Chapter 20
Marjorie rolled the perfectly formed pink pill between her fingers. It looked different from the first medicines Jordan had given to Sophie for Anne’s coughs and fevers. The first course, as Sophie had called it, had seemed to work miracles. But now, Anne was back in bed again, burning up and hacking hard enough to turn herself inside out.
“These are stronger,” Sophie said. Ever since they’d returned from the village the day before, Sophie had acted strange, eyeing her with a tortured look and then giving her the cold shoulder when she asked what was wrong. Thankfully, she seemed back to her normal self now that Anne’s health was at stake. “A lot stronger. They’ll probably upset her stomach. If they’re going to work at all, we should know in only a day or two. But she has to take all of them, no matter what.”
“The first ones made her stomach hurt as well. But they did work.” Marjorie popped the pill back into the small cloth Sophie had wrapped them in. “If only we hadn’t gone to the village so soon after her recovery.”
They paused in their conversation, listening to a fresh bout of coughing from the next room, each with a pained look on her face.
“Give it to her with her supper. I think it’s better to take it with food, anyway.” Sophie sighed deeply. “I miss the internet.”
“I beg your pardon?” Marjorie asked.
Sophie often said strange things she didn’t understand. Fay as well. Batty always thought she was praying, but Marjorie often heard differently. If she puzzled over it too long, she got woozy. She didn’t really believe that thinking overmuch was bad for a lady’s health like old Edgar sometimes said, except for times like that. As usual, Sophie only shook her head, dismissing the question. A loud rap sounded at Anne’s door and she scowled.
“Send them away,” Sophie said needlessly. “She needs to rest.”
Marjorie hurried through before Anne tried to drag herself out of bed to answer the door. As she expected, Anne sat up, shakily trying to put her dressing gown on over her shift.
“Get back under the blankets. I’m sending whoever that is off with a stern word and a filthy glare. You can speak to them tomorrow when you’re feeling better.”
Anne shook her head, clutching at her chest and finally releasing a particularly gruesome cough. “It’s Sir Harold. He has come at my request. You won’t give him any kind of look and the only thing you’ll say when you open the door is ‘welcome’. Help me with this, will you?”
Marjorie knew better than to argue with the tone Anne was using. It would be easier to let her have her little visit than to rile her up with a fight. She tied the cords at the neck of the dressing gown and helped Anne get situated under the covers to hide her legs.
“How do I look?” she asked, patting at her hair, down from its braided coronet and covered in a woolen veil. A few strands hung limply past her shoulders and Marjorie pushed them under the covering. Anne’s pale face was a stark contrast to the deep, dark circles under her eyes. Marjorie blinked away a few tears and pinched Anne’s cheeks to add a bit of color.
“As beautiful as always. Perhaps hold your prayer book so he doesn’t think you’ve been waiting breathlessly for him.”
Anne smiled, once again patting at her chest. “I have been quite breathless, though.”
Marjorie was pleased she could jest in her poor condition and hurried to open the door. Sir Harold stood there, clutching a small posy of flowers. Marjorie was touched by the gesture. Spring was still ages away. It couldn’t have been easy to find them. She backed away into the chair on the opposite side of the bed and took up the basket of sewing that was nearby.
“Marjorie, you may go. I wish to speak to Sir Harold in private.”
Marjorie stifled a gasp. Leave them unattended? It was such an unheard of request her legs refused to move. Anne looked at her with fire in her eyes, though, so she stood, curtsied, and slowly retreated. Still confused by the order to leave Anne alone with Sir Harold in her bedchamber, she hovered by the door that adjoined her own room.
“I’ll be right in here, should you need me,” she said, more for Sir Harold’s sake than Anne’s.
“It will be fine.” Anne narrowed her eyes and Marjorie slipped behind the door.
She hurried to Sophie’s room, hoping to find Batty. It was only Sophie, sitting on the edge of her bed and struggling to take her hair down on her own. She jumped when Marjorie rushed in. Her face went through a series of fearful expressions before her shoulders lowered and she sat back down.
“You scared me half to death,” Sophie admonished.
