The Dark Earl (49 page)
Rose was alarmed. She’d seen this sort of ailment before. A year ago in Soho, the poor souls who caught this contagion had died. Her family had been saved because they moved to Aunt Lizzy’s in St. Giles until people stopped dying. She ran back downstairs.
“Riley, Riley, can you ready the coach? We must go and tell Lord Lichfield that his wife is poorly. If we don’t take him the news, and something bad happens to Harry, our lives won’t be worth tuppence. Lady Harry is his whole life.”
“That’s a sensible suggestion, Rose. If aught happens to her while the Abercorns are in Ireland, the family will never forgive us. I’ll put the horses in the shafts.”
Rose banged on the door at St. James’s Square, and when Norton opened it, she ran past him, asking over her shoulder if his lordship was at home.
“You’ll find him in the library. Is aught amiss, young Rose?”
“Yes, Norton, I’m afraid there is.” She tapped on the library door, but didn’t wait for Thomas to answer. “My lord, my lord, your wife has come down with a terrible contagion. Riley’s got the coach outside. Will you come, sir?”
Thomas dropped the pen he was holding, and came around his desk. “Of course I’ll come.” His black brows drew together with concern. “What sort of contagion?”
“She’s rolling about in agony. She can’t keep anything down and she’s got the flux.”
“Has a doctor been summoned?” Thomas flung on his coat.
“Hobson went to get a doctor while Riley brought me here.”
“There’s a physician called Hardcastle, lives in St. James’s Place. He’s often called on by the royal family.” Thomas gave Riley the address, and when he alighted from the coach and banged on the door, he had already thought of persuasive words that would compel the physician to accompany him.
Hardcastle was just finishing his dinner when his butler announced the Earl of Lichfield. He came out to the reception hall, where Thomas stood waiting.
“My wife is the eldest daughter of the Duke of Abercorn, Prince Albert’s groom of the stole. She has contracted a contagion and I would be most grateful for your help. The Abercorns undoubtedly have their own worthy physician, but they are away in Ireland at the moment.”
“All right, Lichfield, I’ll come.” His butler helped him into his caped greatcoat and handed him his black leather physician’s case.
Thomas climbed in the coach after Hardcastle and pulled the door shut.
“I believe the Abercorns live by Hyde Park?”
“Yes. Hampden House is on Green Street.”
“Two days ago there was an outbreak of cholera in Soho, but that is a world apart from Green Street.”
“Cholera?”
Thomas’s gut knotted. People died like flies from cholera.
Thomas’s gut knotted. People died like flies from cholera.
Rose gasped, “Oh, no!”
“What is it?” Thomas demanded.
“Lady Harriet visited my family in Soho three days ago.” Rose began to sob.
When the carriage arrived at Hampden House, Hobson met them at the door. “Lord Lichfield, thank God you’ve come. Abercorn’s doctor was not at home.”
“It’s all right. I’ve brought Dr. Hardcastle. This way, sir.” Thomas took the stairs two at a time. The sight that met his eyes was not encouraging. Harry lay on the bathroom floor. Her knees were pulled up to her chest to try to alleviate the agonizing pain in her belly. She was retching, but nothing was coming up.
Thomas went down before her on his knees. “Harry, I’m here, love. I’m so sorry I let this happen to you. I’ve brought Dr. Hardcastle. We will soon have you feeling better.”
She cried out and as if it were a signal, the housekeeper and the cook picked her up and sat her on the lavatory.
Hardcastle didn’t need to examine the patient. He knew immediately by the water coming from both ends that Lichfield’s wife had cholera. “Strip her and bathe her. It’s the only way you’ll keep her clean. Her strength has gone. Put her to bed on a bedpan, and put a bucket beside the bed.”
As Mrs. Gilbert began to fill the tub, Thomas said, “I’ll do it.”
Hardcastle beckoned him into the hall. “First I must give you instructions.”
Thomas was torn, but common sense told him to follow the physician from the room.
