Lady Helena met them halfway, with Mr. Oldman lingering not far away, his eyes scanning the garden darkness. Her face, even in the dim light, was a mask of worry, and she wrung her hands in front of her.
“Is something wrong?’ Maximilian asked.
“Your Grace,” she said, near tears. “My mother has taken ill.”
Chapter 22
Eugenia cared for Countess Whitington almost as much as she cared for Mrs. Reilly, the cook in the Whitingtons’ London home. Though she could not truly call her ‘mother’, she knew the Countess loved her as well. Thus, she accompanied a weeping Lady Helena, followed by Maximilian and Mr. Oldman, to the quarters the Countess currently resided in. Earl Whitington, clad in his formal supper attire but with his cravat untied and his waistcoat unbuttoned, stood outside her chamber door.
“My wife has a fever,” he said, offering Maximilian a perfunctory bow. “Your household physician is in with her at the moment.”
“What is wrong with her?” Lady Helen tried to cover that she had been crying. She wiped her face with her hands and made a discreet attempt to sniffle without anyone noticing.
“He is not sure,” the Earl said. “After supper, she complained of a headache. She told me she would retire for the night, then later sent her abigail to fetch me. I then sent for Mr. Leary.”
“How long has he been in with her?” Maximilian asked.
“Several minutes, Your Grace,” Whitington answered. “Perhaps it is just a passing illness.”
“I cannot imagine what else it might be,” Maximilian commented, frowning. “But Mr. Leary is one of the best, Whitington. The Countess is in very capable hands.”
“I can help nurse her back to health, Your Grace, My Lord,” Eugenia offered.
Seeing Lady Helena still near tears, she slipped her arm through her mistress’s and patted her hand. Lady Helena glanced at her, trying to smile. “She will be all right,” Eugenia whispered to her. “You and I, we will see her through it.”
“Of course, we will.” Lady Helena briefly squeezed Eugenia’s hand, then straightened her back; Eugenia had just given her a quick shot of courage.
The door to the Countess’s chambers opened, and Mr. Leary emerged. He bowed to both Maximilian and the Earl, and spoke quickly upon seeing the small crowd, closing the door behind him. “My Lady is resting.”
“Do you know what is wrong with her?” Maximilian asked.
“Your Grace, I do believe Countess Whitington is suffering from a condition known as dropsy.”
Earl Whitington shook his head. “She has had that before. The physician then gave her foxglove.”
Mr. Leary nodded. “I did as well. Along with chamomile. Her fever is down, but she should be watched through the night.”
“Eugenia and I will stay with her,” Lady Helena stated quickly. “We can take turns sleeping.”
Removing a small brown bottle from his coat pocket, Mr. Leary handed it to Lady Helena. “This is chamomile tonic. Give her a spoonful if she wakes. She needs rest now, so please remain as quiet as possible. She should be able to get out of bed in a few days. I will come see her again in the morning.”
“Thank you, Mr. Leary.” Lady Helena held the bottle tightly.
With slight nods and bows, the physician walked through the corridor. Eugenia watched him go, then glanced at Maximilian. He briefly smiled, and tipped her a quick wink, as she felt relief course through her. The Countess would be all right. She glanced beyond him toward Mr. Oldman, who stood at stiff attention with his back against the wall. If he were to sleep on the floor outside the chamber, then she would make certain he had plenty of blankets and pillows to keep him comfortable.
“Whitington,” Maximilian asked, garnering the Earl’s attention. “Care for a spot of brandy with me?”
Whitington nodded, then gestured toward his own apartments a short way down the corridor. “It would be my pleasure, Your Grace, if you joined me.”
“I will be happy to.”
As the two men walked away, talking in low tones, Eugenia and Lady Helena opened the door to the Countess’s chambers and went in. Eugenia softly closed the door behind them, seeing Clara, the Countess’s personal maid, sitting beside the woman’s bed. The abigail turned her head to see them and rose to curtsey to Lady Helena.
“I am so glad you are here,” Clara said in a near whisper. “I have been keeping cold cloths on her brow, but she is still restless in her sleep.”
Eugenia knew Clara had served the Countess since they were both young, and age had not been kind to Clara. She walked with a stoop, her hair touched with frost, but she was kind and served Countess Whitington with loyalty. Though the two women served in the same house since Eugenia was a child, she did not know Clara well, as the older woman seldom left her mistress’s chambers. She touched the woman’s hand with her fingertips.
“Get your rest, Miss Clara,” she said. “Lady Helena and I will look after her tonight.”