“Sir Harold is alone with Anne,” Marjorie blurted, still feeling like she’d done something wrong. Sophie’s odd behavior didn’t help. A terrible thought occurred to her. What if Jordan had told Sophie about the times he’d found her in the forest? No, he would never do that, she was certain. And Anne was her first worry now. “Come listen with me to make sure nothing untoward happens.”
Sophie’s eyes widened and she nodded, following Marjorie to her tiny chamber. They sat down behind the door. Marjorie kept an eye through the crack of an opening she’d left and Sophie pressed her ear against the sturdy wood.
“Why did you leave them alone?” she whispered.
“Anne ordered me to leave. She gave me her dagger stare.”
Sophie nodded understandingly and frowned. “Are they talking? Can you see anything?”
Marjorie risked pushing the door open a bit more. Sir Harold had both of Anne’s hands clasped in his and shook his head.
“I wrote to you. So many times. It was two years before I gave up, thinking you wanted no part of me. Was it my lack of riches? I have a fine home and plenty of land now. Every battle I fought was in your name. Always.”
Anne’s head dropped to her chest, her eyes closed in agony. But not from her illness, that was plain to Marjorie. “Did you hear that?” she hissed to Sophie. Sophie nodded, but looked confused.
“It was never your lack of riches,” Anne cried out, making it that much easier for the eavesdroppers. “You must know I never cared about such things. I never got a single letter. Not a word from you. I thought you had forsaken me.”
“Cursed fate!” Sir Harold said, dropping Anne’s hands to drag his fingers roughly through his ginger hair. “My heart can barely keep beating knowing that you thought I could forget you.” He took her hands again and both of them quietly wept.
“This is terrible,” Marjorie said. “I always thought he was such a base fiend to lead her on and then … but it was all a horrible misunderstanding.”
“What happened?” Sophie asked. “Back then? I don’t remember much.”
“It was a whirlwind romance. They met at the tournament all those years ago.”
“Yes, I know, I mean, I remember that,” Sophie said. “But what happened after?” She frowned. “What I do know of him I certainly don’t like at all.”
“Nor I,” Marjorie said, nodding toward Anne. They could still hear quiet sniffling and soft words of regret and forgiveness. “He promised to come for her when he made a name for himself. He didn’t have anywhere near the standing he has now. But not a word. Not a single word. Don’t you remember how lifeless Anne was? For two years she carried a torch for that—but it was all nothing but poor luck and bad messengers.”
Sophie scowled. “Come on. You don’t think a single one would have made it here? Are you sure nothing else happened?”
A blur of memories scrambled across Marjorie’s mind in such disorder, she had to clap a hand to her forehead. It was nothing more than a brief wind blowing up a pile of leaves. As fast as it happened, the memories settled again, each one indistinguishable from the other.
“I don’t think so,” she said. A throbbing started behind her left eye. She heard Sir Harold speak and motioned for Sophie to take her spot against the door again.
“I’ve never stopped loving you, Lady Anne. Not for the single blink of an eye. I mustered my courage to come and see you again because I wish to marry and no one suits me the way you do. No one comes close to your beauty or bearing. Your wisdom or—”
Sophie made a gagging noise so Marjorie couldn’t hear the rest of Sir Harold’s praises. “Do we trust that flowery drivel-spewing philanderer?”
Marjorie blinked. The throbbing behind her eye had spread across her entire forehead. It now felt like a band was squeezing tighter and tighter. “Philanderer? What could cause you to say such a thing? Do you think he’d be untrue to Anne if they were to wed?” She held up a hand to stop Sophie’s answer because Anne was speaking now.
“I will, Sir Harold. Of course I will. But …”
They both stared at each other incredulously. “What did we miss?” Sophie squeaked.
Marjorie swallowed hard. “It seems we missed his proposal. And Anne has accepted. But if you have reason to believe, or even proof that he’s unfaithful, you must speak up.”
Sophie jolted from her squashed position behind the door. It appeared she was having trouble catching her breath. “I—I don’t have any proof,” she stammered. “Just my—my intuition. But he’s certainly a gold digger. Anne’s much richer than he is, no matter how much he’s increased his standing.”
A new coughing fit from Anne paused the celebration going on in the other room. She would have run in to assist her, but Sir Harold helped her to lean forward, clapping her gently on the back.
