Page 18 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
He forced himself to draw in a huge breath and refocus on what was important here and now. “The Bradshaws. They need water—water they can safely drink.”
Lucilla shook herself, as if shaking free of similarly vengeful thoughts. “Yes. And they need it urgently. I can’t give them any tisanes to ease them, not without water to brew those tisanes.” She looked at him. “Which farm is closest?”
“The Forresters’. I’ll ride there—they’ll help.”
She nodded. “If I boil the water, I can use it to wash and clean. The youngest two—I can make them more comfortable, at least.”
He hesitated. “I’ll need to borrow the Forresters’ dray to bring back any decent amount of water. I’ll be an hour, possibly two. Will you be all right here on your own?”
She looked at him as if he was speaking in tongues, then she waved him away. “Go. I’ll be perfectly all right.”
He went.
Lucilla finished reassembling the second lamp. She lit the wick, turned it low, then left the lamp on the table beside the sofa. After checking Joy Burns and finding little change, she took the other lamp and explored the various small rooms off the kitchen and the wash house. After deciding what she could use for each task, she set to work hauling in water from the well, filling the copper, then building the fire beneath it. Once the water had boiled for ten full minutes, she doused the fire, ladled water into a pail, then set the lid back on the copper and got to work.
She scrubbed floors and replaced the used buckets. Despite the chill in the night air, she cracked open several windows, encouraging the cool drafts to clear the stench of sickness from the house.
That done, she fetched more of the boiled water, still warm, and used damp cloths to wash her patients’ hands and faces, all the while being especially careful not to allow any of the water, boiled or not, to touch anyone’s lips.
The youngest girl and younger boy awoke and remained awake, but all the others were still drifting in and out of sleep. Remembering the small canteen attached to her saddle, Lucilla wrapped a knitted shawl she found in the Bradshaws’ room about her head and shoulders, and went out to the barn to find it.
She was pleased to discover the canteen was full of pure, fresh water from Casphairn Manor’s well. She took a small sip, then returned to the house and poured small amounts of water into two glasses she took from the very back of a shelf. Those she gave to the girl and boy, then she found another glass, one she deemed safe enough, and took some water to Bradshaw.
He roused enough to drink it down, but immediately fell back, exhausted just by doing that much. Lucilla watched sleep reclaim him. She checked on his wife, then left them both sleeping.
Returning to the main room, she pulled a chair up to the sofa, sat, and, taking Joy Burns’s hand in hers, kept vigil.
She’d done this before, with Algaria, with others, and knew she would do so many more times in her life—holding the hand of the dying as they approached the veil.
The moments ticked past, then she bent her head and prayed.
The small clock on the mantelpiece chimed twelve times before she heard the distant rumble of an approaching dray.
She walked out to discover that Thomas had brought two full barrels of water.
He drew the rear of the dray as close as he could to the kitchen door. Stepping down, he nodded at the barrels. “The Forresters will be here as early as they can. Until then, we’ll have to work with the barrels where they are—I can’t lift them by myself.”
“No matter,” she said. “It’s untainted water, and that’s what counts.”
The next hours were busy. Thomas unhitched the Forresters’ horse and led it to the stable, while she set two different tisanes brewing. While they steeped, then cooled, she rinsed and dried glasses and bowls, using the precious untainted water sparingly. She didn’t know what had been put into the Bradshaws’ well, but boiling alone might not negate its effect; she wasn’t taking any chances.
Thomas had come back inside, looked in on the Bradshaws, and was sitting silently beside Joy when Lucilla carried a tray laden with doses of her tisane into the main room.
He rose and went to take the tray. Together, they went into each room and woke each Bradshaw. He helped them to sit while Lucilla helped them drink. Thomas was relieved by the improvement in the youngest children; color had started to return to their cheeks and they moved, albeit carefully, on their own.
“They should all be like that by morning,” Lucilla told him.
All the Bradshaws roused enough to recognize both him and her, which was also reassuring. When Mrs. Bradshaw, the weakest and still most affected, struggled to thank them, he hushed her. “Just rest and get better—that’s the best reward you can give us.”
Lucilla’s lips gently curved. She gave him an approving nod, then she lifted the tray with the empty glasses and led the way out of the room.
He picked up the lamp and followed. Pausing in the doorway, he glanced back, took in the clean floor, the clean, unused buckets left in case of need, and the other signs of order restored and neatness reimposed.
After closing the door, he followed Lucilla along the corridor. He hadn’t expected her—the granddaughter of a duchess—to scrub soiled floors in a farmhouse, yet the floors had been washed and scrubbed, and she had been the only able body there. Then again, he’d seen how she had worked when they’d been stranded in a crofter’s cottage ten years before, and she’d helped deliver the crofter’s babe. Granddaughter of a duchess she might be, but she’d never shied from doing whatever was required to aid those who needed and asked for her help.
Ducking under the low lintel of the archway, he stepped into the dimness of the main room. In the glow cast by the lamp set beside the sofa, he saw her, still carrying the tray, peering at the face of the small clock on the mantelpiece.
“We’ll need to dose them again at about four o’clock.”
