Her Grace in Disgrace (The Widows of Woburn Place) (28 page)

“The
key, Mrs. Bigelow. I have a strapping young footman below, who might be able to
help me to convince you.”

“You
dare to threaten me?” hissed the enraged landlady.

“Please,
Mrs. Bigelow,” placated Mrs. Endicott. “We are concerned about Lady Tyndale. I
fear she is ill.”

Mrs.
Bigelow suddenly tired of the argument, thrust the keys into Isobel’s hands and
stalked off. Isobel did not waste any time watching her go. She opened the door
to Lady Tyndale’s rooms. The small sitting room was neat and sparsely
furnished. And empty. Isobel and Mrs. Endicott opened the door to the
bedchamber. Lady Tyndale lay on her bed, soaked in sweat, her greasy hair a
matted mess. They ran to her and Isobel noticed Lady Tyndale’s rash. She put a
hand to the ailing woman’s forehead.

“She
is burning up. I believe it is measles. Do you know of a physician nearby?”
Isobel asked Mrs. Endicott.

“Yes…”
Mrs. Endicott voice was reticent.

“Mrs.
Endicott, if there is something you must tell me, please do. We do not have
time to waste.”

“I
do not trust him. I do not think he is a competent doctor.”

Isobel
thought for a brief moment and came to a decision. “Please run down to my
carriage and ask for my two men, Renfrew and Griffin to come up.”

“Oh,
but Mrs. Bigelow would never allow gentlemen in the house!”

“They
are not gentlemen. Renfrew is a butler or footman, depending on the task, and
Griffin is a valet. Besides, Mrs. Bigelow will have nothing to say on the
matter. Now please, fetch them. Quickly.”

Mrs.
Endicott flew from the room and was back in within minutes with Renfrew and
Griffin, though Mrs. Bigelow had made a token protest. Isobel had wrapped Lady Tyndale
in her sheets and then a blanket to make a sort of cocoon. She began issuing
orders as soon as they appeared.

“Mrs.
Endicott, could you please pack up any belongings that Lady Tyndale might need.
I am having her move in with me for the time being.” This seemed to distress
the young widow, tears filling her eyes. “I am sorry, Mrs. Endicott, but I
cannot leave her here in this condition. I can take care of her much more
effectively at my home.”

“I
understand. It is just that I will miss her,” replied the young woman, holding
back her tears and carefully placing various items in an old portmanteau.

Isobel
reached into her reticule and pulled out a few coins and handed them to the
valet. “Griffin, hail a hackney and go to fetch Dr. Fillmore on Harley Street.
Have him meet us there as soon as can be. But first you must help Renfrew carry
Lady Tyndale to the coach.”

Renfrew
moved to pick up the lady waiting for Griffin to help.

“Do
you think it wise to move her, Miss?” asked Griffin.

“No.
But it is better than leaving her here to die. I cannot care for her properly
here. I must take the chance. I have already had the measles, thank God, and so
has Aunt Maude.”

“Measles!”
cried Griffin jumping back from the infected woman.

“Griffin!”

“Never
mind, Miss,” said Renfrew. He had picked up Lady Tyndale on his own. “I don’t
need Griffin’s help. She’s as light as a feather.” He walked out of the room
with the precious bundle.

Isobel
glared at Griffin. “You had best be on your way to Harley Street, Griffin. Take
that portmanteau down with you and give it to William before you leave.”

“Yes,
Miss,” he answered both relieved and ashamed. He looked at the coins in his
hand. “I am sorry, Miss, but I will need extra coin for the toll bridge.”
Isobel handed it to him and he left on his mission of mercy.

“Mrs.
Endicott, I thank you for your help. I am sorry to rob you of your friend, but
we must consider her health. We are moving her to 65 Woburn Place in
Bloomsbury. You and your daughter are more than welcome to visit. Now I must
get my aunt and go.”

“Thank
you, Miss Kennilworth, for taking such good care of Laura. You must be a very
good friend, indeed.” Isobel’s guilt surged to the surface, but she smiled
wanly at Mrs. Endicott.

