Episode 23: Phillip Keeps Watch and Comes to a Decision

Chapter 44

A baby is a demanding house guest. Phillip’s life so far had not brought him in touch with young children except for the urchins who had drifted into his mission to listen to stories and get a lump of sugar. So the degree to which his entire household was turned inside out at the arrival of the six-month-old infant made him stand back in awe.

            The child proved to be a fussy one, and Mrs. Morgan announced that he was undernourished and in poor health. The first priority was to secure a wet nurse for the child, which position was filled quickly by a robust young woman whose infant had died just a week earlier. On seeing her new charge, however, the lady hesitated, frightened that “the little heathen” might have a dread disease that he would make it his business to pass on to her. Doctor Bingham was brought in to inspect the child and, aside from being underweight, pronounced him as fit as any baby in the county.

            On this visit, the doctor took Phillip aside and asked if he had been to Brookside in the last day or two. Hearing that he had not, the doctor advised him of Agnes’s poor health, having just come from her bedside. Doctor Bingham acknowledged that he was aware of a certain fondness between them, and it might be wise for Phillip to find time to visit the patient to the extent the ladies of that household might allow.

            Phillip’s face blanched at the news. “Are you going back that way?” he asked, grabbing the doctor’s sleeve. “May I ride with you?”

            Phillip knew of the doctor’s reputation as a man of sagacity and unimpeachable discretion. So during their ride to Brookside, Phillip confided the events at the ball, most of which the doctor had already heard from every one of his patients in the last week, with fantastic variations.

            “So you see,” Phillip concluded, “this has all been a great shock to her, surely. What is she to make of it? I would have gone to see her but I did not know what to say.”

            “My friend,” replied the doctor, training a keen eye on the young man, “take the advice of a man who has made many mistakes himself with the fair sex. In a case like this, saying almost anything to her is better than saying nothing. It’s the terrible silence that can crush them, as they imagine the very worst, with nothing to contradict their wild ravings. Don’t leave her alone with this, whatever you do. She may reject you. That is her right. But then again, she might not.”

            By now they had arrived at Brookside. Phillip thanked the doctor quickly and jumped out to untie his horse from behind the carriage.

            “One more thing,” called the doctor after him. “Demand nothing. Don’t ask her to believe you. Give her time.”

            Phillip knocked at the great black door and waited what felt like days for it to open. When it did, Fettles stood blocking the entrance.

            “She’s not well,” he announced.

            “I’ve heard. Doctor Bingham dropped me by. May I see her?”

            Fettles paused. He was furious with this man and the rest of the pack who had brought his favorite girl in the entire world to her knees. “Why have you come?” he sputtered, fighting to keep his voice low. “Why should I let you disturb her further?” His eyes bulged and the veins in his lean neck stood out with the effort to control the anger pushing hard within him.

            “Because, Fettles, by the grace of God, she may still tolerate me. And I love her.” He looked directly into Fettles’ eyes, unafraid of his rage. “I love her,” Phillip pleaded, “almost as much as you do.”

            Fettles’ mouth twitched, and water filled his eyes. Stepping slowly aside, he admitted the young man, softly closed the door, and led the way upstairs. They found Vera at the bedside, applying a freshly soaked cloth to Agnes’s forehead. Vera looked at them without speaking and turned back to her patient.

            “Lord Phillip wishes to see Miss Agnes. I told him it would be up to you.”

            Vera looked down at her niece, whose eyes moved fitfully beneath the closed lids. “I can’t see that it matters. She’ll be as unaware of you as she is of the rest of us.”

            Phillip stepped forward, “Just let me sit next to her and hold her hand. She’ll know I’m here. I won’t make her speak.”

            Vera and Fettles exchanged uncertain looks. “Very well,” Vera decided. “Sit here. I’ll be right outside, and I shall leave the door open. If you trouble her in the slightest way I will throw you out in an instant.”

            Phillip sat lightly on the edge of the bed and caught up Agnes’s hot hand in his. He took the cloth off her head, rinsed it in the basin of cold water at his elbow, and dabbed at her neck and wrists. Vera peeked in at him as he half sat, half knelt beside the unconscious woman. The scene brought back suddenly her days in the field hospital, where the occasional sweetheart would find her man and hold him for the few days it took for his life to run out.

            “When did you eat last?” she called to Phillip.

            Without taking his eyes off Agnes, Phillip replied that it was sometime the day before. Vera slipped away to find a plate of food.

            Phillip spent most the following days sitting quietly in a corner of Agnes’s room as her fever rose, dipped, hovered, and rose again. Now and then Agnes would wake for a few minutes, and her attendants would ply her with sips of water and broth. Then she would close her eyes and fall back into a restless, mumbling sleep. Occasionally Phillip took a short break to walk through the gardens and gather an odd arrangement of flowers and honeysuckle vine for her room, always hoping to see some improvement when he returned. Each night he left for his father’s home, only to return early the next morning. The Duke stopped by several times to inquire after the patient and stay to tea, afterwards forcing the ladies into a game of cards that provided them all a brief relief from the circumstances of their lives.

