The Governess of White Stag Hall

End

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The night seemed to go on forever. The illness which took Sir Ryan had come and gone over the winter only to return with fierceness in the last week. He had taken to his bed ill early Monday evening and when the sweats and the fever came, Edith sent a servant for the physician.

She sat at her father's bedside, wiping the sweat from his brow and dragging a cool cloth down his neck. Her brother, Jack, and their father's valet had already undressed him as much as they could manage, but still his skin was hot, as if he were blistering in the sun. It was difficult to get him to take water, as he wanted only to sleep and he complained of being cold, despite how the heat and sweat poured from him.

It was already very late when the doctor finally came. He was a youngish man and he flitted nervously about, feeling Sir Ryan's forehead, taking his pulse, and murmuring to himself as Edith tried to explain what had been happening.

Edith was eventually dismissed from the room altogether as the doctor began a round of bloodletting and laudanum. She paced the darkened corridors of the comfortable terraced flat for some minutes before giving up hope that they would finish any time soon. Pulling her shawl tight around herself, she wandered back downstairs. She knew the housekeeper was still awake, tending to a handful of remaining chores, and went to seek her out.

"Edith!" the older woman said, reaching out to take Edith's hand as she entered the kitchen. "How's your father? I heard the doctor arrive."

Aggie was more family than she was a servant. Edith had known the woman virtually all of her life and even when they were forced by their financial circumstances to move to the city, she'd gone with them without a second thought. The woman was a workhorse, with the tenacity and stubbornness of a mule. If not for her, the entire household would have collapsed ages ago.

"The doctor hasn't told me anything yet." Edith squeezed the housekeeper's hand and then took a seat at the work table in the middle of the kitchen. "How is Grace?"

Aggie waved her hand and turned back to the wood stove to finish banking the ashes. "She had a little supper, but couldn't bring herself to eat much with all that was happening. She was worried terribly about her father, so we waited together in the drawing room for a while, but I eventually sent her to bed." She searched Edith's face, her brow knitted tightly in concern as she straightened and wiped her sooty hands off on her apron. "What about you? Do you need anything, dear?"

Edith shook her head. "No," she said. "You should head to bed, Aggie. You need sleep, the same as anyone. The rest of the chores can wait."

Aggie looked doubtful, but didn't argue and nodded: "Wake me if something happens."

Edith nodded and got to her feet. They carried her to the front of the house, to the parlor. The room was comfortable and familiar, lit only by the light of the streetlamp that poured in through the front window and she went to stand in front of the glass, letting her head rest against the paneled wall. The view of the dirty street wasn't anything to boast about, especially with the gray drizzle coming down and soaking everything. She didn't care for London. She never had, not in all of her years of living there. It was noisy and filthy, with the too-rich and the starving poor packed shoulder-to-shoulder.

It was almost three in the morning and Edith was tired. Her eyes burned and her muscles ached. The boning of her corset was beginning to chafe after a day of wear and she badly wanted to sit and rest her aching everything, but she knew that she would tip over on the spot if she did. Still, it was its own sort of blessing. She was worried for her father, of course, but far too tired to fret and agonize. Her brother was with him, the doctor had come, and her sister was sleeping. Things were situated as well as they could be in the moment