“A doctor?” Faith said, her voice rising. “How does he call himself that?”
“He’s the best the eighteenth century has,” Amy said calmly. “Faith, I know what it is to have culture shock. I’ve been here for over a year and some of the things that go on still stun me, but you have to remember that you and I and Zoë have the benefit of a couple hundred years of learning. Not that we’re better than they are. I like their fresh food and handmade items.”
She quit talking and pulled Faith closer to her. “Tell me what you saw.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with him, whether he has cancer or TB or maybe just a food allergy, but I know that no matter what his illness is, no human being should be treated like that.” She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “The entire backside of him is covered in bedsores, and he has bug bites all over him.”
“Bedbugs and fleas,” Amy said, taking her arm down from around Faith. “I know them well. When I got here I made them burn all the feathers in the mattresses and wash all the linens in lye soap. I made them take scrub brushes and scour the bedrooms. The bugs and fleas are still a problem but much less of one now.”
“You didn’t touch his room,” Faith said and there was accusation in her voice.
Amy didn’t take offense. “No. I was told by Tristan and Beth that their uncle was under the care of the doctor and I wasn’t to do anything to him or his room. All I do is prepare his food.”
“Do you know what she feeds him?”
“What we eat,” Amy said. “I oversee the trays she takes to him. He gets the best that my kitchen makes.”
“Then she eats it herself,” Faith snapped. “William is given only milk, and a bowl of bread mixed with milk. Sometimes he gets beef broth.”
“But I have made special, soft things for him,” Amy said. “Dr. Gallagher told me that William’s teeth are bad and that I should give him only soft food. I have personally mashed peas and made him soups with every vegetable ground up.”
“He doesn’t get the food,” Faith said. She put her hands over her face. “Amy, he is a skeleton. I don’t know how he’s alive. He’s malnourished, and I’m not sure, but I think he’s losing his teeth due to scurvy.”
“Scurvy!” Amy said in disbelief. It was a disease caused by the lack of vitamin C.
They were silent for a moment, then Amy said, “What do you need to take care of him properly? Other than to get rid of that woman, that is?”
Faith took a breath. “He must be removed from that room. If there were a way to do it, I’d say burn the place down. It’s riddled with fleas and bedbugs.”
“Trust me on this, but lye soap is as harsh as a fire. My kingdom for rubber gloves!”
“I need to take him someplace where there is sunlight and warmth. He’s a modest man and I don’t think he’ll want people to see him as he is, but he needs to get outside.”
“I’ll have no trouble getting you anything you want. Tristan loves his uncle very much. The stories he tells about how his uncle used to ride with him and go fishing! I think he was more of a father to Tristan than his own father was.”
“Yet Tristan leaves the man in the hands of a quack like that doctor.”
“I’m glad that in our modern world we no longer trust doctors so completely that we allow bad things to happen to our loved ones.”
“Point taken,” Faith said. “Sorry.”
“I feel this is my fault,” Amy said. “If I’d—”
“What?” Faith said. “Taken on more responsibility than a morose, brooding earl and his neglected sister? Not to mention this whole estate. When would you have had time to take care of an ailing man?”
“True,” Amy said, “but I should have done something.”
Faith looked at her. “If this so-called doctor has been with the family for a long time, then I guess he’s the one who delivered Tristan’s wife of her first child.”
“Yes,” Amy said, blinking. “He did.”
“And she died,” Faith said, her jaw clenched. “And no doubt she died of childbirth fever, which is caused by filthy hands and going from one delivery to the next without so much as washing.”
Amy put her hand to her mouth. “Tristan told me that he thought his wife died because the doctor came so late. He’d been in the village delivering some woman of twins.”
“Did they live?”
“No,” Amy said, looking at Faith. “All three of them died, plus Tristan’s wife and child. He calls it the Night of Death.”
“More likely it was a night when the doctor didn’t wash his hands before delivering the babies. Why should he when birthing is such a messy, dirty job anyway? Why bother washing your hands when you’re just going to get them dirty again?”
“Okay,” Amy said slowly, “tell me what you need for William. I’ll take care of the doctor and that nurse. I’ve always disliked her anyway, but she’s supposed to be the best in the county.”
“Where can I take him?” Faith asked. “It needs to be warm, sunny, and private.”
“I don’t know,” Amy began, then her eyes brightened. “The old orangery.”
“An orangery?” Faith asked. “I didn’t see one in the kitchen garden.”
“It’s not there. The largest greenhouse has some orange trees, but the old orangery is intact. It had some glass panes missing, but I had them replaced with boards to keep out the rain and animals. It has a woodstove at each end. The problem is that the place hasn’t been used in a while and it’s dirty.”
“It’s at the old house, isn’t it?” Faith said as she stood up. “Beth told me about the place. Is the house medieval?”
“Shakespeare could have lived in it. It’s all half-timbered and plastered.”
“But Tristan has cows in it,” Faith said in disgust.
“I’ll have you know that that house is number one hundred and thirty-seven on my list of things to take care of around here.” She was smiling.
“I’ll need a bathtub,” Faith said, her eyes with a faraway look. “Please tell me that you have such a thing.”