            By virtue of Phillip’s constancy, on the fourth day of Agnes’s sickness Vera and Stella shared with him the dark news the Rockwells had brought them. Upon hearing it, he brought the flat of his hand down violently on the parlor table.

            “I knew there was something!” he exclaimed. “I knew that man was about the devil’s work—but I could not tell what, of course. Damnation!”

            “Uncle Wilbur has always been bad,” explained Stella. “I personally have always detested him.”

            “But none of us could have anticipated this,” put in Vera, “not even Mr. Rockwell, who is the closest to the family’s financial affairs. No one could have guessed . . .”  Vera’s voice trailed off as though she had run out of words. Her face wore the blank look of extreme fatigue.

            While Phillip seethed at Wilbur’s villainy, he somehow took upon himself a measure of blame, feeling like a carrier of disaster since entering Agnes’s life. It seemed he harbored within him the seeds of plague, which he had unwittingly spilled upon her and her entire home. He left the ladies and went out, riding through the countryside all afternoon, dismounting now and then to tramp through fields and scream at the sky. Everything he touched turned to ruin. As soon as she was well he would leave her alone for good, he resolved. He must let her rebuild her life in whatever way God in his mercy might grant her. But would she recover, he wondered, reflecting on the pale, damp face on the pillow, the sweet mouth that muttered nonsense and refused anything that might strengthen her.

            Heavy with a grim resolve, Phillip returned to Brookside the next day and the next. On the seventh day, he had fallen asleep on the rug at the foot of Agnes’s bed. Stella had left the room for a moment to get a finer brush for the miniature she was painting. A deep stillness lay upon the house, and only the repeated chirp of a cardinal looking for his mate broke the silence of the afternoon. Suddenly a faint voice startled Phillip from his light sleep. It came again: “That silly lace . . . still hanging there.” He leapt to his feet and found Agnes awake and clear-eyed. He leaned over her and put a hand on her head. It was cool to his touch. The young man uttered a cry and collapsed, taking her into his arms in a grip that threatened to crush her. Presently he unwrapped her and held her at arms’ length, staring. Agnes looked back at him and tried to smile but managed only to twist her lips weakly and lean against him. Stella returned, screamed with delight, and ran to tell the household.

            Agnes spent two weeks recovering her strength. Phillip stopped by every few days to discreetly ask Fettles for a report on her progress, but refused to go inside the house. During her convalescence, Agnes spent long, desultory hours in the garden doing nothing more than watching Stella sketch or listening to the birds chatter. The great troubles that had crushed her now seemed to belong to another world, one she could look at but not feel. Without the strength yet to step into that world, she knew reality would simply have to wait for her.

It has been said that never is one more comfortable or content than in the sweet, powerless days following an illness. The patient has the world’s permission to do nothing and can sit idly with the happy thought that health is on its way back and all she has to do is wait. Afternoon naps, people plumping your pillows and bringing you frivolous books to read (not the serious ones they suggest the rest of the time), hot soup and your favorite puddings, all these special attentions put a glow upon such days that one remembers fondly long after resuming the regular pace of life. 

            The other ladies of the household, by contrast, had busied themselves these three weeks with a great task. While Agnes lay tossing upon her sickbed, Mrs. Rockwell and Vera had begun a comprehensive inventory of Brookside. When Agnes was strong enough, they sat with her and added notes on what she wanted to keep for herself and what she would consider giving to family and friends. The rest, painful as it was to consider, could be auctioned off if Brookside were sold.

            Messrs. Schmidt and Rockwell had stayed three days to walk the grounds with Ned and write down all the particulars regarding the stable and kennel as well as topographical features that could be included to good advantage in a description of the property.

            After four weeks Mrs. Rockwell returned home, leaving Agnes and Vera to resolve the last and most distressing matter, reducing the number of staff. Agnes, being of an efficient and frugal nature, had kept the Brookside staff fairly small, although large enough to keep any one person from being overburdened in his duties. Most had been with the family for years, and some for decades. Now, behind closed doors, the two women pondered a list of names, weighing each one’s ability to secure new employment and the possibility of getting along without them.

            In the years that Agnes had managed the estate, she had only had to fire two people. One was a scullery maid who failed to curb her profane language; the other was a butler’s assistant who napped more than he worked and was suspected of being behind the attrition of teaspoons from the silver chest. But now she was faced with letting perfectly good workers go, putting them out of a position with nothing more than a few dollars, an apology, and a letter of reference.

            And so the two women made the difficult decisions, with many tearful retreats into reminiscences and wishing things were different. Seven servants had lines through their names. To manage with such a reduced staff, all rooms not used daily would be closed off and not cleaned. Entertaining beyond a half-dozen dinner guests was at an end. The stables would be winnowed to three horses from six; and only those gardens closest to the house would be maintained. Philanthropic donations ceased (this despite Agnes’s misgivings, remembering always the story of the widow who gave away her only coin).

            So absorbed were the women in stripping down Brookside and laying bare all of its workings that they were able to put aside the question of Phillip and the baby. However, the day dawned when Agnes could no longer avoid the unsettled affairs of her heart and must, as Vera reminded her, sift through that “pile of dry cuttings.”

