The Secrets of Hartwood Hall by Katie Lumsden

Author:Katie Lumsden [Lumsden, Katie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2023-02-27T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Within the hour, Mrs. Pulley had left for the village to try to find a nurse. I sent with her a note to pass to Mrs. Welling, explaining the trouble up at Hartwood Hall, and asking for her assistance if she knew anyone who might help.

In Mrs. Pulley’s absence, Stevens took charge, and he and Paul began to carry chairs upstairs to bar the west-wing corridor. I was left with Mrs. Eversham.

She seemed scarcely capable of standing, let alone thinking clearly. I all but forced her into the chair in her study, made her drink a cup of tea. I tried to reassure her—and myself—that many children survived measles, that both Mrs. Pulley and Lacey had come through it, that as the doctor had said, we had every reason to hope. There was no immediate cause for alarm.

“Can I do anything?” I asked. “Might I move your things for you to one of the spare rooms upstairs? What do you need?”

She seemed to catch my kind meaning—that if I did it for her, she would not have to pass by the sickrooms, be so close to Louis and unable to reach him. Mechanically she listed belongings: a few dresses and undergarments, her hand mirror and comb, the book on her bedside table. She trailed off after a few items. “I am sure that will do, Mrs. Lennox.” She looked up at me, smiled weakly. “Thank you.”

Upstairs, the corridor already smelled of the sickroom. I could taste the vinegar in the air; the harsh scent of it almost masked the smell of bile. Stevens and Paul had lined chairs up against each other, leaving only a small gap to act as a path for the doctor and whatever nurse we might manage to find. Through the open door of the nearest room, I saw an old, chipped washstand, a few hard bars of soap lined up along the top.

There was a pouch of tobacco left on one of the chairs, and I stuffed up my nose with it—it was uncomfortable, the smell intoxicatingly unpleasant. I must get this task over with as soon as I could.

I passed down the corridor quickly. The other doors were closed, but I knew where Louis slept, knew which room Susan had been placed in. I felt queasy as I passed those barred doors, and then I heard a cough, distinct and hoarse. I had a sudden image of him, his face worn, his eyes bleary. Louis in pain, Louis suffering. I thought of the scar on his back, of what he had said about his father, his sister. What a life this child must have led. So full of loss and pain.

I pushed that thought away. He would be well again soon—of course he would. And as for Susan—well, I did not know what I felt about her illness. If she was unwell in bed, out of sight, then I was safe. No more questions, no more threats. And now that she had

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