Everything in Bessie's room was grey; from the eerie half-light cast by the drapes covering the window, to the face of the shrivelled invalid lying in the enormous four-poster bed. Grey specks had also appeared in the hair of the familiar figure standing over Bessie since the last time Catherine had seen him. The hushed silence dominated the atmosphere in here, so prominent that Catherine felt as though she should not break it by speaking. But break it she must; she had to know.
"Dr Lovell," Catherine hissed, as quietly as she could
The greying man turned to face her, and Catherine's heart sank as she noted how his brow was creased with worry.
Dr Lovell had been an all-too-regular visitor at Donbroke over the years. It was he who had delivered little baby Elizabeth, and he who had made the declaration most dreaded by all new parents: that their new baby was weak and feeble, and not healthy. Naturally Mrs Taylor had not taken this news well – Catherine seemed to remember the smelling-salts being required on that particular occasion – and although the family desperately hoped that Dr Lovell was mistaken in his judgement, he had, in fact, been proven correct several times over the following thirteen years.
Each winter seemed to bring a new malady for Bessie, even after Mrs Taylor decided to prevent her from venturing outside more than necessary during the colder months. She had contracted smallpox as a small infant, which had caused a very early scare for the Taylor family. Thankfully Bessie managed to pull through, but it seemed no time before she was taken ill again, with measles this time. Once again Bessie made a recovery, but several winters since then she had suffered with influenza, and had caught cold more times than Catherine cared to recall.
Throughout each of these ailments, the good Dr Lovell had always been present, offering both treatment for Bessie and support for the family. Without him, Catherine truly felt the entire family would have crumbled during a couple of the darkest moments they had experienced. For there had been various occasions when the outlook had been very bleak indeed; far too many times when Bessie had almost been taken from them for good. During these periods Dr Lovell was their rock – a constant in an otherwise topsy-turvy world, remaining calm and professional, disguising his fears well.
This was how Catherine knew the seriousness of the situation now.
"How bad?" she gulped, having captured the doctor's attention. Her eyes darted briefly over to Bessie's bed, breath catching in her throat as she once again took in her sister's colourless face. Bessie had always been a pale-skinned child, but now her complexion was the speckled grey of a bowl of porridge.
"Oh, Catherine," murmured Dr Lovell – he was well past the need for formalities with the Taylor family by now – "thank goodness you have come."
Fear snaked through Catherine's veins at the doctor's words, extinguishing any sense of relief she'd felt at discovering Bessie still alive. The way he spoke – it was as if the outcome was certain. It was as if Dr Lovell was saying she had arrived just in time.
Just in time to say goodbye.
"Please tell me plain what ails my sister, doctor – and – and inform me of the m-most likely outcome," said Catherine through trembling lips, fighting against the tears on the verge of trickling down her cheeks. "I must know the truth."
Dr Lovell hesitated before replying, as if unsure of the best thing to do. But the steely look of determination in Catherine's eyes seemed to win him over.
"It is pneumonia," Dr Lovell admitted, taking hold of Catherine's hand and gently steering her into one of the armchairs at Bessie's bedside, no doubt usually occupied by Mrs Taylor. "It has taken a firm hold, and as frail as she is, I fear she is currently in a very vulnerable position. She is a fighter, though, is young Bessie – we all know that. In order to give her the best chance possible, it is imperative that Bessie's surroundings are made very hygienic, and that she does not come into contact with anyone who is at all unwell. With her immune system as weak as it currently is, the slightest infection could be enough to..."
Dr Lovell's voice tailed off miserably. He did not need to finish his sentence; Catherine understood. In fact, she understood perfectly what this meant – and her face blanched as the wheezy cough she'd been trying to hold back throughout Dr Lovell's speech suddenly escaped her.
The effect on Dr Lovell was instantaneous. His eyebrows shot up in alarm as he leapt up from his seat, shepherding Catherine over to the other side of the room, away from Bessie's bed.
