“That he does. We shall have you up and going to listen to him in no time at all. You might need a chair to get down the hill to the chapel, but we shall get you in shape to walk to the pew on your own.”
“Is that a promise?”
“God willing. A physician can only do so much, Your Grace, but I shall do my best for you.”
“That’s right. Weasel your way out of your promise by blaming God. Go along with you, and send those rascally cooks up to see me.”
“I certainly will, Your Grace. And we shall hope for better days.”
So do we all,Evelyn thought.If Mayson gets well, I will ask for nothing else in this world.
Chapter 40
Mayson woke feeling as if he had been sealed in a barrel and tossed into a mill stream. His head ached, his skin felt hot, but his bones felt cold. Breathing was a chore.
Mayson tried to heave himself up out of the nest of pillows, for it seemed to him that they were smothering him.
“Easy now, Mr. Rudge.” Mr. McElroy, who was seated beside his bed, reached out an arm to help him up. They were making poor headway with this effort when there came a tap at the door.
“Come in,” called Mr. McElroy.
Mr. Wilson and the carpenter, Mr. Whitley, entered one after the other.
Mr. Wilson hurried to catch Mr. McElroy before he could tumble off the stool chair, while Mr. Whitley hastened to the other side of the bed and helped Mayson sit up. “Heavy weather and knotty wood with you there, Mr. Rudge,” he said.
“Thank you, Mr. Whitley,” Mayson said. “You have the right of it, I fear.” Then he began to cough violently.
Mr. Wilson handed him a handkerchief, and said to the carpenter, “Let us help Mr. McElroy to the wingback chair. Will you have room enough to take measurements and do fittings?”
“If Mr. McElroy will not be embarrassed to have Mr. Rudge in the same room,” Mr. Whitley replied.
“Not at all,” Mr. McElroy said. “We have been taking care of each other for a day or two. Although that mostly means talking to each other, and staving off boredom. As long as Mr. Rudge does not mind.”
“It’s fine,” Mayson managed to gasp, before he began coughing again.
Mr. Wilson stepped back, looking worried and perplexed. Fortunately, Dr. Alton entered the room just then.
“Here, my boy, drink this,” Dr. Alton said, taking a bottle from his bag and uncorking it.
Mayson obediently drank off a large swallow, then shuddered. “What was that?” he asked.
“A decoction of mullein and chili pepper in Blue Ruin,” Dr. Alton explained cheerfully.
“Dear God,” Mayson swore. “That is vile.”
“It will either cure you or scare you into pretending you are well.” Dr. Alton began listening to Mayson’s chest through a listening trumpet, then took out his big pocket watch, and began counting the ticks. He looked grave when he finished.
“Now, you might consider this an old-fashioned or even an old wives remedy, Mr. Rudge, but we are going to make up a mustard plaster for you. The Duchess has most kindly sent for one of the village women to take over the cooking for her and for all the invalids. If Jemmy is well enough, it is my understanding that he will oversee the household cooking until you are sufficiently well to take up your duties.”
“Now that is welcome news,” called Mr. McElroy from across the room. “I’ve not eaten so poorly since the last ship I sailed on. Even if it is ever-lasting stew, it will be better than that pie.”
“It was pretty bad. Mrs. Swinton made toast and roasted apples for us,” Mayson confessed.
“She is certainly a resourceful lady,” Dr. Alton observed. “Now, you are to remain in bed, Mr. Rudge. It is fortunate that days are still quite warm, but the nights are beginning to grow chilly. You will have a hardwood fire of seasoned wood so as to make as little smoke as possible. The plaster might be a little uncomfortable, so you shall have it a few minutes at a time.”
“I know about mustard plasters,” Mayson sighed.
“Excellent,” Dr. Alton commented. “Now I have a birth to attend and a few other things to look into. You bide there a while, and do not get yourself into trouble.”