Chapter 45

The morning brought a chill with it and the distinct feeling that autumn was close by. The sky stretched above Brookside like a canvas sloppily painted, with patches of dull white showing through the steely gray. Pallid daylight hung at the windows, too weak to enter the dining room where Vera and Agnes sat at breakfast wrapped in thin shawls. The last few weeks had taken a toll on both of them, and Stella was talking about getting back to her home and husband.

            “So how are you doing?” asked Vera, absently spreading a spare coat of blueberry jam onto her toast.

            “In what way?” replied her niece without looking up from the slice of ham she had begun cutting into unnecessarily small bites.

            “It was a general question. But to begin, what are you thinking these days about his lordship?”

            “I’ve been rather too busy to give him much thought,” Agnes half-lied. “I’m sure that once I do I won’t know what to think any more than I did the morning after the debacle. He’s not stopping by any more, is he?”

            “No,” replied Vera. “I understand that after you woke up finally he came every couple of days for about two weeks and then stopped. He probably realized you were stable and otherwise occupied. ”

            “Do you think everyone knows about our situation by now—I mean, about the house and all?”

            “If the servants talked—especially those we let go—then yes. But I haven’t heard any gossip in town yet. As soon as the house goes up for sale, though, speculation will run wild.”

            Agnes poured herself some coffee. “I had Mr. Rockwell promise that he would not list the house until I said so.”

            “The reason for that?”

            Agnes waved her fork. “I’m expecting a miracle, I suppose. No, I’m not. I just need time to get used to the idea.”

            “When you first came back to us you talked as if selling Brookside would be a relief. Do you remember?”

            In Agnes’s first exhausted days after awakening from her fever, she had in her ruminations begun to feel that the collected disasters might be pushing open a door for her. She felt the weight like that of the great mansion itself being lifted from her tired frame. Propped against a bank of pillows one morning she had admitted to Vera that maybe the time had come to surrender the reins.

            “Yes, I remember,” Agnes admitted. “But it was a passing feeling. Much of it is true, of course—letting go of this whole responsibility is very appealing. But it means losing my home, Vera, our family home. You don’t get that back. It is a huge decision.”

            Vera looked with compassion at her niece. “I know, my dear. I know. But you understand that you probably won’t be making that decision, don’t you—rather, the circumstances will.”

            Agnes continued eating and said nothing. She still had not gained back the weight she had lost in her illness, and her color had never completely returned.

            “How about a walk in the garden?” Vera proposed a little too brightly.

            “It’s cold.”

            “It will be good for us. It will put some color in our cheeks.” Grudgingly, Agnes agreed. They each fetched another shawl, and the two walked down the familiar garden paths. Already the weeds were beginning to clutter the beds, and Agnes had never seen the shrubs so untidy. It reminded her how keenly two gardeners are quickly missed. Agnes bent to unwind a thin vine from the creamy bells of a late-blooming foxglove.

            “They don’t know what’s coming,” she mused. “The foxgloves and the roses and the lilies. Choke-weed and violets will overrun them in no time. Do you know what gardening is, Vera? It is man’s attempt to keep Nature from doing what she is determined to do. How could we hope to win in the long run?”

            Vera gave Agnes a long, frank look. “I think it’s time to talk about him—about the two of you.”

            They resumed their walk. Agnes watched her feet as she put one in front of the other. They looked so far away, as though they did not belong to her. What was there to talk about? They had no new facts. Maybe the child was Phillip’s son, maybe he wasn’t. Either way Phillip was now a social outcast—everyone would believe the story Dhanesh told. How could they marry? Besides, his absence could only mean that he had lost interest in her. Maybe she was not as attractive without the Somerset fortune after all.

            “Do you think it’s his child?” asked Vera pointedly.

            “I don’t know. I want to say no, and deep down I don’t believe it is, especially since he was so adamant about it. But I have been fooled before, as you know. And there is a certain resemblance. Of course everyone else must think it is.”

            “True,” Vera reflected, “If you did decide to join him you would be out of any social circle for a very long time. Until he did something profitable, that is, and got readmitted.”

            Agnes smiled. “That’s unlikely, as you observed yourself. He is not gifted with a profession or any money-making talents. And with my new situation, I cannot make him a kept man. Maybe that’s why we don’t see him anymore.”

            Vera stopped. “Agnes, did you have any understanding with Lord Phillip?”

            There was no point in keeping the secret. Exhaustion spread over her suddenly, along with the now familiar feeling that nothing much mattered. “We had agreed to marry. But we told no one because we knew that everyone would be shocked at an engagement after so short a time. It doesn’t matter now.”

            Vera’s heart melted as she looked at her niece, so diminished from the girl she knew. “Do you still love him?” she asked.

            “Of course.”

            Vera thought for a moment. Then, turning Agnes around and pulling her gently along, she announced, “My dear, we are going to pay a visit.”

“Vera, I’m not—”

            “Not a word! We will get our hats and gloves and take a little ride up the road.”

            “To where?”

            “To see our good friends, the Duke and his son. After all, Agnes, if we do not visit them, who in the world will?”

To be continued . . .