Isobel
retrieved her aunt and bade farewell to the Endicott’s. Little Charis hung onto
Lady Whitcomb and screamed, “Wady, wady don’ go ‘way!” Mrs. Endicott herself
looked as if she wished to cling to them as well, but obediently pulled her
daughter away, giving them a feeble smile as they left.

“Do
come and see us,” said Lady Whitcomb cheerfully. She reached in her reticule
and pulled out a guinea and handed it to Mrs. Endicott. “For coach fare,” she
explained with a smile and was hurried off to the waiting coach.

 “Measles,”
pronounced Dr. Fillmore. “I hardly know what you were thinking in moving her,
Miss Kennilworth, but the deed is done. She is dehydrated and malnourished. It
is important to get barley water down her as often as you can, even if you must
spoon feed it. Time will tell if she pulls through. If the fever breaks, she
will have a fighting chance.”

Isobel
did not bother to defend her actions, not really knowing with certainty if she
had done the right thing. It had seemed right at the time. Nevertheless, Lady
Tyndale was here now. They had bathed her body with cool water, put her in
fresh nightgown, and brushed her tangled, stringy hair away from her lovely, if
spotted, face. The doctor left after giving more instructions and promising to
return in the morning.

Isobel
had insisted that Lady Tyndale be put in her own bedchamber. She would sleep on
a truckle bed in the dressing room to be near her patient. She also ordered
that Lord Charles’ bed be moved from the third floor to the library so that he
need not be carried up and down the stairs. If this was to be a convalescent
hospital, she meant to make it as easy on the staff as possible.

Too
tired to change and reticent to leave her patient, though she was sleeping,
Isobel had a tray in her room. It was quite late by the time she finally ate.
Lady Whitcomb joined her.

“I
am quite proud of you, Isobel,” said that Lady after she had finished a hearty
meal. She watched her niece push her food around her plate with her fork, her
mood melancholy.

“Do
not be proud of me, Aunt. Were it not for me, she would be married to some
noble lord and not be ill at all.” Isobel put down her fork and pushed her
plate away.

“You
do not know that, my dear. Even the
ton
can catch the measles. They are
not immune. And we cannot know what might have happened. We must concentrate
now on what might happen. Now there is something thrilling to ponder.” Isobel
looked anything but thrilled.

Lady
Whitcomb sighed and rose. She went to her niece who sat at Lady Tyndale’s
bedside, her food tray pushed to the side. She placed her hand on Isobel’s
shoulder. “You are looking a bit peaked, my dear. I fear you are looking out of
the carriage focused on where we have been. Look ahead!” When Isobel said
nothing she gently squeezed her shoulder. “I will spell you in the morning. I
will not even try and argue with you about taking turns in the night. I would
lose. You are very determined to do penance and this will do as well as the
next thing. Goodnight, my dear.”

Isobel
looked at the sleeping woman whose life she had ruined. Penance. Could she ever
truly atone for what she did? She doubted it, but was determined to do
everything in her power to make amends.

It
was a long night. Lady Tyndale woke periodically and cried out. Whether in
pain, or fear or whether it was some other emotion all together, Isobel did not
know. But she cooled Lady Tyndale’s body with a wet rag and spoon fed her as
much barley water as she was able. Isobel lay down on the truckle bed a few
times and fell into a short, restless sleep, but mostly, she sat in the chair
by the invalid’s bed and spoke and read to her. She did not speak of the
problems between them, but merely of frivolities and interesting tidbits. She
read her poetry and encouraging verses from the Bible. She read and talked
until her throat was raw.

When
Lady Whitcomb arrived very early the next morning, Isobel was sound asleep her
head on Lady Tyndale’s bed, clutching her hand. She gently woke her niece and
pronounced herself ready for duty. Isobel wanted to protest, but knew she
needed rest to function.

“I
will just take a brief nap. An hour or two. I will have Manning wake me.”
Isobel stretched her aching limbs and rubbed her sore neck with her hand.

“You
will sleep till you awaken. I slept soundly and I know what I am doing. Who do
you think nursed you through the measles? Certainly not your mother!” Lady
Whitcomb reminded her.

“You
did, dearest Aunt. And how did I repay you? By giving you the cursed disease.”
She went to her aunt who had taken the bedside seat, put her hands on her
shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “I will sleep till I awaken, but you
must promise to waken me if something happens.”

