Page 76 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
Looking down at the floor, she said, “Thank you.”
“I’ll come every day, then, and let you know about Elliot,” Ellice said. “Would it be all right?”
As she studied the other girl, Hannah realized Ellice was feeling as lonely and as afraid as the rest of them. She at least had some reassurance, having had the disease a dozen years earlier and survived. The chances of her contracting smallpox again was low, if not impossible.
Ellice must be worrying about her own health as well as her mother’s. Also, she was grieving for her sister. Eudora had been the stronger personality in this house.
The girl needed something to do, some way to feel valuable.
“I’d appreciate knowing about Elliot,” Hannah said. “It would save me the trip to the nursery.”
Slowly, she closed the door, leaned back against it and studied the bedroom. When the earl died, his mother had taken his suite of rooms, leaving the countess only this small chamber. Hannah was heartily sick of the place.
Thanks to the countess’s potpourri, all she could smell was the scent of roses. She’d opened the windows, but there wasn’t a breeze, only hot air. The room felt even more closed-in and suffocating. Hay had been put down on the street to muffle the sound of carriage wheels. But with so many black wreaths in this part of the city, there weren’t many visitors. Those who didn’t have to come to this affluent area stayed away. Even the residents remained inside their houses.
Still, she was better off than a great many people, even her own family. She wasn’t sick, she had a roof over her head, and a living.
For now, she was a nurse. Virginia was weak, so she had become her guardian against the staff, all of whom were acting like children crying for their mother. She’d also stood between Virginia and Paul Henderson, whose eyes lit in a strange way when he talked of the countess. Her skin crawled in the man’s presence.
Virginia would have to get well. The countess was going to have to protect herself, not only against enemies inside this house, but those outside as well.
Or did she think to escape the consequences of her actions?
Life had never been that simple.
Chapter 20
The hired carriage had seen rough use. The sagging leather seats needed to be reupholstered. Two of the window shades were missing, and the floor bore some stains he didn’t want to contemplate. But the driver had been available, and for a sum probably twice the amount he should have paid, was willing to cross London.
Half the country had moved to the city it seemed, and the result was a congestion of people, carriages, and horses.
When the vehicle abruptly stopped in the middle of the street, Macrath waited, thinking traffic delayed them. When they didn’t move, he opened the door and descended the steps.
“What’s wrong?” he asked the driver.
“There’s hay in the street,” the man said. “Someone be sick there. And there’s a black wreath.” With the handle of his whip, he pointed to a door across the street.
“People get ill all the time,” he said.
“Not like this. I’ll not get smallpox no matter how high the fare.”
“Smallpox?”
The man gazed at him with narrowed eyes. “You’re new to London, then? You’ve not heard of the sickness?”
He shook his head.
“Aye, rich and poor alike this year. It looks like one of the rich ones got it this time.”
He paid the man the remainder of the fare. “I’ll walk the rest of the way,” he said.
“Then God go with you, and I hope the errand isn’t worth the death of you.”
He didn’t bother telling the man he’d had cowpox as a boy, and such a thing seemed to carry with it some sort of immunity.
The next block was even more worrisome, if he judged his surroundings by the driver’s fear. Three of the town houses were decorated with black wreaths.
He stood at the base of the steps leading up to the address his solicitor had given him. This door, too, held a wreath. Dread was the father of the fear traveling from his feet to lodge in his throat. Someone had died in this house.
