Page 115 of Murder in Highbury
“Then your enchanting wife will check on her father and return to you forthwith. She also promises to cease talking about murders and investigations, at least for the rest of the evening.”
“Then I shall look forward to your return with great anticipation.”
She rose and was halfway across the drawing room when the door flew open and Simon rushed in.
“Goodness,” she exclaimed, stumbling to a halt. “What’s the matter, Simon?”
“Begging your pardon, Mrs. Knightley, but it’s your father,” the footman blurted out.
Emma’s heart skipped a beat. “What’s wrong?”
“Mr. Woodhouse fell out of bed, and I can’t wake him up.”
Emma quietly closed her father’s bedroom door before turning to see George coming up the stairs.
“Perry is gone, I take it,” he said as he joined her. “Can I assume all is well?”
“Yes, thank goodness,” she replied.
She handed an empty breakfast tray to Simon, who’d kept watch by the door all night with steadfast loyalty, ready to assist at a moment’s notice.
“Thank you, Simon,” she said to their senior footman. “That will be all for now, but have someone bring up a fresh pot of tea in an hour.”
“I’ll bring it myself, Mrs. Knightley.”
Emma wagged a finger at him. “You kept watch all night, and now you should retire for some rest. Thomas or one of the kitchen staff can bring the tray up.”
“Don’t you be worrying about me, Mrs. Knightley,” the young man stoutly replied. “I’ll be fine.”
Once Simon had retreated downstairs, George gently stroked Emma’s hair. “He obviously takes after the mistress of the house. Did you get any sleep, my darling?”
She rubbed the back of her neck. “More than I expected, although I cannot say that a leather club chair is particularly conducive to a comfortable rest.”
George grimaced. “I would have sat with him, you know. There was no need to wear yourself out like this.”
She patted his arm. “I’m just a bit creaky, which is nothing a hot bath cannot fix. Besides, I wished to be there in case Father woke up and was confused.”
“Did he wake up during the night?”
“No,” she ruefully replied. “As Mr. Perry predicted, he had a sound sleep.”
Verysound, due to a quantity of laudanum large enough that Mr. Perry had initially feared it would send her father’s heart into a fatal spasm. Fortunately, she and the apothecary had finally managed to rouse Father from his stupor. A purgative had been administered, and nature had then taken its course. A few hours later Mr. Perry had pronounced him out of danger, and he had subsequently passed a peaceful night in a deep but natural sleep.
Emma would never forget those terrifying moments when she and George had rushed upstairs to find the old darling unconscious, his breathing labored. A footman had run to summon Mr. Perry, who’d arrived with remarkable speed and swiftly diagnosed the condition, concluding that Father had ingested a fairly substantial dose of laudanum.
How he’d managed to do so, however, was a question yet to be answered.
“How is Henry, now that he is awake?” George asked.
“Much better. In fact, he managed to eat both a coddled egganda bowl of gruel. I was quite surprised.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’m sorry I missed Perry, but I knew he would not leave your father if he had any lingering concerns.”
She smiled. “Not surprising, since Father is his best patient.”
While most of her father’s complaints amounted to nothing more than minor ailments, last night’s incident had been anything but minor. Mr. Perry had not departed Hartfield until the longcase clock in the hall struck two and his patient was clearly out of danger. He’d then returned before breakfast and stayed until satisfied that Emma’s father was well on the mend.
“I think Henry gave even Perry a scare last night,” George commented. “I’ve never seen him so concerned for your father’s health.”