“Of
course, my dear,” her aunt assured her.

“And
I have been reading to her,” she added by way of suggestion.

“The
very thing. I shall continue your excellent work. Now, off with you!” And
Isobel went.

It
was late the next afternoon that the fever broke. Isobel was reading from one
of her favorite books by Miss Austen, called
Emma
, about a young lady
who also was prone to scheming. She did not notice at first, for she was
looking at the page, but when she looked up, she saw that Laura was staring at
her in shock.

“Laura.
Lady Tyndale. You are awake! You are better. Oh, I am so glad.” Isobel babbled
on while the weak and bewildered young woman simply looked at her in surprise.

“Lady
Warwick? What are you doing here?” She looked around the room. “Or what am I
doing here? Where am I? I do not understand.”

“You
were ill, Lady Tyndale. I found you at your boarding house and brought you
here. We were all very worried about you.”

“I
am at Wren House?” Lady Tyndale asked, horrified. Isobel realized that, tucked
away in Lambeth Laura did not know of Isobel’s change in circumstances, so she
briefly explained what had happened. “And so I am Isobel Kennilworth again. And
I live in Bloomsbury. On Woburn Street; and that is where you are.”

“Why
did you bring me here, Miss Kennilworth?”

“The
answer is neither simple nor brief. I fear now is not the best time to speak of
it. I would have you stronger so you will be able to rant and rave at me.”

“I
would not…” Lady Tyndale began.

“I
know, My Lady, I know. Let me just say, for now, that I wanted to do this, more
than anything. So please, just get well and we will have that talk soon. Now,
do you feel you could eat something. How about some nice broth.” Lady Tyndale
agreed to the broth and ate nearly half of it when it came, but was so tired
that she fell asleep before she could finish.

The
next few days passed. The doctor pronounced Lady Tyndale out of danger and Renfrew
was sent in the carriage to get the rest of Lady Tyndale’s belongings from the
boarding house. Lady Tyndale was getting stronger and was drinking broth and eating
gruel; she had even managed some tea and toast. She also was adamant about
being moved to a guest bedroom. Isobel reluctantly complied and Lady Tyndale
was relocated to the third floor.

Lady
Joanna still came almost daily for visits to see Isobel, or more likely
Charles, but Isobel could not think about that now. She would have to do
something soon, but now she must concentrate on helping Lady Tyndale get well.
That morning Isobel had noticed a marked improvement in the lady’s health and
was heartily grateful for it.

Now,
Aunt Maude was sitting with Lady Tyndale while Isobel was taking a few minutes
for herself, reading in the sitting room. Reading might be an overstatement
since her mind continued to wander as she read the same sentence over and over
again. She was tackling the first sentence of chapter 3 yet again when Renfrew
entered.

“There’s
a young lady come to see you, Miss.” Renfrew looked uncertainly at his mistress.

“Lady
Joanna again, Renfrew?”

“No,
Miss, that one from Lambeth, with the little girl. She’s asking for you. She’s
got bags with her, Miss.”

“Oh?”
said Isobel in surprise. “Well, let us see what this is all about, Renfrew, put
her in the parlor. I will be down presently.”

“Ah,
Lord Charles and Lady Joanna are in the parlor, Miss.”

“What?
Good God, Renfrew, did I not tell you they were not to be alone?”

“Miss
Parrish is there also and a Captain Danvers. Lady Joanna brought her maid, too,
Miss.”

“Oh,
very well. Send her up here, the lady from Lambeth, and have Mrs. Kitchen send
up tea.” Renfrew left and Isobel had a few minutes to stew about Lady Joanna
and Charles. Whatever was she to do about that?”

“Mrs.
Serena Endicott and Miss Charis Endicott,” intoned Renfrew, evidently hoping to
impress the newcomers.

“Thank
you, Renfrew,” Isobel said in dismissal. To the uneasy Mrs. Endicott she gave a
welcoming smile. “Mrs. Endicott and Miss Charis. How glad I am you have decided
to call. Our Lady Tyndale is doing immensely better. I am highly optimistic
about her full recovery.”