“Go in,” Sophie hissed. “Put a stop to it. He’s not good enough for her.”
Marjorie pressed her fingers against the sides of her head to stop the pressure there, ignoring Sophie’s continued pleas to interfere. She made a slicing noise to shut her up. Anne had stopped coughing and spoke again, raggedly.
“My dear Sir Harold, you see I am not well. I fear I mustn’t burden you with such a weak wife.”
“Nonsense. You’re as robust as when we first met.”
Anne cleared her throat. “Ah, but I wasn’t robust at all back then, either. I’m hanging on by a thread.”
“Don’t say such a thing.”
“I only speak the truth. I will never be anything else but honest with you,” Anne said. A few more pathetic coughs escaped and Marjorie saw her collapse against the pillows.
“I don’t care. A day, a year, even a moment with you is enough for me,” Sir Harold said forcefully, taking her hands again. Marjorie’s eyes goggled as he lowered his lips to them and kissed each one.
“What’s happening?” Sophie begged.
“He kissed her hand,” Marjorie said. “Now hush.”
Anne sighed, her eyes filling with tears. Just seeing that made Marjorie tear up as well. Poor, dear Anne. “Then you must promise me something, Harold dear.”
Marjorie and Sophie glanced at each other at Anne dropping his title. Sophie wriggled and Marjorie knew she wanted to see. She edged away enough to clear space for her and she eagerly snuck a peek around the door.
“Anything. Anything at all,” Sir Harold said.
“If I die before we are wed—”
“Don’t say such a thing,” Sir Harold interrupted.
Anne gave him a measured look which silenced him. “If you love me, honor my wishes. If I die before we are wed, you must take Sophie as your bride.”
Sophie almost gave them away by falling backward, hitting the wall with a soft thud. She recovered her shock and scrambled forward again. “What is she talking about?” she asked in horror.
Marjorie shook her head, as bewildered as Sophie. “Listen,” she admonished.
“I cannot, I could not,” Sir Harold said, firmly shaking his head.
“Me either,” Sophie whispered with ire.
“She’ll be alone here. I can’t bear to think that. Fay is married and will leave any day. I know you’re going to ask about Sir Leo, but there’s no guarantee my father will accept him now. If she is still unspoken for and I am gone, please take care of her. Consider it my last request.”
Tears streamed down Sir Harold’s ruddy face. “I don’t like it,” he said. “But to please you, my love, I will honor your last request.” He lowered his face to the mattress, clinging to her hands. “But don’t leave me, my dearest. Please don’t.”
Sophie crawled backwards toward her own room, her eyes filled with tears of her own. Marjorie brushed at her wet cheeks and followed. Her head was blazing now. She could barely see. Why had Sir Harold’s words affected her so?
“He wasn’t a faithless jerk after all,” Sophie mused when they reached her room and could speak freely. “It was Anne who asked him to do it.”
“What?” Marjorie asked, stumbling and cracking her shin on the bed frame. Her head hurt so much she barely registered it. Once again, she was blinded by the flurry of thoughts that crowded into her mind. None of them made sense. Try as she might to pin one down, they raced and jumped out of her reach.
“Nothing,” Sophie said. “But I don’t think Sir Harold is a lout anymore. I think he’s worthy to marry Anne.”
“But Anne—” Marjorie gripped the bedpost to keep herself upright. What was it about Anne that was so important she share it with Sophie?
“Now, the most important thing is to get Anne on the new medicine. We have to get her better, right, Marjorie? Marjorie, are you all right?”
She felt Sophie’s hand on her elbow. Yes, the most important thing was to get Anne well. But her own head hurt so badly. “Sophie, I can’t see,” she groaned, blinking through the pain. “My head is being crushed.”
Time seemed to lurch forward and she was on her back in her bed, the sweet, cool bedding only offering a brief respite to her shaking legs. Sophie pried her mouth open and stuffed in something chalky, added a few drops of something wet to her mouth and told her to try and swallow it.
“It’ll help your head.”
Sophie was wrong. Nothing would help her head. Only death could save her from that agony. The devilish swirling in her head taunted her, one moment a clear image, the next a blurry, sickening haze. She prayed for mercy and, finally, everything went still and black.