"My dear Catherine!" the doctor hissed urgently. "You are not unwell, are you?"
Catherine gulped apprehensively, throwing another glance over to her sleeping sister. She knew very well what would happen if she admitted the truth to Dr Lovell – he would surely insist that she leave the room at once and prevent her from visiting Bessie until she was fully recovered from the cold she had caught the other day. After finally being reunited with Bessie following several anxious days of waiting, Catherine was not sure she could stand being torn away again so soon.
"There was an – incident, a few days ago, in which I ended up walking a considerable distance in the rain," said Catherine delicately, choosing her words carefully, "and I confess I have been suffering with a very slight cold since then."
"Cold – Catherine!" spluttered Dr Lovell. "Why did you not tell me? Why did you venture into the room, knowing Bessie's vulnerable state? You are an intelligent woman, Catherine – I cannot think why you would do such a foolish thing!"
Catherine had heard enough. Clapping a hand to her mouth as if to stop further bacteria from leaking out, she stumbled out of the room with one final glance back at the limp, colourless form in the bed, just catching sight of the laboured rising and falling of Bessie's chest as she left with Dr Lovell following close behind.
"Dr Lovell – I – truly, I did not think my actions could be so dangerous to Bessie's health!" squeaked Catherine fearfully. "It has been a slight cold, nothing more. I just simply had to see her as soon as I arrived. Until I saw her, with my own eyes, I could not believe for certain that she was still with us."
By this point Catherine was sobbing freely, almost unable to speak.
"Will – will I have infected her?" she choked out between sobs.
Dr Lovell sighed wearily, patting Catherine's arm gently in a comforting way.
"Luckily you did not get close enough to Bessie to cause any real danger of having infected her," he told her. "But I must stress again the vulnerability of Bessie's immune system at present. It is imperative that you do not enter your sister's bedchamber again until your cold is gone. Am I understood?"
"Of course, doctor," whispered Catherine.
***
The next few days were an agony far surpassing anything Catherine had ever known. After receiving the terrifying warning from Dr Lovell, she had taken heed of his words and kept well away from Bessie's bedchamber – but not without great emotional cost. Having often been at Bessie's bedside day and night when she was unwell, it was complete torture for Catherine to be banished from her sister's bedchamber. She wanted to be the first person Bessie saw upon opening her eyes if she began to recover – or the last person to bid her farewell if God saw fit to claim her. Instead, Catherine was reduced to hovering around the house in a state of permanent agitation, living for Dr Lovell's visits which were the only opportunity for gaining an informed report of Bessie's current state. At first Catherine had been full of optimism, but as the days went by and Bessie showed no sign of improvement, her feelings of unease began to increase.
On her third morning Donbroke, Catherine awoke to the sound of a commotion in Bessie's room across the landing. All traces of sleepiness vanishing instantly, Catherine leapt out of bed and crossed her bedchamber almost before she knew where her legs were carrying her. Just as she reached the door and flung it open, Bessie's door flew open too, and a sobbing Mrs Taylor emerged, ushered downstairs by her husband.
A lead weight seemed to settle in Catherine's stomach at this sight, and her breathing became sharp and painful as she waited anxiously for Dr Lovell to appear so that she could find out what had happened. He duly exited Bessie's bedchamber, face falling as his eyes fell upon Catherine's forlorn figure across the landing.
"Ah, Catherine," he sighed heavily, a desperate unhappiness in his voice as he made his way over to where she stood, hugging herself as if in an attempt to hold herself together. "I will be completely honest with you: the situation is grave indeed. It grieves me to cause you so much distress, but I feel it would be wicked of me to give you false hope.
The bacteria – I fear it may have entered the bloodstream. The next twenty-four hours will be crucial. If there is no sign of improvement in this time, then I am afraid there is no hope of recovery. I am sorry," he added softly, noticing the tears now silently streaming down Catherine's face.
"I know," whispered Catherine, finding it hard to speak with a large lump lodged at the back of her throat. "I will never forget everything you have done for her, doctor. Thank you."
