Page 24 of Refining the Debutante
Maybe Sarah would know a remedy for Miranda’s throat. She pushed back her chair and went to the dish bucket to wash her bowl. When she finished, she quickly wiped her hands dry on her apron, noting a smear of blood. Another knuckle had cracked and was bleeding. Sighing at the thought of more laundry, she slipped away from the kitchen to search for Sarah. Guessing she was still in the library finishing her early-morning chores, Miranda moved in that direction. The clanking of a metal shovel in the coal bucket first alerted Miranda to Sarah’s presence, and sure enough, there she was on her knees next to the fireplace. Her movements were sluggish, and her cheeks blazed with a fierce redness.
Sarah looked up from her position on her knees by the fireplace. “Oh, it’s you. Are you still thinking about the handsome Mr. Roderick?”
“You know I never think of him anymore.”
Sarah’s laugh turned into a coughing spasm.
Miranda took the bucket from her hands as Sarah struggled to catch her breath. “It seems the whole house is coming down with something.” Sarah should have been in bed. Miranda crouched down next to her. “Let me finish your chores.”
“Now, why would you do a thing like that?” Sarah pushed sweaty tendrils of hair back into her cap, her skin pallid.
“Because you need your rest.” Miranda’s resolve hardened.
“So do you,” Sarah said.
Miranda shook her head. “I have a bit of a cold. You, on the other hand, are flushed and weary.” She put her hand to Sarah’s head. “Sarah, good heavens! You are burning up.”
“I have had a fever or two in my days, and I have a strong constitution that always sees me through.”
“Please,” Miranda said, her voice soft and sure. “Letmehelpyouthis time.”
Sarah gave a faint smile, the fatigue lines around her eyes deepening with the gesture. “Oh, very well.”
When Sarah left the library, Miranda bent over and finished dumping the coal for her. She finished Sarah’s chores, along with her own, faster than she thought possible. Mrs. Guttridge glared at her every time she entered the kitchen, and the other servants turned their backs as if she were not even there, but Miranda felt a sense of peace in her decision.
The next morning, Miranda woke in the same gown she had worn the day before, the smudge of blood on her apron still apparent. She had been too tired to change into her nightgown. She voluntarily skipped her glue for breakfast—Mrs. Guttridge had won this battle—as her throat was too sore to attempt it. Despite her throat, she wasn’t coughing, and she had more energy than the day before. She was ready to take on Sarah’s tasks once again, but first she would see how Sarah fared.
At the sight of Sarah in her bed, Miranda’s heart fell into a pit in her stomach. The color in Sarah’s cheeks matched the white-blonde of her hair. She moaned and tossed in her bed covers as if experiencing a nightmare.
“Sarah?” Miranda went to her bedside and reached for her shoulder. Sarah batted Miranda’s hand away without registering who Miranda was. “Don’t worry. I’m going to get you help.”
She pulled back and hurried down the corridor.
“Mrs. Guttridge!” Miranda called out. She ran to the kitchen and found the wrinkly, round woman bent over with pen and paper. “Mrs. Guttridge, Sarah is very ill. She needs a doctor!”
“Humph.” Mrs. Guttridge slapped a menu in front of the cook, ignoring Miranda.
“Please, Mrs. Guttridge!” Miranda said, invoking the obliging word that always worked on Sarah.
“Doctors are too expensive. Tell Sarah she must work or leave us.”
“I’ll ask Lord Aldington, then.”
Mrs. Guttridge chortled. “His Lordship left day before yesterday. Escaped just before the sickness hit, he did.”
“See reason. Sarah is very ill,” Miranda repeated. “She needs help.”
“I have too much to do. You, however, lead a fairly useless life. You help her.”
“I will.” Anguish squeezed Miranda’s heart. She could not lose Sarah, her only ally left in the world. “I will see the apothecary in town.” Even as she said it, she knew it would be impossible to buy medicine without money. She had no pin money left, but she could sell her pearl necklace.
Racing to her room, she dug up the floorboard and pocketed the necklace. She half ran all the way to town, hardly noticing the wind biting at her skin.
If ever she needed God to hear her, it was now. “Dear Father in Heaven, please help Sarah.” She prayed out loud, not ever remembering doing so before. She looked up at the gloomy sky, her voice trembling. “I will commit my life to being better if thou wilt but spare her.”
* * *
“The roof is in terrible shape with all these winds,” Ethan told the local thatcher. “I will pay you extra if you see to the school right away.” He couldn’t risk further damage to the building and supplies.
