Page 73 of The Quiet Wife
His mother nodded. “Frances. So, you will send a nice, but concerned note that Elinor has taken a turn for the worse and the doctor feels it might be best for him to return. Tonight.”
Lizzie closed her eyes and swallowed, but acquiesced.
His mother regarded him in a pointed fashion. He was reasonably sure she was informing him to keep his mouth shut, so he remained obligingly silent.
Lizzie disappeared to fetch paper and pen, and his mother sagged into the chair, one hand over her eyes.
She looked up at him and shook her head, hissing under her breath. “What a mess. Frederick Leyland wants shooting.”
“No argument from me there. I’ll arrange for Frances to have a tray in her room and take it up.”
“You will not.”
He blinked.
“Do you believe me when I say Leyland will take it out on Frances if Lizzie sends a note with a tone of censure in it?”
He nodded cautiously.
“Well, what do you think he would do to her if he came home and found you and Frances together in the bedchamber of his child?”
“Give me some credit, mother. He’s not even here yet.”
“But he will be. And this is his home. Frances is his wife. Elinor is his child.”
“Mama…”
“I’ve said this to her sister, and I’ll say it to you. Do not give that man a stick to beat his wife with because he most assuredly will use it. If you care about her, you need to protect her.”
***
The clock chimed two o’clock in the morning, and the house was deadly quiet. Jemie walked silently to the kitchen and set about making some tea with his mother’s words ringing in his ears. Leyland still wasn’t home and there was no sign of him. What father wouldn’t come home immediately? But then again, he reasoned what kind of husband left his wife to deal with a tragedy of this magnitude in the first place?
He poked at the fire beneath the stove until it burst into life, before placing the teakettle over it to boil. He searched the pantry and found a slab of fruit cake, so he cut her a piece and put it on a plate. He added milk to the tray but didn’t bother with sugar, as she never took it, and headed to Elinor’s room.
He tapped, juggled the tray, and let himself in.
Frances lay on the bed beside Elinor, who appeared terrifyingly like a porcelain doll but with a glistening sweat over her forehead.
“I brought you tea,” he whispered and laid the tray on the tallboy. “How is she? Any change?”
Frances shook her head. “None. She’s asleep now, but she keeps waking with nightmares. She was convinced that she was being chased a little while ago. It’s terrible.”
He poured the tea and placed the cup and saucer on the table beside the bed alongside the cake, despite knowing she would not touch it.
“Is there anything I can do?”
She shook her head. “No. We just have to wait.”
“Do you want me to wait with you?”
Frances gazed at him with her heart in her eyes. “I’d like that more than anything, but it wouldn’t be sensible, would it?”
He shrugged. “I’m not noted for being sensible.”
Her smile was sad.
“Well, I’ll keep coming back to see how things are. Surely no-one could argue with that?”
