“Jones?”

The butler turned at the sound of Gideon’s voice, looking at him with fear in his eyes.

Gideon’s stomach twisted. “Is he ill?”

“I’m afraid so, my lord,” the butler said, hoarsely. “The doctor has been and prescribed the same thing as he did for Maisy, God rest her soul.”

It had now been a fortnight since Gideon had returned home and things had grown steadily worse. Maisy, the maid taken ill with the fever, had subsequently died and had needed to be buried. Everything in her room had been burned, for that was thought to be one way to prevent the disease from spreading. Gideon had overseen it himself, whilst the butler had ensured that Maisy’s room had been scrubbed from top to bottom. Gideon had prayed that this meant the disease wouldn’t spread but now, it seemed, it had taken hold of his household.

This was the third footman sick and the only other maid left in the house was now rather pale – although Gideon could not tell whether that was from fear, exhaustion or illness.

“You had best go home, Jones,” he said, thickly. “I will not have you ill also.”

The butler drew himself up to his full height. “I will not leave your side, my lord.”

Gideon shook his head, firmly. “No, Jones. You are a stalwart and I both respect and appreciate your willingness to do what you can to remain loyal to this family but I cannot have another person becoming ill simply from being in this house.”

Jones shook his head. “I do not think I need fear this illness, my lord,” he said, slowly. “I recall having such symptoms when I was a young man. The agony of it still lingers in my memory but perhaps in having it once, I will not have it again.” Holding up one hand, he stopped Gideon’s protest. “I insist, my lord. You need help and I am more than willing to give it. Please, allow me to do my duties, as I have done for so long. I am not afraid.”

Gideon wanted to insist that Jones return to his small cottage just outside the estate and remain there until the fever no longer gripped his estate but he could tell from the look in the man’s eyes that he was completely determined to remain no matter Gideon said.

“Very well,” he said, heavily. “What does the doctor suggest for the footmen?”

Jones shook his head, his expression morose. “Just the same as Maisy,” he said, slowly. “Cool cloths, broth and perhaps a bleeding if they do not improve.”

Something twisted in Gideon’s gut. “A bleeding did not help Maisy,” he muttered, darkly. “It only appeared to weaken her all the more.” The doctor had bled Maisy stating that it was to purify and cleanse, but Gideon had seen her weaken almost immediately after. Less than a day later, and she was gone.

“There are to be no blood lettings, Jones,” he said, firmly. “We will do what we can to help them with the cloths and the broth but there is to be nothing else unless I permit it.”

The butler looked a little relieved. “Very good, my lord. Will I make up the broth?”

Gideon, who had been relying on the kitchen maid for their somewhat meagre meals of late, lifted a brow. “You know how to make broth, Jones?”

A small smile caught the butler’s lips. “I do, and may I say it is a very good broth, my lord,” he replied, quickly. “I can bring some for yourself and the ladies also, if you would enjoy it with the cold meats and cheeses that have been set aside for dinner this evening?”

“I would be most grateful,” Gideon replied, firmly, despite the fact that his dinners of late had been very different to what he was used to. “You are a marvel, Jones. Remind me to increase your wages.”

“Should I survive, my lord, then I will ensure I do just that,” the butler replied, a touch morbidly, before making his way towards the kitchens.

Gideon sighed heavily for a moment before picking up the tea tray and making his way back up the servants’ staircase and towards the drawing room. His mother was growing more and more weary every day and his sister, Miss Francine Peters, had finally been convinced to stop going out to the tenant’s homes so often when they required her help here. Of course, it had been profoundly difficult for the three of them to adjust to such a change in their circumstances and in what was required of them but Gideon was proud of the way both his mother and sister had faced their difficulties without question.

“Mama?”

He walked into the drawing room and set the tea tray down in front of the fire, seeing his mother’s lined face weary in the firelight.

“You are tired, mama,” he said gently, handing her a cup of tea. “You must rest.”

His mother let out a quiet laugh. “I cannot rest, Dunstable, not now. Not when there is a crisis.”

Gideon frowned, looking into his mother’s face and seeing her flushed cheeks. “Are you feeling quite all right, mama?” he asked, carefully. “You are not feeling ill, are you?”

