Page 141 of A Winter By the Sea
Emily did her best to console her and kept working on the guidebook.
Whenever Mr. Thomson returned from Woolbrook, she would step into the hall to hear the latest report. The news he carried grew more and more worrisome by the day.
Apparently, the recently arrived Dr. Maton continued to perform more painful cupping and blistering on Prince Edward. Yet despite all this torment, or perhaps exacerbated by it, his fever, headache, and chest pain persisted.
On Thursday Mr. Thomson returned, shoulders slumped, eyes weary, his expression almost desolate.
Seeing his state, Emily put a hand on his back and usheredhim into the parlour and into a comfortable chair near the fireplace.
“Sit.” A few moments later she returned with a steaming cup of tea with sugar and milk. Good for shock.
“Drink.”
He obeyed her.
She pulled a second armchair closer to his and faced him. “Now tell me.”
“I should not. It was awful.”
“Whatever it is, it’s clearly weighing on you. I would share the burden if I could.”
He slowly nodded, gaze lowering to his cup. “After yesterday, there was very little of the duke’s body, even his head, not inflicted with cuts. I stayed with the duchess to translate between her and Dr. Maton, but I could hardly bear to watch.
“Sir Thomas Acland and his wife came to call, but the duke was not equal to visitors. I was asked to speak to them instead. It was a welcome reprieve, I admit.
“Then today, Dr. Maton announced that yet more bleeding was needed. The duke himself wept. Actually wept. Oh, Emily. To see such a strong man brought so low. And his devastated wife. Over and over she laments, ‘My poor Edward,’ and there is nothing I can do for either of them.”
Tears shone in his eyes, and Emily’s filled in sympathy. She took his hand. “It was good of you to try to help.”
“What little help I can offer.”
He swiped his free hand across his eyes. “Considering the severity of the situation, we decided it would be wise to send messages to the duchess’s brother, Prince Leopold, and to the Prince Regent, informing them of the duke’s dangerous illness. Composing letters, at least, was something I could do.”
“And I am sure she appreciated it.”
He nodded. “She did. I wish I could do more.”
A foreign thought crossed her mind, and Emily suggested, “Should we ... maybe ... pray together?”
He squeezed her hand. “Good idea.”
Knees almost touching, they each prayed briefly and then sat in silence for a few moments. Emily raised her head and found Mr. Thomson watching her intently.
He blinked and rose stiffly. “I suppose I should turn in. Tomorrow is going to be another long day.”
The next afternoon, Emily dressed warmly and walked the length of the esplanade to Marsh’s Library and Public Rooms, portfolio containing the completed guidebook pages tucked under her arm.
Seeing her enter, John Marsh rose from his desk and swiftly crossed the room to her, gaze latched on to the portfolio.
“Is that it?” he asked, all but snatching it from her.
She nodded. “It’s only a draft. I know it could be improved, but a fair start, I hope.”
“And in record time.”
“You said you wanted it as soon as possible.”
“Indeed I did. Well done. I look forward to reviewing it. I trust you understand that I will edit the draft as I see fit?”
