chapter 14
Walter returned with Demosthenes, and after the dog checked on James in his bed, he lay down across the door in his usual position. Laura suspected that the mastiff would be the most effective deterrent to anyone visiting James.
Laura got most of a cup of broth down James, and it seemed to give him some strength. James wanted to do his cough treatment on his own, but after a brief verbal tussle with Laura, he agreed to allow Walter or Owen to help him.
Realizing that behind his stubbornness lay embarrassment, Laura left the rooms during his treatment and went out to the gardens. She needed a few minutes to herself. It was frightening how quickly James had gotten worse. He had been pushing himself too hard, and the high fever last night had drained him of his remaining strength.
Were fevers common with tumors in the brain? It seemed odd. Laura wished she knew more about it. She felt helpless to deal with James’s illness. How could she sit there idly and watch him die? She thought of her father’s medical books. James had said he would send for the rest of her things. Given his usual orderly competence, those boxes from her house should be here by now.
Laura got up and hurried back to the house, reinvigorated by the prospect of doing something constructive. It took only a few minutes with the ever-efficient Simpson to learn that her trunks and crates had indeed arrived and were stored in the cellar. It would be, the butler assured her, no trouble to have the trunks carried to her bedroom.
James’s eyes were closed when Laura looked in on him, and she hesitated for a moment, not wanting to wake him. His eyes opened. “Laura. Come in.” He shoved himself to a sitting position. “I need to show you my will.”
“The will? No, James, that’s not important now.”
But James was insistent on doing it, and Laura gave in. She was amazed to learn the extent of the fortune he was leaving her, but she had come to know him well enough that it didn’t surprise her that he had left a trust to provide for the rest of the family, much as his father had. She did, however, object to the fact that he named her as one of the trustees of that fund.
“Why me? They are bound to resent it. They barely know me. You barely know me.”
“I know you well enough. I need a third trustee in case of a deadlock. Graeme is far too soft, especially where my mother is concerned, and the other trustee, Caulfield, can be hard. Like me, he understands numbers better than emotions. You, however, can be firm and kind. I trust your good sense. Besides . . .” A trace of his wicked smile touched his lips. “You’re so skilled at managing everyone.”
She brushed his hair back from his forehead. “Yes, well, I’m going to manage you now. You should sleep.”
Laura stayed by James’s bed throughout the day. Whenever he opened his eyes, he looked for her. She didn’t want him to awaken alone. As she sat there, she went through a few of her father’s books, looking for answers, but she could find nothing to help her fight a brain tumor.
The members of his family came to see him, all of them looking uneasy and, amazingly, a little shocked. Despite the strong evidence to the contrary, had they all believed that James would recover? She was prepared to move them out the door if they remained too long, but none seemed inclined to linger, nor did they come back frequently. To be fair, that might have had something to do with the fact that Demosthenes continued to lie directly across the doorway and growl whenever anyone approached.
Late in the evening, Laura awoke to find she had fallen asleep in the chair beside his bed. She sat up, heart pounding, and turned to the bed. James lay quietly, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling shallowly, and she sagged in relief. Asleep, it was easy to see the ravages of James’s illness. His pale face was gaunt, weary grooves lining his mouth and eyes. He frowned and muttered in his sleep.
Laura rubbed her temples, where a headache had formed. Her neck was stiff from the position she had fallen asleep in, and she rolled her head, trying to ease it. Laura went to the bed, straightening the covers as she searched his face.
As she turned away from the bed, his hand wrapped around her wrist, startling her. “Stay.” Laura looked back at him in surprise. “Please.”
“I will.” Laura had intended to stay with him through the night anyway. But it was most unlike James to ask for a favor. She laid her hand on his forehead to check for fever.
“I’m not out of my head. I just . . .” His hand began to shake, and he pulled it back. His entire arm spasmed. “I hate this.”
“I know.”
He turned his head away, saying, “No. Never mind. You should go to your room and sleep. It’s foolish for you to stay here.”
“Not as foolish as it is for you to pretend you need nothing and no one.” She smiled at him. “I’ll just go change into my dressing gown. I’ll be back soon.”
When she returned, James’s eyes were still open, and his arm was once again still. Laura sat down on the side of his bed, taking up his hand even though she had no need to check for fever.
“Don’t wear black for me,” he told her.
“James, really, must you bring this up?”
“Glad to see I can still annoy you.” He smiled, but the sight of it on his wasted face sent a chill through Laura.
“If that is all it takes to please you, you should be a happy man indeed.” It was hard to maintain her crisp, cool front. But James would hate her growing “maudlin,” as he would term it.
“And, please, I beg you, do not let Mother have a daguerreotype made of all of you artistically posed and weeping into your kerchiefs.”
Laura couldn’t help but chuckle, having seen one or two such mourning mementos. “I promise I will dissuade her.”
He fell silent, his thumb tracing a circle on her palm. “I’m sorry.”
She glanced at him in surprise, but he kept his gaze on her hand, so that she could see nothing in his eyes. “For what?”
“For . . .” He shrugged. “Ruining your life eleven years ago, I suppose.”
“I think you acquired more of your mother’s love of drama than you’ll admit.” He looked at her then, startled, and she went on. “You didn’t ruin my life. You may have noticed I didn’t wither and die because I didn’t marry Graeme. In any case, you couldn’t have forced me to give up Graeme. I chose to do so. You were simply . . . the bearer of bad tidings.”
He made a breathy noise that she thought was meant to be a laugh. “Now there’s an apt description of me. But I was harsh.”
“You aren’t prone to softening blows. But maybe that makes it easier in the end, after . . .”
“After the weeping?” He cocked an eyebrow.
“Sometimes it’s better to be quick and sure than to be kind. I can tell you that if I had a splinter in my finger, I would go to you to pull it out.”
“And I’d be happy to do it.” There was a twinkle in his eyes, quickly gone.
After that he was quiet, and Laura took her seat in the chair again. The night wore on. Laura slept now and then, waking to check on him.
Other than changing into a dress the next morning, there was little to distinguish the day from the night. James continued to grow worse. Laura acquired a headache. She was achingly tired. She wished she had someone to whom she could talk. But the truth was, at Grace Hill her closest friend was James’s dog.
Late that night, James began a fit of coughing, and guiltily Laura realized she had overlooked his breathing treatment this evening. She was tired, but Owen had just taken Demosthenes out for his bedtime ramble, so it was up to her to help James with the vapor therapy.
Taking out the brown bottle of medicine from the cabinet, she turned to carry it back to the bed. Her foot slipped on the edge of the rug, and she lurched into the dresser, hitting her elbow. The bottle shot from her grasp and crashed to the floor, spilling its contents over the wood floor.
Laura let out a cry of horror and sank to her knees beside the mess. Tears spilled from her eyes. Silly to cry, of course; Walter would get more from the apothecary in the morning. But in her tired state, bombarded by her jumbled emotions, spilling his tonic seemed the last straw.
The wink of something silvery caught her eye. The bottle was brown, as was the liquid inside. What could be silver—she leaned forward to peer at the pool of tonic. Bright amidst the brown medicine lay a silver blob.
Quicksilver.