Lady Dunstable did not immediately respond. “I – I am feeling a little chilled, that is all,” she said after a moment or two. “I thought to sit close to the fire in order to ward the cold away. I am quite sure I am just rather tired, that is all.” Her smile, however, did not reach her eyes and there was something about her expression that told Gideon he needed to watch her carefully.

“You need not do anything other than sit here for the rest of the day,” he said, quietly. “Promise me you will not move from this seat until I return.”

She laughed tiredly, pressing his hand with fingers that were warm on his own. She was so glad to have him back from London.  “Of course, Dunstable, if you insist. Where are you going?”

“I must see to the horses,” Gideon replied, feeling a little uneasy about leaving his mother alone. “Is Francine to join you soon?”

“Very soon,” his mother replied, evidently aware of his concern. “She insisted on banking the fires in both my bedchamber and her own, although how she has learned what to do is quite beyond me!”

A small chuckle escaped Gideon, thinking fondly of his sister with her determined spirit. “Because Francine will simply try and try and try until she succeeds at whatever she is doing, no matter how much it costs her.” He rose to his feet, his concern for his stubborn sister and exhausted mother still ringing through him. “You will encourage her to sit for a time, will you not?”

“Of course,” his mother replied with a smile. “Go and see to the horses, Gideon. We will be quite all right until you return.”

Gideon made his way outside, drawing in a long breath of fresh air and letting it fill his lungs. Looking up at the sky, he took in the blue, the wisps of cloud floating across the sky and the birds that were flying from one place to the next. No-one would guess that this place was struggling with the fever, not in such an idyllic circumstance. And yet, there was more fear and death and darkness within him than he had ever felt before.

“My lord, you have a letter.”

Jerking in surprise, Gideon turned to see the butler hurrying towards him, a sealed note in his hand. “Thank you.” Jones nodded and made to turn away.

“How are the footmen?”

The butler hesitated. “I cannot tell, my lord,” he replied, honestly. “They are all taking some broth and the cloths appear to be doing their part in helping settle their fever but there is no great change, I’m afraid.” He turned his head. “Should I send for the doctor again?”

Gideon reaction was instant. “No, indeed not,” he said, firmly. “The man will only want to bleed them and I will not have it. Not after what happened with Maisy.”

“Very good, my lord.” The butler left him alone to read the letter which he knew at once to be from Georgina. The seal broken, he unfolded it quickly and began to read.

‘Dunstable’, it began. ‘I have returned to London only to find my father gone to his country seat already. I have written to him and expect the carriage to be sent for me forthwith. I have a few staff, my lady’s maid and my companion still here so I will be glad to wait.’

“Foolish girl,” Gideon muttered aloud, frustrated that she had returned to London without making certain that her father would still be there. “She ought to have waited here until a letter could be sent.”

There was more to the letter.

‘I do not wish to see you, Dunstable, not until you are sure the illness has left your estate,’ Georgina continued. ‘The fever continues to rage through London but I am certain I am quite safe within my father’s house. Do not come for me, I pray you. Once the illness has cleared from your home then I should be glad to stay for an extended visit, as I had initially intended. Yours, Georgina.’

It was a fairly short letter but certainly direct. Gideon had not expected anything less, for he knew Georgina was nothing more than a self-indulgent young lady who, in spite of her foolishness was most likely afraid of the fever sweeping through the realm. He could well understand that.

Making his way to the stables, Gideon crumpled up the letter and placed it firmly in his pocket, finding that he did not particularly care whether or not Georgina was to return to him or not. The truth was, he had never felt anything for the lady, and certainly had never had even a moment of true affection for her. They were to be married, yes, but it was a marriage based on suitability and family ties rather than anything else. He had always expected such a thing, given that he was to be a titled lord of the realm and so had never allowed himself to yearn for or even think of anything else.

For whatever reason, his mind traveled back to the young lady he had met in town, recalling her big beautiful eyes that seemed overly large in her thin, drawn face. His heart swelled in sympathy for her all over again, wondering if she was still alive, or whether she had succumbed to the fever like so many others.

“Here we go.”

