James’s forehead. Time passed. He calmed. The fever was down, thank God.
Dr. Flimmy arrived with Freddie in the early afternoon. An old man, but if his brain was still working he must know how to save the life of a young man who’d spent the night walking in the cold rain.
She watched Dr. Flimmy ease down on his crickety knees beside James. He lifted his eyelids, peered into his ears. He pulled the blankets down and listened to his chest. He put his ear against James’s throat. He pulled the blankets down to his ankles, unaware that Corrie, who’d never seen a naked man in her life, was standing there, gawking. He hummed while he looked over every inch of James.
“Lawks,” Mrs. Osbourne said, blinking, staring down at James. “Mr. Osbourne never looked like that even when he was a young sprite. Maybe ye’d best not be staring at him, Miss Corrie. Unless you’re his sister, and I know ye’re not. And ye’re not his wife neither, else ye’d have a big sparkler on yer finger, given that he’s a lordship. Ye haven’t told me what ye are and how the two of ye are together. No, I don’t want to know. Now, ye turn yer back and let Dr. Flimmy look behind his knees. That’s what he always did to Little Lemon.”
Corrie didn’t want to turn around. She wanted to stand there and look at James until it became so dark she couldn’t see him, not even his shadow. She supposed that meant the fire would have to go out as well because she knew she could see him if there were embers in the grate. Mrs. Osbourne was frowning at her, hands on her hips. Sighing, Corrie turned around.
“Is he going to be all right, Dr. Flimmy?” When the old man didn’t answer, she turned her head to look at him. He was kneeling close to James, James’s arm was raised, and he was kneading his armpit. She watched him poke and prod, then he leaned over James’s chest and raised his other arm, and the kneading continued. At least he’d pulled the blankets back up to James’s waist, and that was a pity. Dr. Flimmy finally came up onto his knees, calling out, “Mrs. Osbourne, fetch your lemonade. Make it nice and hot. And add some barley water to it. That’s what he needs right now.”
Dr. Flimmy managed to haul himself to his feet, waving Corrie off when she moved to help him. When he was finally standing again, breathing heavily with the effort, he said to her, even though he was looking down at James, “His lordship is very ill. Luckily he’s also young and strong. You and Mrs. Osbourne keep him warm, and when the fever comes again, continue washing him down with the coldest cloths you can stand. Pour lemonade down his throat or he’ll wither up and die. Don’t want that lad to die, I really don’t.”
“I don’t want him to die either,” Corrie said, swallowing hard. “I must get him back to London. There’s trouble, you see, and he needs to be home.”
Dr. Flimmy began rubbing his neck. “You move him and he’ll likely not make it. Keep him here and keep him quiet and warm.”
Corrie’s brain simply seized up. “But Mrs. Osbourne-”
“Aye, Corrie, we’ll see to him. Now, let’s get some of my special lemonade down his throat.”
Surprisingly, at least to Corrie, James drank when they put the cup to his mouth. It took a long time, but she managed to get most of it down him.
He slept, unmoving, the fever gone, until that evening. Corrie was reading a tract on animal husbandry by the light of a single candle. Mr. and Mrs. Osbourne were long in bed, but not Corrie. Sleep was far away for her. Every few minutes, she looked at James. He was still quiet. They’d gotten some chicken broth down his throat. The fire was going strong. He had four blankets tucked in around him.
Suddenly, he moaned, his eyes opened. He looked straight at her. “I was relieving myself and you were watching. I was never so mortified in my life.”
The memory flashed in her mind and she smiled. “I was only eight years old, James, and I really didn’t understand what I was seeing. You scared the devil out of me when you dashed away and got yourself thrown. I thought it was my fault. I felt guilty for years.”
“How did you know about my accident?”
“Your father told me. He said he wasn’t clear on exactly how all that had come about, so I told him everything that had happened.”
James groaned. “What did he say?”
“He was quiet for a moment, then he patted me on the head, told me he’d said exactly the right thing to you. It had calmed you.”
“Am I the only man you’ve seen relieving himself?”
“Yes. Forgive me, James, but I was so very young and I worshipped you to the point of idiocy. I thought the way you did it was quite remarkable and ever so much easier than it was for me.”
He laughed. He actually laughed, low and scratchy that laugh, then his eyes closed and his head fell to the side.
“James!”
She was on her knees over him, her palm on his forehead. No fever, thank God. She sat back on her heels and stared down at him. When he began muttering, she nearly fell over.
It didn’t make much sense, but she knew he was worried. He muttered about his father and the man who’d called himself Douglas Sherbrooke. Then he spoke of the Andromeda constellation in the northern sky, of the accident Jason had had when he was ten years old, falling from the hayloft. Then he mentioned her name, and how she wouldn’t leave him alone, how she was always there underfoot, and it was true, she was cute as a button, like his father said. The only time he muttered about wanting her in another galaxy was when he turned twelve and wanted to kiss girls. Corrie remembered he’d became quite good at escaping her.
Corrie came down beside him, and pressed herself to his side. She stroked her hand over his chest, his throat, his face. “James, it’s all right. I’m here. I won’t leave you. Everything will be all right, I swear it to you.”
He stopped muttering. She believed that he slept.
Corrie counted James’s money. There was enough. She spoke to Mrs. Osbourne, then gave the money and directions to the Sherbrooke London town house to an excited Freddie. The earl and countess were in Paris, but Jason was there. He’d be here as soon as he could. There was nothing more she could do but wait.
The next days passed with terrifying slowness. James was delirious, then he was in a stupor, lying so still she thought several times that he’d died. Corrie prayed until she was out of words, and then she prayed feelings, swearing to God that she would become an excellent person if only He would spare James.
There was no sign of Freddie.
She and Mrs. Osbourne rubbed James down with cold wet cloths until their hands cramped and turned blue and wrinkled. Dr. Flimmy came once again, examined James’s armpits at greater length this time, and announced that his lordship was improving.
Corrie didn’t understand this, but she’d grab at any straw. “Will he live, sir?”
“He’s better, miss, but will he live?” He didn’t answer his own question, accepted a pound note Corrie gave him from James’s coat pocket, drank a cup of warm milk, and allowed Mr. Osbourne to take him back home, since there was still no sign of Freddie. Something must have happened to him, Corrie knew it. Mrs. Osbourne walked around, tight-lipped, shaking her head. It was interesting though how she smiled whenever she looked at James.
The next afternoon, Corrie fell asleep, her head on James’s shoulder, when a loud moo woke her. She jerked up, so exhausted that it took her a moment to realize that there really was a cow standing in the open doorway. She heard men’s voices from just outside.
Was it Dr. Flimmy? No, probably neighbors here to buy milk. She placed her palm on James’s forehead. He was cool to the touch. She nearly wept with relief. The cow mooed again. She came up on her knees when Douglas Sherbrooke appeared in the doorway, right in front of the cow.
If it had been God standing there, his sight adjusting to the dim interior, she wouldn’t have been more ecstatic.
“Sir!” She dashed to him, throwing herself in his arms. “You’re here! I thought you were in Paris, but you’re not. You’re really here. Thank God, thank God. I thought Freddie had gotten himself lost. I thought maybe someone had killed him.”
Douglas held her close, patted her back. “It’s all right, Corrie. How is James?”
She heard the fear in his voice, and leaned back, smiling up at him. “The fever broke. He’s going to be all right.”
She stepped away and walked back to where James lay in front of the fireplace, his bed for the past three
