“No, My Lord. I took the liberty of placing all the ill in a large guest suite. In case this is a contagious disease. This way we may stop it from spreading.”
“Good thinking. How many are ill?”
“Right now, only seven, My Lord. But I fear that if this runs rampant through the household – ”
“I have medical books and journals in my study,” Lord Willowdale said, pacing near his chair, his head down. “Make use of them. Find out what this is and how we stop it. Also, send a footman to the village to bring back the apothecary. I think we will need help with this.”
“I will go right now, My Lord.”
Liam felt Lord Willowdale’s eyes on him, and glanced toward him, seeing his scowl. “What are you doing there, man?” Lord Willowdale snapped. “Go to her.”
Liam made only the quickest of bows before running for the door. He paused beside Mr. Noonan and asked, his voice soft, “Where is she?”
“In the suite just down the hall from Miss Miller’s residence. But if you go in there, you yourself may become ill. You may die, Mr. Carter.”
Liam, for the first time in a long while, in the full view of anyone staring in his direction, looked at Thea. “She is my mother.”
“You must go to her,” Thea said, her voice confident and strong.
Liam nodded. He bowed. “My Lord, Miss Miller.”
Bolting from the dining room, Liam ran down the corridor from the dining room, past the drawing room, leaving wide-eyed servants in his wake. His wig fell off as he skidded across the entryway by the main doors, but he did not bother to go back for it. Spinning on his heel, he ran up the stairs to the second floor, his boots thudding on the tiles. Dodging a cleaning maid with an armful of towels, he sprinted down the hall toward the footman standing watch outside the guest suite.
The man, Jack, held out his hand to stop Liam. “You cannot go in there, Liam,” he said. “By Mr. Noonan’s order.”
“My mother is in there,” Liam said, hoping he would not have to fight him. “I am going in. You can try to stop me, but I warn you now, do not try it.”
“I am so sorry, Liam.”
Jack rested his hand briefly on Liam’s shoulder. “God’s blessing on you both.”
He stepped aside, permitting Liam to go into the room. Instantly, his nostrils were assaulted by the stench of vomit, of sickness. Rows of cots lay in the sitting room with bodies on them, covered with blankets or quilts. Soft moans and cries of pain reached his ears as he slowly walked among them. He saw both men and women: two footmen, two cleaning maids, a scullery maid, and a cook’s assistant. His breath caught as he gazed at one of the cleaning maids, recognizing her instantly.
Vanessa.
A bucket sat near her, and a woman clad in the livery of a housemaid went from patient to patient, cooling brows, offering water to drink. He knelt beside Vanessa’s bed and took the hand that lay beside her on the cot. Her beautiful face flushed bright and sweatless with fever, rolled on the pillow toward him. Her sloe eyes opened. Her cracked lips smiled.
“Liam.”
“Vanessa,” he murmured. “I am so sorry you are ill.”
“But you came to see me.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Am I going to die?”
“No, Vanessa,” he said, trying to find a smile for her. “You are going to be just fine.”
“Good. I still plan to marry you someday.”
Her eyes fell closed, and her breathing deepened, telling him she slept. Rising, Liam glanced around, confused. Mr. Noonan said seven were sick, yet there were only six here. “Where is my mother?” he asked the housemaid. The woman pointed silently toward the bedchamber.
In there, he found his mother in the great bed, covered to the neck in a warm quilt, a fire burning on the hearth. Her arms lay outside the coverlet, and she appeared to be asleep. Quietly, he sat on the stool next to her bed, gazing anxiously at her face. Like Vanessa, her flesh burned with fever, and a bucket sat nearby for catching her spew when she vomited. Not taking her hand for fear of waking her, he sat beside her, waiting and watching.
As though sensing his presence, Mary opened her eyes, turning her head on the pillow. She smiled. “I ken ye be here, lad. I dreamed of the sidhe. They told me ye wid come.”
“Mum.” He smiled, trying to scoff. “The sidhe are in Scotland. They do not come here, into England.”
