The Silk House by Kayte Nunn

Author:Kayte Nunn
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780733643262
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-THREE

March 1769, Oxleigh

‘There is no need for the doctor.’ Patrick Hollander stood in front of his wife regarding her with curiosity but not concern. Her breathing, although shallow, had steadied and her eyelids fluttered like a moth before a lamp. ‘Let us spare that expense for the moment.’

Though her mistress had cause to mention money from time to time, it was the first instance Rowan could remember that her master had shown the slightest concern for their finances. Perhaps things were worse than they appeared?

Patrick reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and withdrew an enamelled snuffbox. He tapped a small amount of the yellowy-brown powder onto his hand and raised it to his nose before sniffing deeply. ‘Caroline is perhaps overtired.’

Rowan was taken aback by his lack of concern, and in any case, how could her mistress possibly be overtired? She had only just risen from her bedchamber, and her days consisted of reading – usually a prayerbook – by the fireside, playing her pianoforte or taking tea with her friends. But Rowan knew her place and so held her tongue, for fear of reprimand or worse. Perhaps Caroline was no stranger to fainting, though Rowan had not seen evidence of it in the months she had been at the merchant’s house. ‘I’ll fetch some water,’ she said, wanting to do something other than stand idly by. As she left the room, she caught sight of Alice, who was as pale as her mistress, and registered the glance that flew between her master and the lady’s maid.

When she returned with the water, her mistress had revived somewhat, her eyes were open and a little colour had returned to her cheeks. ‘Perhaps you can help me to sit up?’ Caroline asked. Alice lifted her mistress as Rowan placed pillows behind her back until she was comfortable. ‘I have a vinaigrette.’ She reached into a pocket in her skirts and produced a pretty little silver box, opened a catch and inhaled. Rowan had seen one of these once before, when the lady of the manor had been overcome by the ordure on the path between the cottages of Inkpen. When she had asked later what it was, her mother had told her that it contained a small sponge that had been soaked in vinegar. Though her mistress grimaced as she inhaled and her eyes watered, it seemed to revive her a little.

‘I am feeling slightly better,’ Caroline said. ‘I confess I did not feel much like eating breakfast earlier, but perhaps some bread now?’

‘Of course,’ said Rowan, taking the vinaigrette from her and placing it on a nearby table. She was relieved to see that her mistress’s eyes had lost the glazed, vacant expression that had so frightened her earlier.

‘Well, if there’s nothing more I can do,’ said Patrick distractedly. ‘I must return to the shop.’

Rowan bit her lip, for she wanted to say that he hadn’t actually done anything to assist his wife. She remembered the look she had seen

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