Not five minutes later, Katie stepped into the kitchen where Eliza had returned to chopping vegetables for dinner.
“My Emma tells me that sweet little Lydia isn’t well.”
“She has a touch of a cough is all,” Eliza said. “Nothing to be worried over.”
Katie sat at the table beside her. “I’ve no doubt you’re correct. Emma likely doesn’treallyeither. But, her ma died of a fever when she was just old enough to remember but too young to understand the difference between a fatal illness and an ordinary one. She worries because life has taught her to.”
Eliza had a lot to sort in that. First, Katie was not Emma’s mum. Likely not Ivy’s either. And Emma was still worried about Lydia.
“Would you object,” Katie continued, “if we had Dr. Jones look in on Lydia to set Emma’s mind at ease?”
“I couldn’t. Doctors don’t come cheap. If she truly needed—”
The empathetic shaking of Katie’s head stopped her objection.
“We will compensate Dr. Jones for his time. He will be coming on Emma’s account, after all.”
Eliza could hardly object to that. “His visit will likely mean supper’ll be a bit late.”
Katie wasn’t deterred. “You look after your girl. I’ll see to the meal tonight.”
The suggestion surprised her, and not merely because cooking was one of the things Eliza was paid to do. Her eyes, of their own accord, wandered to Katie’s fingerless left hand. The scrutiny didn’t go unnoticed.
“I’ve quite adapted to this”—she held up that hand—“over the years since it happened.”
“I’d not meant to cause you any embarrassment.”
“You didn’t.” Katie nodded toward the bedroom. “You sit with your daughter. I’ll send the doctor in when he arrives.”
Eliza followed “orders” and retreated to the bedroom, grateful for the reprieve. The Archers didn’t overwork her. She wasn’t mistreated. But the role of housekeeper didn’t fully suit her. She didn’t find any true satisfaction in her work. Not a day passed in which she didn’t daydream of doing something else—almostanythingelse with her life. Yet, she didn’t dare risk appearing ungrateful, so she pretended to be perfectly happy keeping house. She needed a break from the playacting now and then.
Lydia was awake, though still sleepy. Her cough hadn’t improved, but it also was no worse than it had been. A doctor truly was unnecessary.
She sat on the floor beside Lydia’s bed. She took her daughter’s warm hand in hers, then leaned back against the wall. Her own eyes drifted shut. A moment’s rest was all she needed. She wouldn’t fall asleep.
But she did.
Nearby whispers woke her, though it took a moment to even open her eyes.
“The child isn’t worryingly feverish,” Dr. Jones said. “What other symptoms does she have?”
“I’m not full certain,” Katie said.
Eliza sat up straight once more, shaking off her lingering sleepiness. “She’s a bit hoarse, and she has a little cough.”
That pulled their attention to Eliza. Katie nodded and stepped out.
“Has your daughter eaten anything?” Dr. Jones asked Eliza.
“Porridge. And I’ve been able to convince her to drink some water even though I suspect it hurts her throat.”
Dr. Jones checked Lydia’s neck and throat. He studied her eyes and listened to her breathing. “Continue with what you’ve been doing,” he said. “She should feel well again in only a couple of days.”
Eliza laughed lightly. “Perhaps Miss Emma will believe your assessment more easily than she did my identical one.”
He smiled a little. That was his way, it seemed. He was quiet and a little withdrawn, but he didn’t seem unhappy or impersonable.
“Emma tells me you’ve helped Maura. I worried so much for her when she left New York. The coughs caused by those factories are worrisome things.”
