The air hit me first, an acrid mixture of blood, herbs and impending death. Then came the raspy sound of wheezing, confirming the specter of winter fever.
A fire danced in the hearth, its soft yellow light illuminating the simple furnishings. I followed Amelia past a washstand and basin to the bed’s end that jutted from the far wall into the center of the room. A young man lay sleeping on the mattress, his thin form draped in a white linen sheet. Even from several feet away, I could see the fever burning in his fair skin.
Amelia sat beside him, and gently cradled his hand in hers. “I’m here, Thomas, and I’ve brought someone to help just like I promised.”
Thomas didn’t stir. Several candles flickered on tables that stood on either side of the bed, their surfaces littered with a collection of bottles and small wooden bowls. Walking to one of the tables, I glanced into the bowls. Two held the residue of what appeared to be chest plasters. Another glistened with a dark, thick liquid—blood, no doubt taken from Thomas judging by the various cuts in his arms.
I picked up one of the glass bottles and read the label. Laudanum. So the doctors had given up hope. I didn’t blame them. From the sound of Thomas’s labored breathing, the illness had progressed far beyond their skills. It was an act of mercy to relieve his pain in what would have been his final hours.
Under Amelia’s watchful eye, I folded back the sheet and placed a hand on Thomas’s bare chest. The skin seethed with heat over the layers of muscle and bone that strained to draw breath. To be sure, I could rid his body of the infection in short order, but not without risk of discovery. This would be slow work tonight, and if my plan worked, no one would be the wiser.
“The doctors have confirmed lung fever,” Amelia said. “They have tried every known remedy in England to rid him of the ulcer, but nothing has worked.” She hesitated for a moment. “Tell me straight, Miss Kilbrid, now that you have seen him, is there any hope of recovery?”
Her bravery impressed me, as I had observed over the years that only the strongest of souls insisted on the truth when the truth may not be to their liking. With grudging respect, I reached into the pocket of my cloak and withdrew the small glass bottle I had concealed earlier. “There is always hope,” I said, holding the bottle up for her inspection. “I suspected a type of winter fever, and brought a medicine that has been used with great success in the Colonies.”
Amelia fastened her eyes on the amber liquid. “What is it?”
In truth, it was nothing more than violet water, a simple decoction used to treat a variety of ailments from insect bites to insomnia. Or, in my case, a favorite perfume and mouth rinse. “Are you familiar with the Indians in the New World?”
She nodded. “I’ve heard stories.”
“This is a gift from the chief’s son, Teme.” Knowing my fondness for the scent, Teme had brought a basket of the small purple flowers to Brighmor last spring on one of his last visits to my father. The decoction would do nothing for Thomas, but I liked sticking to the facts whenever possible.
“How does it work?” Amelia asked, now looking at the bottle as though it contained mystical powers.
“One teaspoon should be administered every hour until the fever has broken and the breathing returned to normal.” I pursed my mouth and looked at Thomas. “The ulcer sounds deep in his lungs, so we should also apply a poultice to his chest. Can you ask the maid to make something up? Either mustard seed or chopped onion will work. Just make sure it is warm enough to draw out the toxins.”
“I’ll do it at once.” Hope lit Amelia’s face as she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the young man’s cheek. “Hold on, Tommy,” she murmured. “Miss Kilbrid will have you feeling better in no time.”
I waited until her skirts disappeared from view. Then setting the bottle aside, I urged a small fire to life right behind my ribcage. “Well, Thomas,” I said, when the first bit of warmth reached my fingertips. “It seems we are both in good fortune tonight.”
*
Morning arrived like a decrepit old woman, on feeble legs and shrouded in a thick gray shawl. Amelia and I had sat together through the night, keeping a silent vigil as we changed the poultice and administered teaspoons of violet water. With each hour, Thomas grew stronger, fed by the faintest trickle of power that slowly broke the fever and healed his damaged lungs. He had awakened for short periods of time, but now slept peacefully, undisturbed by the presence of two ladies slumped over on either side of the mattress
Yawning, I stood and stretched the soreness from my back, eager for my own bed. The movement woke Amelia, who lifted her head from the mattress and looked at me with bleary blue eyes. “Is it time for another dose?”