Page 30 of Weave me a Rope
“You must have hope,” the doctor said to her uncle. “Her sight, too, might resolve in time, as the brain heals.”
He seemed to know what he was talking about, and Cordelia did her best to remain calm, but it was hard. Blind! She couldn’t imagine never being able to see again. She wouldn’t even think about what this might do to her future with Spen. Even if he could escape his father, she couldn’t expect him to marry her now. Whoever heard of a blind marchioness?
She fiercely reminded herself that she might yet recover, but holding onto hope was hard in the sudden perpetual darkness.
Uncle Josh wanted her to be seen by the best doctors in London and demanded to know when she could safely be moved.
“Not for at least twenty-four hours,” the doctor had decided. “Watch her closely. If the headache does not worsen and if there are no other symptoms, she might be able to stand the trip without harm. Provided you take your time. Travel slowly and for short periods with frequent rest stops.”
The following day, he conceded Cordelia was no worse. Cordelia had thought Uncle Josh would insist on leaving straightaway, but he said she was to have another visitor before they could leave. He ordered tea served to the little sitting room that connected their two bedrooms.
“Are we waiting for someone who can tell us what has happened to Lord Spenhurst?” Cordelia asked, hopefully.
Her uncle’s voice was grim. “Forget about Lord Spenhurst,” he commanded. “After the way he has treated ye, I’ll never let him near ye again.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Cordelia demanded. “None of this is Spen’s fault.”
With a world of sorry in his voice, her uncle said, “It’s my fault. I should never have tried to push ye into their world. The so-called nobility are not for the likes of us. Forget that rakehell, I say. I’ll find ye a husband of our own kind, Dee-Dee. You will be happier, I promise.”
“Spen is not a rakehell, Uncle Josh,” Cordelia insisted. “You said yourself he was a steady young man. I don’t understand what you think he has done wrong.”
“I cannot speak of it,” Uncle Josh insisted, the tightness of his voice confirming that he spoke no more than the truth. Ye must trust me, niece. He has not behaved as a gentleman should.”
Cordelia was shaking her head when a knock on the door interrupted them. “Mr. Milton, sir? The midwife is here,” said one of the servants.
The person who entered spoke. A woman’s voice, warm and kind. “Miss Milton, how good to see you awake. Mr. Milton, I have brought the ingredients for the tea I mentioned.”
“If ye would leave it with me,” Uncle Josh said, holding out his hand. “How often a day should she take it, and for how long?”
The woman didn’t answer. Uncle Josh broke the silence, saying, “My niece remembers nothing that happened.”
Something was going on, and Uncle Josh intended to keep Cordelia in the dark. She was not going to have it. “Are you not going to introduce us?” she demanded.
Uncle Josh hesitated, but the woman said, “I am Mrs. Austin.”
“And I am Cordelia Milton. What is the tea you mentioned, and what is it for?”
“Now, Cordelia,” Uncle Josh said, “it is just a little something to help ye recover without any ill-effects.” Three things gave him away. He was coaxing her, which never happened. He had called her Cordelia, which meant he was seriously rattled. And, she could hear him shifting in his seat.
“Someone had better tell me the purpose of this tea, or I will not be drinking it,” Cordelia said. It was, she supposed, for her headache. Though if that was the case, why not say so?
“Ye will do as ye’re told, young lady,” Uncle Josh blustered. “If I had not given ye more freedom than was good for ye, we would not be in this situation.”
Cordelia knew it was true she had been raised with more freedom than other young ladies, and she had taken advantage of Aunt Eliza’s shy and retiring nature to take more. Not that she intended to cede the point to her uncle. “You have not explained what situation we are in, Uncle Josh. Is this about escaping the marquess?” she retorted. “For here I am, and unharmed apart from a bump on the head.” And the blindness, which was such a loss that she could not bear to speak of it.
Mrs. Austin sounded disapproving when she said, “Do you not think she should be told?”
“There is no need,” Uncle Josh insisted. “Not if there are no consequences.”
“What should I be told?” Cordelia asked, turning her head in the direction from which she heard Mrs. Austin’s voice.
Mrs. Austin replied to Uncle Josh. “Well, Mr. Milton? What do I tell your niece?”
Uncle Josh did not answer. The silence stretched until Cordelia was nearly ready to scream from the frustration of not being able to see their expressions to interpret what they were thinking.
At long last, Uncle Josh grumbled, “Very well, then. Tell her. I shall be in the next room.” He strode off into his bed chamber, shutting the door behind him in what was not quite a slam.
“Please sit down, Mrs. Austin,” Cordelia invited, “and tell me what has my uncle in such a lather.”
