Page 41 of Black and Silver

Only after the wise woman sanded and blotted the letter, then folded it and wrote the address of Godwin Castle as Lawrence dictated it did Lawrence consider that he should have at least made an attempt to read the letter’s contents first. He’d instructed the old woman to plead the necessity of sending help, as he figured that was all that was needed.

“Make certain that reaches Lord Gerald Godwin as quickly as possible,” he charged the old woman as he escorted her out of the house. “And if you can think of anything at all that might aid Lady Minerva in her recovery, please return and share it.”

“I will, my lord, but I think it’s best that you prepare yourself.”

Lawrence wanted to rage with frustration at those words. How could Minerva be so close to death already when less than two days ago, they were creeping through Tidworth Hall’s attic, then tangled up in the throes of passion? It made no sense at all to him.

At least the old woman was sympathetic, even if she was a harbinger of doom.

“I’ll have one of my girls come by with a basket of provisions for you,” she said, patting Lawrence’s arm sympathetically as she stepped out of the cottage. “You won’t have to leave her side until the end.”

Lawrence huffed in annoyance, then immediately felt guilty and schooled his expression to one of thanks. “I cannot express my gratitude,” he told the woman with a smile as she turned to walk off.

He could not express it, because he was not convinced he had any. At least, he was not convinced the old woman had done anything but worry him needlessly.

Minerva would not perish. He would not let something as mundane as a fever take her. Minerva was strong and imaginative. If she were to die at all, it would be because she was struck by lightning or lost at sea, or some other means of shuffling off her mortal coil that would be worthy of the sort of tale she liked to read.

There had to be something he could do.

Lawrence shut the cottage door, then returned to the bedroom, where Minerva continued to slumber. He sat on the edge of the bed, aching with exhaustion himself, and sought out her hand as it lay on the covers.

“All will be well, my darling,” he said, stroking the back of her hand as he held it in one of his. “This is just a passing fever. You will be right as rain, standing in the cemetery, making up macabre tales of its inhabitants again in no time.

Minerva gave a short, sniffling breath, then coughed without waking. Lawrence’s heart squeezed, threatening to break within him. He glanced to Clarence as if appealing to a friend. This could not be the end, it simply could not.

Chapter Fourteen

All Minnie wanted to do was sleep, so sleep she did. She wanted to sleep away the misery of the rain and falling in the mud. She wanted to embrace oblivion rather than examine her increasing feelings toward Lawrence. But perhaps most of all, she wanted to hide away under the counterpane in the tiny parsonage Lawrence had found for her so that she could avoid the reality of the fate that awaited her.

She did not know what she would do. She did not know what shecoulddo. What she thought she’d wanted taunted her in her fevered dreams as she imagined herself standing on the cliffs near Bristol, gazing out over the sea that would take her to Sweden. What she knew she did not want taunted her as the ghostly shapes of her mother and father and Owen chased her through the fog of her nightmares.

What her heart longed for waited for her, sitting beside her bed when she sneezed herself awake some indeterminate amount of time after she’d taken to bed.

Her entire body felt as heavy and limp as a rag that had been used to scrub the muddy carriage, then wrung out over and over, until it was a brown and threadbare mess. Nearly as soon as she opened her eyes and became aware of the world around her, her head filled up with congestion that made her pinch her face in upset.

At least her throat was no longer sore. That was a small blessing, but a welcome one. Minnie truly did not like the sensation of knives slicing at her poor throat from the inside.

“Yea…thou I…walk th-thr-though the…valley—”

Minnie turned her head and scowled at Lawrence. He sat in a chair beside her bed, frowning sharply at the old, heavy Bible in his hands. His entire face was screwed up with his efforts to read aloud from what was supposed to be a comforting psalm.

Minnie had never liked the cheery picture that psalm was supposed to paint. Then again, as she pushed her tired body in an effort to sit, she considered that the valley of death might not be as thrilling and romantic as she had once imagined it to be.

“My God, you’re awake!” Lawrence cried out as soon as he noticed her movements. He snapped the Bible aside and tossed it on the bed beside her, nearly knocking Clarence to the floor.

Minnie reached out to steady Clarence before he could fall, pulling him closer to her. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice thick and miserable.

Lawrence laughed and answered for Clarence. “I retrieved him from the carriage before Silas took it to the nearby village for repairs. I did not think the wainwright would find it a good omen to have Clarence staring back at him when he opened the carriage door to look around. And I thought you might miss him if he were gone for too long.”

Minnie smiled and patted Clarence’s head. “He has always been a comfort to me, and a dear, dear friend.”

Her heart inserted Lawrence in place of Clarence in her mind. Minnie could not think of many, outside of her most intimate female friends, who would have taken such care of her at such a distressing time, and with so little promise of reward. Lawrence had his statue now. It would have behooved him to return directly to London with it so that arrangements for his German exhibition could continue.

“Did the parson ever return?” she asked, dragging her eyes up to meet Lawrence’s.

The worry and joy and affection she saw, all bundled up together in his expression, melted her heart. The way he almost reached for her hand, then held back, as if he did not feel he had a right to touch her nearly broke it.

“Silas learned that the parson is away in Winchester, visiting relatives,” he said, clearing his throat and assuming a stronger presentation. Instead of grasping Minnie’s hand and perhaps twining their fingers together and kissing her with heartfelt gratitude that she was still alive, he gave her hand two, quick pats. “A local wise woman has been by a few times in the last few days to visit you and prepare healing teas.”

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