the stallion, he rode off to get gloriously drunk and dream futile dreams of a woman with hair like a dark night cloud and eyes the blue of the seas off the Kerry coast.
Skye was living a waking nightmare. After a sunny, warm March had come a cold, wet April. The disease had begun in the village of Lynmouth, the dreaded white throat sickness. It struck at children in particular, attacking one child, skipping its brother. Before she could isolate the children in the castle, Murrough O’Flaherty and Joan Southwood were ill.
Skye put the two children in the same room, the better to tend them. Having had the sickness as a child, she was not afraid of nursing the little ones, but she would allow none of the others near them. Geoffrey and the rest of the children were isolated in another part of the castle. Daisy volunteered to help her mistress. “I ain’t never caught the white throat,” she said, “though I’ve nursed its victims aplenty with my ma. She never caught it neither.” “They have a natural immunity,” said Skye to her husband.
“What’s that?”
“The Moorish doctors believe that some people have a special defense against certain diseases while others survive a disease and never get it again even though exposed. They call this an immunity. Obviously Daisy and her mother are immune, though they have never had white throat.”
“And you are immune just because you did have white throat!” he said triumphantly.
“Yes,” she answered. “That is why Daisy and I will nurse Murrough and Joan.”
“What will you need?”
“Plenty of water, clean clothes, and oil of camphor.”
“I’ll see to it, my love.”
“How many have we lost in the village?”
“Nine, so far.”
“Jesu assoil their poor souls,” she said.
It was a long and frightening procedure, but fortunately neither child was stricken severely. They were weak and feverish and cranky. The dreaded dirty white patches appeared first on their tonsils, and then spread to the rest of the throat, but though they coughed constantly, that was the worst of it. Nevertheless Skye and Daisy were totally exhausted, and neither spared herself in the care of the children. The crisis was surmounted after a period of twenty hours during which the two women spent all their time placing and replacing hot camphor cloths on their little patients’ throats and chests. Finally the fever broke, the coughing eased, the white patches began to fade. The two women watched over the children for another day and night before they would admit they had beaten the disease. At last Skye and Daisy allowed two of the other servants into the sickroom to take over. The children needed rest and light food to rebuild their strength while their two devoted nurses needed sleep before they dropped of exhaustion. Daisy sought her own room and fell, fully clothed, across her bed. Skye stumbled into her chamber to find a steaming tub awaiting her.
“I can’t,” she said. “I must sleep.”
Geoffrey Southwood led his wife to a chair and sat her down.
“You’ll sleep better for being clean, my darling,” and he gently undressed her, drawing off her gown and petticoats, slipping off her shoes and rolling down her silk stockings. Placing her in the tub, he smiled at her sigh of bliss and gently washed her. He dried her off, slid a nightgown over her, and carried her to their bed and tucked her in. Bending, he dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Sleep well, my dearest,” she heard him say before blackness reached up to claim her.
Skye slept for almost two days, and awoke to find her world in shambles. Daisy had awakened first, and was standing over her mistress’s bed. One look at Daisy’s open country face caused Skye’s heart to accelerate.
“What is it?”
“The young master, little Lord John! White throat! The Earl is nursing him.”
Skye tumbled from the bed, reaching for her velvet dressing gown, struggling into it as she ran. “Where are they?” “The floor above the nursery, m’lady.”
Skye’s first instinct was to rail at Geoffrey. How dare he keep Johnny’s illness from her? Why had he not awakened her? Then she realized he had tried to spare her for a few brief hours so she might regain some strength. She sped down the corridors of the castle, climbing the stairs to the wing above the nursery floor, and pushed into the room.
“No!” she cried.
Geoffrey sat stunned, tears running down his face, the limp body of baby John in his lap. He looked up, his eyes mirroring such acute pain that she could not tell if her grief was for him or for the son they had just lost.
“I did everything you did,” he wept helplessly. “He couldn’t breathe, Skye! He couldn’t seem to catch his breath, and I couldn’t help him. His eyes, Skye! His blue eyes… so like yours… pleading for help, and I couldn’t! I couldn’t do anything.”
She fell to her knees to gaze upon the body of her youngest child. He had looked so like her, with his fair skin, sapphire eyes, and dark hair. He had been Geoffrey’s favorite, not Robin his heir, but Johnny, her elfin child, everyone’s favorite, who was more of Ireland than of England. A muffled sound in the doorway caught her attention, and she raised her head to see Daisy, a fist stuffed in her tearstreaked face. Johnny had been her favorite too.
Feeling very old, she pulled herself up and, taking the limp body from Geoffrey’s lap, gave the child to Daisy. “See to it, lass. I must comfort my lord.”
Daisy fled from the room, holding the little boy close to her chest.
Her weeping was quite loud now. Skye put an arm about her husband. “Come, my love. Come with me,” she begged him. He rose to his feet and, stumbling along by her side, allowed himself to be led downstairs to their apartments. “Hot wine!” she ordered her husband’s body servant, and when it was brought she added herbs to it and helped him drink. Mistress and servant undressed their lord and got him into a silk nightshirt. Skye nervously noted that Geoffrey was warmer than he ought to be. Tucking him into bed, she asked, “Do you feel all right, my darling?”
“Tired. So very tired,” he muttered. Then, “Too hot,” and he threw back the coverlet.
Skye put her hand on his forehead. It was burning. His fever was spiraling quickly. “Get me a bucket of cold water and some clean cloths,” she ordered Will, the manservant. The Earl coughed, a sharp, barking sound, and fear gripped Skye. “No!” she whispered. “Dear Holy Mother,
Will returned with water drawn from the deepest well on the lands. It was so icy that it burned Skye’s hands when she dipped a cloth into it. The Earl winced when the cloth touched his skin. “I must get your fever down, my love,” she apologized, but he did not hear her, for he was lost in delirium. In the hours that followed they kept him well wrapped in bedclothes while his forehead was bathed constantly. Both the sheets and the Earl’s nightshirt were changed three times, the used linen all burned to prevent the spread of infection.
Then suddenly Daisy appeared. “I’ve brought you a tray. It’s in the anteroom.”
Hollow-eyed, Skye looked up at her servant and then glanced away distractedly. “I couldn’t eat.”
“My lady, it will not do my lord any good if you fall ill, too. The children need you also, for they are badly frightened by their little brother’s death. Now the Earl ill, and that will be hard on the little ones.”
/
“Hot bricks,” commanded Skye, and Will rushed to obey. Geoffrey began to cough violently and gasp for air. Skye forced his mouth open and peered in. The Earl’s throat was covered with dirty white patches, and a grayish membrane was forming that constricted his breathing.
“Keep his jaws open,” said Daisy to her mistress. And with one quick motion, the girl reached down and hooked the membrane out of Geoffrey’s throat. She threw it in the fire. The Earl was now able to breathe. “If we can keep that scum from cutting off his air then we can save him, m’lady. If it hardens he will die,” she said straightforwardly. “No!” Skye shook her head grimly. “I will not lose him!” Together they began the tedious process of laying on hot camphor cloths. Several more times Daisy pulled an ugly mucous membrane from her master’s throat, easing his breathing. The hours crept by until one full day had passed and it was night again. The fever came again and went again. He was having more difficulty breathing as the membranes formed much more quickly now and were
