in bed, his back wrenched. He couldn't move. He said there was nothing more he could do in any case. He was praying for them, Samuel assured them.
Some minutes later Meggie heard Mrs. Priddle moving about downstairs. Then, quite suddenly, she head a knock on the vicarage door.
Mrs. Priddle was breathless when she stuck her head in Rory's room. 'Forgive me, Miss Meggie, it's Lord Lancaster. He says it's very important.'
Thomas Malcombe? What could that man possibly want at dawn, for God's sake? She didn't want to hear him again ask her to go riding.
She simply nodded to her father and to Mary Rose and quietly left the room. She stopped by her own bedchamber, pulled on another dressing gown, this one so old the elbows were nearly worn through. She hurried down the stairs. No candle was needed, there was nearly full light now.
He was there, standing in the entrance hall, wearing riding clothes, boots.
Meggie felt no Christian kindness in her heart. 'What do you want?'
He merely nodded to her, then walked swiftly to where she stood on the bottom stair. She saw then that he was carrying a small package. He pressed it into her hand. 'I have spoken to Dr. Dreyfus. He said to bring this over and give it to Rory, that it couldn't hurt. It's a medicine, one of many that my shipping partner sent me from Genoa, Italy. It's for the fever. Is Rory better?'
'No,' Meggie said flatly, and she knew, knew to her heart, 'No, I don't think he will get better. What is this?'
She was ripping away the paper. There was a long thin bottle filled to the corked top with a dark brown liquid.
'It's a medicinal root called the maringo. It grows near a river on a lava plateau on the western slopes of Mt. Etna in Sicily. Perhaps it will help Rory. The letter from my man says that this particular root is effective for virulent fevers. Here, Meggie, give it to the boy, quickly, a small drink, that's all that's needed. Then another drink every hour, until-well, until he's better.'
Tysen and Mary Rose believed the medicine was from Dr. Dreyfus. Meggie didn't correct them. She managed to get Rory's little mouth open and poured a bit of the brown liquid down his throat, then lightly rubbed his neck with her fingers. He wheezed and coughed even as his teeth chattered and his small body clenched with the violent spasms that were killing him. But he was breathing, little gasps of breath.
They said nothing at all, just watched the little boy continue to labor for each breath. Suddenly, without warning, he went into convulsions.
Tysen held him firmly while Meggie tried to keep him from swallowing or biting his tongue. Mary Rose rubbed his arms, his legs, to keep him still and warm. After an eternity, the convulsions passed. Rory became utterly still.
Mary Rose fell back on her heels. 'Oh God, no! Tysen, no, he can't be dead, he can't!'
'No, just wait, just wait.'
Meggie was praying harder than she'd ever prayed in her life. She couldn't hear him breathe, couldn't hear him do anything. He was dying. Oh, please God, no, not this wonderful little boy. She watched her father squeeze Rory's chest, then massage it, again and again as he whispered, 'Breathe, Rory, breathe.'
Meggie looked up then to see Lord Lancaster standing in the doorway, saying nothing, just standing there quietly, watching the tableau in front of him, his face pale, his dark eyes hooded.
'Thank God,' Tysen said then, unutterable relief mixed with tears in his voice, 'he's breathing.' He grabbed Mary Rose to him and held both Rory and her close. 'Thank the good Lord, our boy is breathing again.'
He lifted Mary Rose onto his lap and on her lap she held Rory, her white hands shaking even as she stroked them up and down his small back, steady circular motions while Tysen still massaged his small chest. Finally, Mary Rose laid her head against his neck. He kissed her hair even as his arms tightened around the two of them. Meggie knew she would never forget that moment her whole life. Rory was breathing, not just the stingy little gasps, but full breaths that sounded more and more normal. His cheeks were flushed, but now it wasn't with fever. She took a blanket off the bed and wrapped it over all three of them.
'Another one, Meggie. He isn't shivering now, but I want to make all of us sweat.'
'He's all limp now, no more shudders or convulsions,' Mary Rose whispered, hope brimming in her voice. 'Oh, Tysen, do you think he-'
'I don't know, love, let's just keep holding him and holding each other. Let's keep rubbing him and massaging him. It can't hurt. That medicine, Meggie-when you see Dr. Dreyfus, tell him it worked. Tell him I knew he would think of something more.'
'It isn't from Dr. Dreyfus, Papa, it's from Lord Lancaster.'
Tysen was silent a moment, confused, really, then he said, 'Thank him for us and tell him it seems to have had something of an immediate effect. Tell him we are very grateful.'
'Yes, I will tell him,' she said, not mentioning that Thomas Malcombe was standing in the doorway watching them. She loaded them all down with all the blankets in the room. She lightly laid her palm against Rory's cheek. He was cooler, she would swear that he was cooler.
'Papa, I think he's truly asleep now, and his breathing is easy, regular.'
Her father smiled up at her. She smiled back at him, then leaned down quickly to kiss his cheek. 'I will bring you some tea. Ah, good, Mary Rose is finally asleep, too.'
In truth, her stepmother looked like an exhausted Madonna holding her sick child close, her brilliant curly red hair all over her head, tickling her husband's chin, framing her pale face.
Tysen whispered, 'I had prayed until I was out of words, until there wasn't another plea in my mind, Meggie. I think perhaps God heard me and sent Lord Lancaster here with that medicine.'
'Perhaps,' Meggie said, 'I do think that Lord Lancaster felt some urgency to come here. Was it God nudging him? It is a comforting thought.'
'Now, I want you to take the medicine to Dr. Dreyfus, tell him that it appears to have worked with Rory. If another child falls ill, then we can see that-'
'Yes, Papa, I will. I will ask if Lord Lancaster has more of it. We are to give Rory another swallow in about twenty minutes or so. Then, if he remains like this, no more is necessary.' Meggie smiled, straightened, turned, and walked to where Thomas Malcombe stood, watching her come toward him, her old dressing gown flapping around her bare ankles, her lovely hair braided down her back, much of it come loose and now tangled around her face.
She nodded to him and he quietly backed away from the open doorway. He waited at the head of the stairs, his face in shadows now because the sun had slipped momentarily' behind some clouds. She stopped right in front of him. She lifted his left hand in both of hers and clasped it strongly. 'I thank you, my lord. Was it God who made you feel the urgency to come to us?'
'Perhaps it was,' Thomas said slowly, looking down at his large brown hand held between her two smaller ones, not fine soft white hands. Meggie Sherbrooke's hands helped raise her brothers, trained racing cats, did countless tasks as the vicar's daughter. And he found himself wondering:
He said matter-of-factly, 'The package of medicines arrived just a few moments before dawn along with other supplies. The fellow bringing it said he had this feeling that I would be needing it and thus pushed on from Eastbourne to my home. I heard that little Rory was ill and so I came here immediately. I think the messenger was the one whom God nudged.'
'Is there more of the medicine?'
'Oh yes. My man will take it to Dr. Dreyfus now, and he can hold it for any children who become ill.'
'Oh goodness. Look at me, I'm not dressed. Ah, Mrs. Priddle, please take His Lordship to the drawing room, then give him some breakfast. I will be down very soon.' Twenty minutes later Meggie walked into the drawing room. Lord Lancaster was standing beside the fireplace, now lit and warm, drinking some tea.
She said without hesitation, her hands outstretched to him, 'My family is in your debt, my lord.'
He raised a dark eyebrow. He wanted to assure her that she wasn't in his debt, that any decent human being would have brought that medicine to the vicarage without delay, but he wanted her in his debt, if that was what it would take. Just her.
He let her hold his hands yet again as he said, his voice deep, 'You are exhausted, Meggie. I want you to rest
