Michelle Styles - Impoverished Miss, Convenient Wife

‘Who are you?’ His face was a reflection of his father’s except his eyes seemed to dominate his shrunken face.

‘Phoebe Benedict. I am to look after you until you get well. I have come all the way from London at your aunt’s request.’

‘I want my aunt! I miss her.’ A small hand scrubbed at his eyes. He looked all of about six, instead of the ten that Lady Coltonby had said he was.

‘She is…going to have a baby. Soon you will have a little cousin to love and cherish.’ Phoebe looked directly at the boy. Her entire being tensed. Would he go into another fit? And then what would happen? Why had she made such a rash promise? ‘They would not let her come. She wanted to, very much. You must believe that, Robert. She told me to tell you that she loves you and wants you to get well.’

‘I miss her.’

‘And she misses you too. It is why you must be a good boy and get well.’

Phoebe pressed her hands together and willed him to stay quiet and to trust her. She resisted the temptation to brush the sweat from the back of her neck and simply stood there, hands outstretched.

‘Are you going to tie me up?’

‘No ropes.’ She held out her hands and showed him they were empty. She bent down so her face was level with his. ‘I don’t believe in tying boys up.’

‘Me either.’ Robert gave a decided nod as his limbs began to convulse again. ‘But I don’t like this either.’

‘You need to relax and the spasms will ease.’

‘What is happening to me?’

‘You are ill. You need to rest. Your body wants to get well.’ Phoebe kept her voice soothing. ‘Take a deep breath, Robert. In. Out.’

‘I can’t catch my breath. It frightens me. Really frightens me.’ His eyes swam with tears. ‘I want to live and not go to hell like Mrs Smith said I would.’

‘Your body will find it easier if you are quiet.’ Phoebe cast her eyes upwards and wished she could throttle the nurse. What was Mr Clare thinking when he hired her?

Robert closed his eyes. The trembling and jerking in his limbs subsided slightly. Phoebe risked another step towards the bed, willed him to keep calm. She touched his forehead and breathed a sigh of relief. Cool and without fever. The worst had passed, but Robert would need a long time before he recovered his strength. Phoebe lifted her hand from his forehead and stared at the wallpaper. A mixture of anticipation and misgiving filled her.

She had written to her stepmother that it would be for a few weeks at most. She had never considered that the time might run into months. Months. Maybe her presence would be missed. Maybe they would realise they missed her and how much she tried. She wanted them to be proud of her, to feel that she was part of their family, instead of part of the furniture. She had given her promise and she would see that this boy became well. She paused. As long as she could get him to take his medicine.

‘Why did you do that?’ Robert asked, bringing her back to the present.

‘Because I wanted to see if you had a fever.’

‘And do I?’ Robert screwed up his face. ‘I have had such strange dreams. I want them to go away. They frighten me.’

‘The doctor has left something to keep the fever and the dreams away.’ Phoebe reached for the medicine bottle.

‘What are you going to do?’ Robert rubbed his shaking hand across his eyes.

‘I am going to give you something to drink. It will make you feel better. A little sleepy, but better.’

‘I don’t want any medicine. Nasty.’ Robert pulled a face. ‘I won’t take it. I won’t!’

‘Robert!’ Mr Clare’s voice echoed throughout the room as the door came open. His footsteps resounded on the floor and Robert’s eyes grew wide again.

Inwardly, Phoebe cursed and willed Mr Clare to the devil. She had gone too quickly, she knew that, but little time remained. She could get Robert to take his medicine if only Mr Clare would be quiet. ‘It will help. I promise you that. It helped my youngest brother when he was ill like you.’ Her tongue flicked over her lips. ‘Shall I tell you about Edmund? I started looking after him when he was a boy about your age.’

‘I want my aunt. She won’t make me drink anything!’ The boy’s voice started to rise again. ‘Aunt Diana! Aunt Diana!’

‘Miss Benedict!’ She heard Mr Clare’s warning sound behind her.

‘My time is not up! You promised!’

She spun around and nearly collided with his hard chest. Behind him, two footmen stood with ropes dangling from their fingers.

‘No!’ Phoebe put out her hands and placed her body between Robert and the men. ‘I won’t let them pass. He will take it! Give him a chance! Give me this one chance!’

‘Stand aside, Miss Benedict! He must take his medicine. You had your chance and failed. My only consolation is that I was correct in my assessment.’

‘Ten minutes. I want ten minutes.’

‘You can see what Robert is like.’ Mr Clare nodded towards the bed. ‘Why are you intent on making him suffer?’

‘You are frightening him. Please let me try again. You didn’t give me ten minutes.’ Phoebe glanced at Robert. His mouth was set mutinously as his eyes flickered between them. ‘What harm will a few moments do?’

‘Miss Benedict! No one defies my orders in this house!’

‘Mr Clare! Someone should!’

She stood toe to toe with the man, aware that with one sweep of his arm she could be brushed aside. But she refused to allow her gaze to waver. Each breath she took seemed like an eternity.

Finally he bowed his head and took a half-step backwards. ‘Very well, a few moments. One more chance.’

‘I rescued a kitten earlier today,’ Phoebe said, speaking rapidly and praying that her words would provide a distraction. She kept her eyes trained on Robert, but every particle of her body was alert to Mr Clare’s movements. ‘Would you like to see it? Shall we see if your cries have made him wake?’

Robert’s mouth closed and he lifted a thin shoulder. Phoebe ran to where she had placed the basket and opened the cover. Despite the uproar, the kitten had gone to sleep.

Carefully she carried the basket over to the bed. The kitten gave a loud purr, but did not open its eyes. Robert put his fingers to his lips. ‘It’s asleep. I don’t want to wake him.’

Phoebe replaced the cover and placed the basket beside the bed.

‘He’s sleeping now. It would be a shame to disturb him. Shall I let him sleep here? We must be very quiet, the kitten has had an exhausting day.’

‘I will try, truly I will try, miss, but it is hard. Sometimes …’ He closed his eyes and his face became stiff with concentration. Phoebe forgot to breathe. ‘Will the medicine help me to be quiet?’

‘It helped my brother. Truly it did.’

‘Then I will take it…for the kitten’s sake. He looks tired. And sweet. I have always wanted a kitten.’

‘Good boy.’ Phoebe glanced back over her shoulder at where Mr Clare stood. He lifted one eyebrow. With a trembling hand she poured the liquid on to a spoon and held it out to Robert. He made a face, but swallowed it with one gulp.

‘Is the kitten for me? As a gift?’ Robert asked, wiping his hand across his mouth. ‘I have never had a cat before. We used to have a dog, but…he went with my aunt.’

Phoebe gave a slight laugh. ‘Cats can never be given. They choose their owner.’

Robert pursed his lips and nodded. His brow knitted together, but he remained quiet. ‘That makes sense.’

‘He is a wee thing and his mother has just died. I wanted to protect him. He is quite a lively thing when he is awake.’ Phoebe kept her voice light as she knelt beside Robert. The storm appeared to have passed. Somewhere her prayers had been answered.