It was just as well that he enjoyed being around his horses, for to feed them, groom them and even muck the stalls out did not seem to Gideon to be much of a labor. In fact, he almost relished it. It forced him to stop worrying about all that was going on around him, forced him to concentrate simply on what he was doing rather on what might happen to his estate and his family if the fever continued to spread. He did not know how many hours had passed but it certainly felt like a long time before he stopped and stretched tall, his back a little painful from where he had been bending with the shovel.

“There we are,” he said to his pride and joy, the dark stallion in the corner stall. “All safe in here, are we not?”

The stallion, Hunter, snuffled his pocket in an attempt to find some sugar but Gideon only laughed and rubbed Hunter’s velvety nose. Sighing heavily to himself, Gideon lingered in the stables for another moment or two before pulling his coat back on to step outside into the cold evening air.

“Gideon!”

He jerked his head around to see Francine running towards him, her skirts flying in the wind. Her face was sheet white and he caught her hands, hearing her gasp for air.

“What is it?” he asked at once, dread running all through him. “What is wrong, Francine?” He was terribly afraid that another one of his staff had died, or that Jones the butler had suddenly succumbed, despite his belief that he might miss it altogether.

“You must send for the doctor!” Francine cried, beginning to drag him towards the house. “It is Mama.”

Gideon stopped dead, his whole body frozen in place. “Mama is ill?” he asked, hoarsely. “Are you sure?”

Francine nodded, tears in her eyes. “I had to put her to bed myself, Gideon, even though she continued to insist that she was quite well. She is burning with fever and yet protesting that she is cold!” Her fingers tightened on his, fear running all through her expression. “Her throat aches, Gideon. Her throat!”

He could not move, could not speak for a full minute, realizing that the worst thing he had imagined was now coming to pass. His own mother was ill with the fever.

“You must go for the doctor,” Francine cried, tugging him again. “Please, Gideon, you must go now! She must be cared for.”

“No.”

Gideon spoke slowly, his voice thick with emotion.

“No, I will not send for the village doctor, Francine. I cannot, not after what he insisted upon doing to Maisy.”

Francine’s eyes widened. “Then what will you do, Gideon?”

He paused for a moment. “I think I must return to London to fetch someone from there,” he said, slowly. “Someone who has dealt with the illness and knows precisely what they must do. Jones, our butler, knows everything that our village doctor has prescribed for the servants that have been taken by the fever. He will guide you. I must find someone else, someone who will not insist on bleeding her, someone who has something else to try. London is the only place I can go where I might be able to find someone like that.”

A ragged sob escaped Francine. “But Gideon, that will take you some days.”

“And yet it is the best I can do for our mother,” he insisted, hating the idea of leaving them both but knowing he had very little choice. “Jones knows what to do in order to help Mama as much as he can until I return from town.” Putting his hands onto Francine’s shoulders, he looked into her eyes and tried to hold his gaze steady. “It will mean leaving you to deal with things here, until I return,” he said, quietly, knowing just how much he was asking of her. “I will be, at the very most, only four days gone.” He winced inwardly, knowing just how quickly the fever could take a hold. “But I will go almost this very moment if you feel you are able to remain here.”

Francine held his gaze, her lip quivering as her blue eyes, so like his own, blinked back tears.

“Yes,” she said, hoarsely. “Yes, I can do it. Go then, Gideon. Go now. I will remain here with Jones and Mama.”

“Thank you.” He kissed her cheek, squeezed her hands and stepped away, hurrying back towards the stables he had only just come from. His stallion was ready and waiting, snorting eagerly as Gideon threw the saddle onto his back. He would have to change horses at least once on his ride to London but he knew an inn where he could do so. He had no intention of resting or remaining anywhere overnight, praying that the moon would be bright so that he could continue his journey onwards through the dark hours of the night.

Buttoning his coat, he placed one foot in the stirrup and threw his leg over the saddle, urging Hunter forward out onto the gravel path.

“I will not be long,” he whispered, as though his mother could hear him. “Be strong, mama.” Urging Hunter into a gallop, he soon left the Dunstable estate behind him, terrified that by the time he returned with the doctor, it would be too late.