“Yup. A nice big one made of tin. The only problem is that it has to be filled and emptied by hand.”
“Can I get some help?”
“Sure. Tristan owns every house in the village. They all work for him in one capacity or another.”
Faith smiled. “There were men before machines. I’ll need towels, clean sheets, and personal cleaning materials. Please tell me that you have soap and shampoo that aren’t made with lye.”
“Wait until you see this stuff that Beth makes. She has recipes from her great-great-et-cetera-grandmother and it’s heavenly. I’ll get her to send some over.”
“Yes, please send it. But don’t let Beth come until I’ve had a few days alone with him. And speaking of an orangery, do you have any citrus fruit?”
“Lemons and limes, and I’ll get Tristan to send someone to Southampton to get some oranges. They come in on the ships that dock there, then they’re sent to London. But I like to cut out the middleman.”
Faith laughed. “How did that man survive before you came along?”
“I really don’t know.”
“I’ll need some straws too,” Faith said. “You don’t by chance have any nice, clean plastic straws, do you?” When Amy didn’t answer, just gave her an odd look, she said, “What?”
“Straws?” Amy said. “I’m not a historian, but I would imagine that the original straws came from the barn.”
“Barn?” Faith said. “Straw. I get it.” She laughed.
Amy put her arm through Faith’s. “Feel better now?”
“Much. How far away is this orangery? Is it possible that William could be carried there? I’m afraid that horses or a wagon might be too rough and will take his fragile skin off.”
“Yes, there’s someone here who will be glad to carry William anywhere. And I’ll see that you have as much help as you need,” Amy said. “Now I better get back to the kitchen or we’ll have
no dinner. The orangery is right down that path. Why don’t you go on ahead and I’ll send some women to start cleaning?”
“And when it’s done, you’ll send William?” Faith asked.
“Yes,” Amy said, studying her. “You know, you look younger than you did yesterday.”
“I have a purpose here,” she said. “I was afraid that—”
“That I’d dragged you and Zoë here for my own selfish reasons and that you’d have nothing to do?”
“More or less,” Faith said as she started walking backward. “Don’t forget the bathtub and I’ll need lots of hot water. And soft soap,” she said louder as she got farther away.
“I won’t forget anything,” Amy called back.
“I will,” Faith shouted. “I’m going to try to forget a lot of things.” Turning, she started running down the path. She made a detour to run through the kitchen garden. Based on what she’d heard so far, she was sure that everyone in the garden knew what she was doing. Yesterday she hadn’t liked that idea, but today their nosiness made her feel as though she were part of an extended family. She ran straight through to the herb area and grabbed an armful of mallow, and another of lemon verbena. She’d put the mallow in the tub as it was good for rashes and boils. The lemon verbena was just to make the room smell good.
As she left, a stout man with gray at his temples raised his hand to her. She guessed he was the head gardener and he was letting her know that what she had picked were good choices.
By the time she saw the chimney stacks of the old house, she was out of breath but feeling wonderful. The house was just as Amy had described, as though William Shakespeare had lived in it, with its half-timbered upstairs and its plastered lower floor. She could imagine Queen Elizabeth walking in front of the house, a half-dozen beautifully dressed courtiers behind her.
Her illusion was ruined when she saw a cow saunter out the front door. “I don’t have time to worry about that now,” she said as she looked for the orangery.
She found the beautiful old glasshouse in what had once been the walled kitchen garden. It was half the size of the new garden, barely over an acre, but Faith could imagine what it had once been. She could see the remnants of brick pathways, could see untrimmed box hedges, and there were herbs along one wall. They were so old that their centers had died out. A few fruit trees, unpruned, but still alive, were espaliered against the walls.
At the far end was the orangery, where the precious orange trees had once grown. Now it stood forlorn and unused, some of the glass on the end wall replaced with slabs of wood.
The door was ajar and she had to pull hard to get it open. Inside, it was dusty and dirty, but the stone floor was good and there was a woodstove at each end of the long, shallow building. Old, dry vines were at one end of the room. Grapevines, she thought, but they looked as though they’d been dead for a long time. Outside, at the other end, fruit trees that had once been kept pruned were now wild, with their branches spreading out over the glass of the orangery, filtering the sunlight inside. The branches let in the warmth and light but not the glare.
She would put a bed for William at one end, close to the stove, and a bed for herself at the other end, under the old vine. The truth was that she’d like to get away from the main house, which had so many people in it that a person was never alone. And she’d like to have her own bed.
“You plannin’ to live in here?” came a woman’s voice, and Faith turned to see three women with buckets in their hands.
“I’m going to look after Mr. William in here,” she said.
The women looked at her as though she were daft. “But, miss, he’s dyin’.”
“Maybe so, but he’ll die clean. Can you tell me where there’s a water supply near here? And where’s the…The…uh?”
They understood her well enough, and showed her where the rain barrels were. The water collected from the walls was funneled into big barrels and Faith saw that she had an abundant supply. True, she had to carry it in buckets, but it was better than nothing.
