Page 38 of Once a Scoundrel

When the tiger hurried out, Mama turned on Polly. “Sheets, girl—go!”

Polly jumped and ran from the room. Then Mama came out to the hall to check the boy, still safely held in Faith’s arms. He had woken up amid all the activity and was now wailing at the top of his lungs.

“Go ahead and scream all you want, little one,” Mama cooed as she took him from Faith. “That means you’re strong and healthy, with no sign of fever. And I mean to keep you that way.” She glanced at the older woman. “You’re Mrs. Bailey, I gather?”

She nodded with bewilderment. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Have you been in this room since Mrs. Halstead came down with the fever?”

“No, ma’am.” She glanced into the room, at the woman lying so fitfully on the bed. “I’ve been keeping the boy clear o’ the fever.”

“Good. Then go downstairs to the kitchen and make up a clear broth.” She handed the toddler to the cook. “When the coach returns, ask Marcus to bring up the broth and John to drive you to the manor house. I want you and the boy to stay there.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The woman hurried away toward the back stairs, murmuring softly to the toddler to try to stop his tears, but his cries continued all the way down the stairs and into the basement.

Then Mama pulled Faith into her arms and hugged her tightly for several long moments, whispering her thanks to God and fate that her own family was healthy, before releasing her and returning to the bedside.

She snatched up the vial of calomel and threw it out the window.

“No more purging,” she announced as she wiped her hands. “And no more leeches.”

“And no more Dr. Howston,” Faith mumbled, arching a brow.

“As I said, no more leeches,” her mother repeated as she reached into the little bag she’d carried with her all the way from Hartsfield, where she kept her medicines and bandages. The same bag that Papa had tried unsuccessfully for years to convince her to abandon, only to finally give in five years ago and buy her a new leather case to replace the old one she’d had since before they’d married. Faith never knew her mother to travel without it, and it was always kept in a special place in the front hall of both Hartsfield Park and Brambly House, ready to be snatched up at a moment’s notice.

Mama withdrew a small jar and a tiny earthenware mug. “Nitrous acid vapor,” she explained as she made up the mixture, still clinging to the hope that Faith would turn away from caring for animals and take up her work with people. “Half an ounce of vitriolic acid, heated.” She held the mug over the lamp on the bedside table. “Add one ounce of powdered niter, a little at a time to the warm acid.”

As she added the second ingredient, red fumes rose from the mug. Then she walked around the room, waving the mug to fill the air with its pungent odor.

Faith coughed and covered her nose.

Mama scrunched up her own nose and held the cup away from her. “It stinks like the dickens, but it will help her breathe more easily.”

Polly scurried into the room with her arms filled with what looked like every sheet from the house’s linen supply, along with a few stolen from the guestrooms for good measure. With Faith and Polly helping, her mother dunked the sheets into the bucket, soaking them with cool water, then spread the wet sheets across Mary’s feverish body.

Mama handed the empty bucket to Polly. “Go fetch more water.”

Polly left to do as ordered, and Faith wondered if the little maid now reconsidered her gratitude at their arrival.

But her mother’s attentions seemed to be helping. Beneath the layer of wet sheets, Mary ceased her tossing and lay still. Her lips stopped moving, and a long sigh poured from her.

“Will she be all right?” Faith whispered.

“We’ll know in the morning. We’ll keep her cool tonight and try to break the fever,” Mama said quietly as she sat on the chair beside the bed and placed a wet cloth over Mary’s forehead. “Wet sheets first, then ice if we must. We’ll also try to get her to drink some broth to keep her strength up if she becomes lucid.”

“And...?” Faith asked, afraid to put voice to her deepest fears.And if she doesn’t become lucid? If the fever doesn’t break?

“And we pray.”