“It is indeed cholera. The only patients who have even a chance of surviving have round-the-clock nursing. Once the body purges itself of all fluid, the organs shut down, and death follows. So you must get as much fluid back into her as her body loses. She must drink continuously—she must not be allowed to stop.”
Thomas nodded grimly. “I understand.”
“Servants are deathly afraid of contagion, so tell them I will speak to them downstairs.”
When Thomas returned to the bathroom, he was in time to lift Harry from the tub, and wrap her in a towel. Rose followed him with a bedpan and a bucket as he carried her to her bed. He gently pushed the bedpan underneath his wife and covered her nakedness with the sheet. He called to the servants and told them the doctor wanted to speak to them. Rose hovered at the door.
“Go down and listen to what Hardcastle says. Then come back and tell me.”
When all the servants were gathered into the kitchen, including Riley, Hardcastle explained the facts. “You must not fear that this disease is passed from person to person. There is no contagious fever—in fact, the skin becomes cold and clammy. It is not spread through breathing foul air. It is spread by drinking contaminated water. Last year there was an outbreak in Soho. My colleague Dr. John Snow discovered that drinking contaminated water pumped from the Thames is what spread the cholera. When the pump handle in Broad Street was removed, the outbreak stopped.
“Some ignorant fool recently reattached the pump handle, and three days ago, another outbreak of cholera began. I want to assure you that you cannot catch it by tending Lady Harriet. She must drink constantly to replace the fluid her body loses, or she will certainly die.”
Cook spoke up. “What can she drink, doctor?”
“Any fluid at all—water, tea, anything so long as it is liquid. Don’t give her food.” He put on his coat. “Tell Lichfield I’ll return tomorrow.”
Rose flew up the stairs and found Thomas holding the bucket while Harry retched.
She beckoned him outside and told him everything Hardcastle had said. “I’ll go down for a jug of water, and Mrs. Gilbert is making a big pot of tea.”
Thomas returned to Harry’s bedside. Her skin was clammy and pale as death. She had dark circles beneath her eyes, and she didn’t have enough strength to lift her head from the pillow. She licked dry lips. “What is it?” she whispered.
Thomas knelt down beside the bed. He was terrified of frightening her, and searched his mind for words that would put her fear to rest. But his conscience balked. He’d kept secrets from her, with the excuse that he didn’t want to hurt her, but in the end, secrets had harmed her far more than the truth. “I won’t ever lie to you again, Harry. You have cholera from drinking contaminated water from the Broad Street pump.”
She gripped her belly in agony, and Thomas gently pried away her hands and rubbed it to soothe away the pain. “I’m . . . so . . . thirsty.”
“That’s good, Harry. You are going to get well, but we have to replace all the fluids that your body is losing.”
She tried to smile but didn’t have the strength, and Thomas’s heart turned over in his breast. When Rose brought the jug of water, Thomas poured a glass and held it to her lips. “Drink, sweetheart. Quench your raging thirst.”
She obeyed him and sipped the water, but a minute after it went down, it came back up again. Thomas was ready with the bucket, and as soon as she stopped retching, he put the glass back to her lips and encouraged her to drink again.
He was amazed at her courage. She sipped and retched, over and over, until she didn’t have the strength left to even move her lips and swallow.
Fear for her was like knotted ropes in his gut, but he smiled into her eyes and told her how courageous she was.
When she closed her eyes, he told her that Rose would stay with her until he returned. He slid out the bedpan from under her, emptied it in the bathroom, scoured it clean, and put it back with gentle hands. Then he brought a bowl of warm water and a flannel and bathed her face and mouth, which were befouled.
Thomas again held a cup of water to her lips, but she closed her eyes as if she couldn’t face it. “Go down and get the tea, Rose. I have to keep her drinking.”
A maid appeared in the doorway. “There’s a little lad asking for you at the back door, Rose.”
The young servant rushed to the door, knowing it would be her brother Billy.
“Rose, you mustn’t come to Broad Street. There’s a cholera outbreak. We’ve moved to Aunt Lizzy’s in St. Giles until it’s all over.”