There was an outhouse nearby. She was learning what she’d seen when she’d visited Monticello, that there were outhouses placed at frequent intervals throughout the garden. “Easier than putting in a septic tank,” she mumbled.
It took nearly four hours to get the orangery in shape. Amy had been as good as her word and she’d sent eight people to help Faith get the place ready. After the women spent two hours scrubbing, men arrived with a wagonload of furniture and clean bedding. As Faith told the men where to put the beds and four cabinets, she couldn’t help asking about the nurse.
“Did Amy let Mr. William’s nurse go?” she asked as casually as she could manage.
When all the women stopped cleaning the glass and looked at the men expectantly, she knew they were as eager to hear what had happened as she was. One of the men turned out to be a good storyteller and he reveled in telling the juicy gossip about the way Amy had thrown the woman out.
“His lordship heard the ruckus,” the man said, “and he went running. He thought the house was on fire. When he saw it was just Miss Amy he tried to tiptoe out of the place. He didn’t want to get caught in the middle of it.”
The man took a breath for emphasis. He liked having an audience. “But the nurse was having none of it. She saw him and demanded that he tell Miss Amy that she was to stay. She said that the woman with the red hair—beggin’ your pardon, ma’am—was a hussy and not fit to take care of a gentleman like Mr. William. She said you had other plans for the man than just gettin’ him well.”
“What other plans could I have?” Faith asked.
“Marriage,” the man said, and the women nodded.
Faith laughed, but the others kept looking at her in question. “I just want to make the man comfortable,” she said. “So what happened next?”
“His lordship took Miss Amy’s side and the nurse was sent back to town in a wagon. Now Miss Amy is tearin’ out Mr. William’s room.”
“And what has she done with Mr. William?”
“Thomas is carryin’ him here now,” the man said.
“Then let’s get this finished,” Faith said. “Come on, we don’t have much time. When you get the furniture in I need enough hot water to fill that tub.”
“It’s on the wagon,” the man said. “You plannin’ to take a bath?”
“No, I’m going to bathe Mr. William.”
She ignored the stares and the mumbles of “It’ll kill him for sure to put him in a bath,” and went about telling the men where they were to put the beds. She guessed it was odd that she was moving a sick man out of the house and into a dilapidated old greenhouse, but she wanted William to have fresh air and sunshine.
She hustled the workers so much that when a huge man arrived, a frail, emaciated William in his arms, Faith was ready for him. “You may leave now,” she said to the workers. When they hesitated, she repeated herself. “I think Amy has dinner ready.” She didn’t know if it was the mention of Amy or the food, but they went scurrying.
As they went out the door, she stepped aside so the enormous man could enter. He was holding William as though he weighed no more than a dishcloth.
“William,” Faith said softly to the man. His eyes were closed and she could hardly see his breath move his chest under the sheet thrown over him.
He opened his eyes a bit. “It is my angel,” he said, but she could see that the effort to speak was almost too much for him.
“I want you to listen to me. You’re too dirty to put in the bed, so I’m going to put you in a tub of warm water and give you a bath. Do you think you can handle that?”
William opened his eyes and looked up at the man holding him. “A woman to bathe me,” he said. “Do such pleasures exist?”
“I think it will not be the first time,” the man said, and Faith saw that the two men knew each other well.
“Can you help me undress him?” she asked the big man.
“He has done it often enough,” Will
iam whispered. “Thomas has been my companion since I was a child.”
“Come on, then,” Faith said, as she walked toward the filled tub. “Before the water gets cold.” She put her hand in it to test it, then twisted the mallow to release its oils and tossed the cuttings into the water.
She watched as Thomas dropped the sheet off William’s thin body and exposed him in his nightshirt. She could see the sores on his legs.
There was a moment of embarrassment when Thomas removed the nightshirt and William was naked, but that was gone when Faith saw the state of his body in the daylight.
When William’s body first touched the water, he cried out in pain, but he bit on his lip to suppress his cries. Faith’s already high estimation of the man rose even more.
It took a few minutes, but the water stopped hurting William’s raw skin and began to soothe it. Faith started to tell Thomas that he could leave but she didn’t. She didn’t know the story, but she had an idea that the man loved William but had been turned away by the doctor. Now that they were in contact again, Thomas wasn’t going to let William out of his sight.
While she’d been cleaning and directing the others, Faith had tried to get her revulsion of William’s body under control. But as she looked at his arms and face, and in the clear water of the tub she could see the full extent of the damage, her stomach again lurched. She could see his heart beat under ribs that she could count.
“I fear I am not a manly figure,” William said, looking up at her.
“Tell me about when you first got ill,” she said. She picked up a paper-wrapped bar of soap that Amy had sent and smelled of it.
“Is that from Beth?” he asked.
“It is and it smells wonderful.” Faith held the soap under his nose and he closed his eyes at the fragrance.
“It’s from the women in my family and we do not know how old it is,” he said. “Beth has the book of receipts. Tristan’s mother never made the soap, but then she hated my mother.”
“Her mother-in-law,” Faith said through her teeth. “I can understand that.”
“Do you have a mother-in-law?”