of the beautiful Spanish girls who had attached themselves to his regiment years ago.

He swallowed hard and tried not to think about how long he had been without a woman.

“Am I to understand that your brother is better?” he asked Gonetta, attempting to ignore Verity and the way his blood heated up at the very sight of her.

“It do look that way, my lord,” Gonetta replied. “Miz Osborne here, she fixed him right up.”

“Did she, indeed?”

“She did make med'cine fer him, outa plants and all. She know just what he did need and, sure 'nuff, it worked.”

“It is too early to tell—” Verity began.

“Davey, he gonna be jus' fine now,” Gonetta interrupted. “I do know it, my lord. Miz Osborne here, she cured him.”

“Well, then,” James said, “that is good news. I had sent to Bodmin for a physician for Davey. Perhaps when he arrives later today the boy won't be in such a bad way. We are most grateful to you, cousin.”

Verity's gaze narrowed at the word “cousin,” but she said nothing. She was going to be difficult about the ruse. But, by God, if she stayed under his roof, it would be as his relation. He would not have the servants gossiping about her as if she were his lightskirt, though that was, no doubt, precisely what they assumed her to be.

“In any case,” he went on, “I would feel better if a physician examined him. I am sure Davey will need to be bled if he is to fully recover. I doubt Mrs. Osborne is prepared to—”

“You will
not
have him bled!”

Startled by this outburst, James cocked a brow at Verity. So, despite the obvious anxiety she still felt in his presence, certain issues seemed almost involuntarily to fire her spirit. Interesting.

“He is much too weak,” she continued in a more diffident tone. She fingered the plant in her hand with jittery movements and did not meet his eyes.
“Bleeding him will only make him weaker, less able to fight off the fever.”

He glared at her in disbelief. What nonsense was this? “I beg your pardon, cousin, but surely the boy must be bled.”

She looked up at him. “I—I disagree,” she replied, her voice unsteady. “He will recover more quickly with good strong herbals and
no
bleeding.”

“What the devil are you talking about?” James said. “That is without doubt the most preposterous bit of rubbish I ever heard. Pure quackery.” Her attitude took him by surprise. In spite of these little bursts of spirit, he would have guessed her to be more commonsensical than crackbrained. But then, she
had
tried to escape Pendurgan in the pouring rain, weighted down with layer upon layer of heavy clothing. Perhaps she was something of a loose screw after all. Damn. That was all he needed.

“Everyone knows that bleeding is necessary to excise bad humors from the body,” he went on in a tone that, even to his own ears, sounded overly pedantic. “Physicians have been bleeding patients for centuries.”

“And most of their patients die,” Verity said.

“Not from being bled.”

She looked up at him again. “How do you know?” she asked. Tension showed in her face, in the angle of her spine, and in her hand, tightly gripping the plant stalk as if it were a weapon.

“How can anyone know,” she said, “if a patient dies from illness or from increased weakness to fight the illness, brought about by bleeding? My mother—” She stopped for a moment, then took a deep, shud
dery breath and continued. “My mother was bled to death by well-meaning physicians. She had an inflammation of the lungs and was never allowed to recover her strength, but was bled and bled until there was nothing left of her. Oh, she might have died eventually, but nothing will convince me that her death was not hastened by constant bleeding.”

A loud sob from Gonetta interrupted this remarkable speech. “Is Davey goin' to die, then?” she wailed. “If doctor come and bleed him, is he goin' to die after all?”

Verity looked over Gonetta's shoulder straight into James's eyes. She raised her brows and sent him a look that dumped responsibility for the answer squarely in his lap. Damn. If he allowed the doctor to bleed Davey now, and the boy subsequently died, James would be the villain once again. Responsible for yet another child's death.

By God, he would not face that again. Let this opinionated little harridan take the blame for whatever happened.

“Cousin,” he crooned as he swept her a bow, “I defer to your superior judgment in this matter.”

Verity looked momentarily abashed, then returned her attention to Gonetta. “I do not think it is a good idea to have Davey bled,” she said. “It is best that we allow the healing properties of the herbals to take hold first. If he does not show any improvement, then we may discuss with the physician what is to be done next.”

“Then 'ee will stay, ma'am,” Gonetta asked, “to make sure nothin' do go wrong?”

Ha! Gonetta had her there. James guessed that she
was desperate to leave; now it would seem churlish of her to go. He watched Verity struggle with the decision. Her very mobile face registered helplessness, frustration, anger, and finally resignation. She would stay.

He should be pleased. He could oversee her welfare more easily if she stayed on at Pendurgan. Then why was he cursing himself for not getting a doctor sooner so that she could be on her way without a qualm?

“Very well,” she said at last, her body visibly sagging with the weight of her decision. The depth of her frustration shone clearly in her dark eyes, now bright with unshed tears. “Very well. I will stay for the time being. But only until Davey is up and about again.”

“Oh, thank 'ee, ma'am! Thank 'ee. Ma will be so happy. But 'ee do got to stay long enough to teach us 'bout them plants. There do be others hereabouts wot could use yer help, I reckon. Do 'ee know how to help with stiff joints and such?”

“Well, yes. There's—”

“Then 'ee could surely help Old Grannie Pascow, who do get too stiff to walk sometimes. What 'bout a bad stomach? Can 'ee help that, too?”

“There are herbs that will ease a bilious stomach. But—”

“Then Hildy Spruggins'll need yer help, too, 'cuz her stomach do be always botherin' her somethin' terrible. And what 'bout burns and cuts and bruises and sprained muscles and boils and dropsy and colic?”

Verity sighed. “Herbal remedies may be of some help in all of those cases, but—”

“Well, there do always be somebody wot's got one of them things wrong wid 'em,” Gonetta said. “There do be a powerful lot 'ee has to teach us, ain't there? Could take a long time.”

James wondered where this young girl had learned the art of manipulation so thoroughly. She had Verity pinned to the wall.

He would have been amused if a sudden anxiety hadn't gripped him as thoroughly as Davey's fever. Verity was being coerced into staying at Pendurgan indefinitely.

She appeared to be as torn as he was. She chewed absently on the nail of one finger. Two deep furrows marked her brow.