There was so much more that Catherine ached to say, desperate as she was to find some way of expressing her deep gratitude for the doctor's work, but the words would not come to her. Dr Lovell understood; he simply nodded in response, before enveloping Catherine in a brief embrace filled with warmth and comfort.
"I will return tonight, to assess the situation further," was all he said, before gathering his briefcase and leaving Catherine alone with her grave thoughts.
Mr and Mrs Taylor were hardly good company, and Sir William was preoccupied with attempting to comfort them, so Catherine passed the day in her bedchamber, in painful solitude. She sat in her window-seat overlooking Warwick's main street, gazing outside at the grey, gloomy day as the time ticked by. Rain lashed against the windowpane, completely obscuring Catherine's view of the street below so that she did not even have the goings-on of the townspeople as a distraction from the torture of her own thoughts.
If the worst did happen, and Dr Lovell's report that evening brought bad news, Catherine knew she would not be able to refrain from entering Bessie's bedchamber any longer. Completely racked with guilt though she was at the thought that it might have been she who had worsened Bessie's condition, she knew now that there was nothing to be gained from staying away any longer. The damage was done now, after all. And if Bessie was going to – to die – then Catherine was adamant she would be there with her dear, dear sister in her last moments.
But thinking of that all day would not do. After all, Dr Lovell had not yet given his final verdict. So Catherine cast her mind around for another subject to occupy her mind. The first thing which sprang to mind was her time spent in Barnbury – however, Catherine did not find many happy thoughts here either. When thinking of Somerset, Catherine was once more crippled with guilt at the thought of herself attending the Russells' ball, dancing merrily in her beautiful gown, while all the while Bessie had been bed-ridden, attempting to fight off this dreadful illness. What right did Catherine have to enjoy herself, while Bessie suffered? She should never have gone to Barnbury in the first place; it was not even as if she'd had a particularly pleasurable time.
Well, Catherine would be remaining in Warwick now – but even this thought gave her no satisfaction. On the contrary, her stomach knotted as she wondered how long the bad feelings between herself and Julia would continue. The way things were looking, Julia would be engaged to Lord Russell by the next time they met – and once Julia joined that family, it was likely she would be lost for good.
Catherine found her musings suddenly interrupted by a soft knock on the door.
"Come in," she replied sullenly.
Annie, the maid at Donbroke, hesitantly entered and bobbed a curtsey, eyeing Catherine with apprehension.
"A letter for you, Miss Taylor," she announced, handing Catherine a sealed piece of paper which she took with interest. Who would be writing to her? Perhaps it was Julia, wishing to make amends!
"Thank you, Annie," Catherine replied, and as the maid took her leave, Catherine resumed her place at the window. She turned the letter over eagerly to examine the seal – and almost dropped the paper in shock when she realised it bore the seal of Fanlow Cottage, where Professor Lawes was staying.
What reason could that beastly man have for writing to her? After her horrific last morning in Barnbury, Catherine had decided she wanted nothing further to do with the Professor, and having left Somerset, had been quite certain she would never hear from him again. Yet here he was, writing letters to her not even a week after she had quitted the county!
Catherine almost discarded the letter without reading it – but it wasn't long before curiosity got the better of her, and she opened the seal, unfolding the paper. On it, in the most elegant, looping writing, was written the following:
Dear Miss Taylor,
This morning I visited Broxcliffe Park in the hope of calling on you, only to be told by Lady Cavendish that you had returned to Warwick urgently, and perhaps permanently. I was severely disappointed to hear of your removal from Barnbury, and most distressed when I learned the nature and cause of your departure. I have two sisters of my own, Miss Taylor, who are both very dear to me, and I can only imagine the horrors you must be experiencing at present. Please know that your sister is in my thoughts and prayers, and I hope with all my heart that she makes a full recovery.
