Page 70 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
She nodded. “What if he becomes ill?” she asked, giving voice to her worst fear.
“Then we’ll have to be as prayerful as we can, Virginia. Starting now, I think. Say a prayer for Eudora.”
She turned away from Eudora’s bedroom, but not before she heard Enid’s softly spoken words. “And a prayer for the rest of us, too.”
Virginia took the stairs to the nursery, her heart pounding so rapidly she thought she might faint. Standing at the door, she called out to Mary, but when the girl would have opened the nursery door, Virginia held onto the latch.
“Do not open the door to anyone, Mary,” she said. “Not even me.”
She was giving the care of her child over to another child, but she had no other choice.
After she explained the situation to the young girl, she said, “Every day, Hannah will come and ask about Elliot.” She placed her hand flat against the door. “Tell her if you need anything. I’ll arrange for your meals to be placed on a table in the hallway.”
They would have to get a wet nurse, a woman from outside the house. Someone safe, who could feed her son.
Pressing her hand against her aching breasts, she gave Mary further instructions, all the while distracted by a growing fear.
Maybe Enid was wrong. Maybe she’d been mistaken. A hope that lasted until the doctor attended Eudora.
A week later he returned to the house to treat Enid, but not for smallpox.
Eudora, lovely and talented Eudora, had died of pneumonia, and Enid was inconsolable. At her shocking and rapid death, Enid had simply collapsed in on herself, retreating to her bedroom much like Lawrence had, leaving instructions she was not to be disturbed.
When a scullery maid died four days after that, her family took possession of the body, the transfer done at midnight at the rear of the town house. She was a sweet girl, with a gap-toothed smile and pleasant disposition.
Virginia had been left the task of conveying their condolences to the parents. A difficult task when she could not seem to keep from crying herself. Grief over Eudora and fear for Elliot made her weep incessantly.
After three more days she thought she might be as exempt from illness as Enid, Ellice, and the rest of the staff seemed to be. When they got word that Albert, too, had died, one mystery was solved: how they had been exposed to the disease in the first place. The majordomo’s family had been infected, and he’d unknowingly carried it to the town house.
Every day, Hannah relayed news of Elliot’s health. Every day, she sat in her bedroom, afraid to be with the other people for fear she would either catch the disease or pass it on.
One morning she awoke with an ache in her temples and a feeling of growing discomfort, like she was coming down with a cold. The small of her back hurt, reminding her of when she was laboring with Elliot.
When the maid delivered her breakfast tea, she kept her outside.
“Are you ill, your ladyship?” the girl asked, her voice fearful.
Virginia was panicked as she stood on the other side of the door, leaning her forehead against the panel.
“Yes,” she said, “I’m ill.”
Would the maids refuse to serve her? In all honesty, she couldn’t blame them.
She stared down at the palms of her hands. A painful rash had appeared there this morning and on the soles of her feet. Her mouth was sore, her tongue swollen, and the taste at the back of her throat was something she’d never experienced before, almost like she’d eaten something made of metal.
Five minutes later Hannah entered her room.
“You should leave,” she told her.
Hannah only shook her head. “I’ll stay, your ladyship.”
She was so grateful that tears sprang to her eyes. Above all, she didn’t want to be alone when she died.
Hannah coaxed her back to bed and closed the draperies. She brought in several brown glass bottles, set them on the chest, and started unrolling long strips of material.
“What are those?” Virginia asked. “They look like bandages.”
“You’ll have some pustules in the worst of it,” Hannah said, matter-of-factly. “You’ll want to scratch at them, but if you do, you’ll scar.”