“Oh, I know, Billy. Lady Harry has come down with it. She drank the water you got from the pump. I’ve been so worried that you’d all have the cholera by now.”
“Lucky for us, we didn’t drink the water. Lady Harry brought our mam some tea. When she boiled the water to make tea, it must have made it safe to drink.”
“Thank God, Billy. Don’t drink water in St. Giles until you boil it. Tell the others.”
Thomas propped up his wife with pillows so she could drink more easily. He poured weak tea into a cup, and patiently held it to her lips as he implored, begged, and cajoled her to take a few mouthfuls. He did it over and over, never tiring, never losing patience, and yet never forcing her. His powers of persuasion were formidable, his dedication was unwavering, and his persistence dogged.
Twice in the long night, he gave her a warm sponge bath and changed the befouled sheets. Once, when he thought she had fallen into a blessed sleep, his anxious gaze examined her face. Her eyes were sunken with dark circles beneath them. Her face was pale as death. He prayed silently that she would not be taken from him, and made endless promises to a higher power that he would never again indulge the sin of gambling.
When morning arrived, Thomas could see no improvement and knew she would not get better overnight. He sent Riley to St. James’s Square for some clean shirts and undergarments. When they arrived, he quickly bathed, put on fresh garments, and returned to Harry’s bedside with a hardened resolve to get more liquid into her.
In the late afternoon, Hardcastle arrived and after he examined the patient, he bluntly told Thomas there was no improvement in her condition. “Her skin is very cold, but it is no longer clammy. Her body hasn’t enough moisture to even dampen her skin. If she continues to expel more fluids than she retains, there is no chance of recovery.”
“Is there not something—
anything
—you can give me that will bind the bowels and stop the flux?”
anything
—you can give me that will bind the bowels and stop the flux?”
“Well, some apothecary shops sell bismuth or medicinal chalk, but these folk remedies are highly dangerous.”
“They are more than dangerous. They are poisonous,” Thomas protested.
“You are right. In conscience, I would not personally recommend them, Lichfield.” Hardcastle cleared his throat. “I shall come again tomorrow, but you must prepare yourself for the worst, your lordship.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
I won’t let her die. My will is far too strong.
I won’t let her die. My will is far too strong.
Mrs. Gilbert recommended chamomile, and Thomas, at his wit’s end, eagerly agreed.
He patiently and unwearyingly held the cup of chamomile tea to Harry’s lips, tempting, enticing, cajoling, and finally ordering her to swallow the tepid fluid. When her face contorted with pain, he placed his hands on her abdomen, willing the warmth from his body to seep into her flesh and ease her pain.
The following day, she began to suffer from leg cramps. Each time, he rubbed them away, but by evening, he began to suspect she was losing the feeling in her limbs. When Hardcastle came, he confirmed that the problem was caused by the body’s dehydration. He gave Thomas a solemn look and told him that paralysis was the next stage.
After the doctor left, Thomas redoubled his efforts to get liquid into his wife, and he refused to take no for an answer. He got into her bed, cradled her in his lap, and held the chamomile tea to her bloodless lips for two full hours until drop by drop she swallowed the whole cupful. Then he replenished the chamomile and did it all again.
In the middle of the night, Thomas could see she was trying to speak. He put his ear close to her lips so he could hear her faint whisper.
“I’m dying. . . . Please take me . . . to Shugborough.”
He masked the dread in his eyes, and gently touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “My precious love, you are not going to die.
I won’t allow it.
But the moment this flux subsides a bit, I promise to put you in the carriage and take you to Shugborough.”
I won’t allow it.
But the moment this flux subsides a bit, I promise to put you in the carriage and take you to Shugborough.”
Thomas clutched her hand, fearing that if he let go, Harry would slip away. Though his words to Harry were strong and reassuring, his thoughts were filled with doubts. For the first time he admitted to himself that his wife’s chance of recovery was almost nonexistent.
Her life hangs by a thread. I must fulfill her wish to take her to Shugborough.
Her life hangs by a thread. I must fulfill her wish to take her to Shugborough.
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