You must be wondering about the purpose of my visit to Broxcliffe Park. Put quite simply, Miss Taylor, I wished to apologise profusely for my abhorrent behaviour the other day when I came across you with Miss Russell and Miss Cavendish in Barnbury. I do not expect forgiveness, for my behaviour was quite despicable – just know that I am suffering greatly as I think over my actions. I fear I have been too long in the company of academics at Cambridge; too long removed from civilised society, and have quite forgotten the correct way to behave around ladies. For this, I can once again only offer my sincerest apologies.
It pains me to think of that morning in Barnbury too much, but in light of the recent news about your sister, the most prominent thought in my mind is the desperate hope that my careless behaviour has not led to you becoming unwell too. I must entreat you to respond as soon as you receive this with an account of your current state of health, for until I receive word of your being perfectly well, I simply will not rest.
I feel a great sense of sorrow that we will be unable to further our acquaintance, Miss Taylor – though I am almost certain you will not share my view on this matter. My behaviour in society whilst in Barnbury has not been at all gentlemanly – due yet again to my many years at Cambridge. This does not excuse my behaviour – no one knows that better than I – but I simply wish to give you a better understanding of my character, Miss Taylor, for I feel I owe it to you. I am very aware that I tend to come across as rather aloof when in company, particularly amongst people with whom I am not very well acquainted. That is never my intention, I can assure you; I am simply used only to the conversation and society of academics.
I am eager to correct the error in my ways, and if ever you are in need of a correspondent to share your feelings about your sister's ailment, I am more than happy to oblige. Naturally given my previous conduct I am fairly certain this will not be an agreeable prospect to you, yet I make the offer regardless. If you decide not to continue our correspondence, I beg only that you do me the honour of writing with the aforementioned account of your health, which I will be eagerly awaiting.
Yours sincerely,
Professor Henry Lawes
As she reached the end of the letter, Catherine found herself clutching it tightly in a claw-like grip, nose inches away from the paper as if by looking more closely at the words she might be able to decipher their meaning. Even after reading the letter through several more times, however, Catherine simply found it all too much to take in. The author of this letter surely could not be the same Professor Lawes she had met in Barnbury; the eloquent prose before her bore no resemblance to the speech of the rude gentleman who had behaved in such an improper way. How, then, could these be his own words?
Reluctant though Catherine was to believe what was written here, the professor had spoken so openly about his own shortcomings that it was highly unlikely he would be telling untruths. If Professor Lawes' account of his own character was, in fact, a true one, it did explain a great deal about his behaviour during Catherine's time in Barnbury. From this letter it was clear that he was certainly more at ease expressing himself in written form, no doubt due to the large amount of time spent writing academic papers and corresponding with other scientists in his field. And Catherine never had considered the fact that as a professor he would be spending the majority of his time in solely male company – academic society must indeed be very different to that of the gentry.
But although this knowledge explained some of Professor Lawes' behaviour, did it excuse it? As to this, Catherine simply could not decide, and was to be found pondering the matter still many hours later as the sun set over Warwick, casting the untouched tea tray on Catherine's dressing table into the shadows. In her current state of distress she had not felt able to venture down to dinner, so someone – Sir William, no doubt – had ordered a tray of refreshments sent up to her room. Such was her discomfort, however, that Catherine had been unable to touch more than a few morsels, spending the evening instead in a state of perpetual agony, endlessly analysing Professor Lawes' letter in an attempt to quell any thoughts of Bessie's current condition.
As darkness fell, however, Catherine found herself unable to keep Bessie from her mind. In a matter of hours, Dr Lovell would be returning to deliver his final verdict on Bessie's chances of recovery, and such was the queasy fearfulness in Catherine's stomach that she felt certain she should not sleep a wink.
But Catherine must, in fact, have fallen asleep – for a few hours later she found herself jolted suddenly awake by a booming, frantic knocking on her bedchamber door.
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A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has shown their support for this story by reading and voting/commenting so far! I am about halfway through now, and there is plenty of drama coming up! Hope you don't hate me too much for yet another cliffhanger - I just couldn't resist ;)