Free The Spy's Kiss by Nita Abrams Page B

would think he was a prince of the blood. When he told her he could easily be cared for at the Burford Arms she snapped that no one of his lineage would be tended by tavern wenches while she was mistress of Boulton Park.”
    â€œThat is just as well,” said Dr. Wall dryly, picking up his bag and moving towards the door. “He should not be moved for at least three days and must not be allowed to walk more than a dozen yards at a time for several days after that.”
    â€œOh.” Serena digested this for a minute. Her aunt had believed that they would only need to keep him here for a day or so. But Dr. Wall was not an over-cautious physician. If he prescribed rest, there must be a good reason. With a sigh she followed the doctor towards the anteroom. His hand was on his pocket flap again, and Serena knew he was itching to be out of the house. “I’ll ring for Pritchett and have him show you out. My aunt is conferring with Mrs. Fletcher and it is probably best if you do not take your leave of her. She will trust me to pass on your instructions.”
    â€œNo need,” he said gruffly. “I can show myself out, been here often enough.” He was headed towards the foyer before she could even reach the bellpull but paused momentarily. “Ah, Miss Allen, one more thing.” He handed her a small paper twist. “If he develops a fever, give him some of this powder dissolved in hot water or tea and feel free to send for me again.” The pipe was out of his pocket already, and he tamped it absentmindedly on his boot, leaving a small pile of tarry ash just inside the anteroom doors.
    An elderly manservant on his way in paused and discreetly swept up the pile into his own handkerchief. He looked harassed.
    â€œBates has returned from the village, Miss Allen. Constable was gone out to the weir, but they’ve sent a boy to notify him. And the boy stopped at the inn, as you requested, to see if they could send on the sick gentleman’s effects, and to summon his servant.”
    â€œWell?” she said impatiently.
    â€œMr. Clermont’s man packed up his gear and left this morning; said his master was following him to town.”
    â€œDrat,” said Serena under her breath. She had hoped that most of the nursing could be done by Clermont’s own valet. According to Bates, the manservant had been regaling everyone at the inn with tales of his heroic devotion to his master in the wilds of Canada. Here, in her opinion, was an ideal opportunity for devotion. She had tended Simon after a blow to the head once, and it had involved quite a bit of holding basins while he retched. Now it would have to be Mrs. Digby and herself. She looked down at the pale, aristocratic face. His brows were drawn together slightly. Probably even in his drugged sleep he was dimly aware of what she was sure must be a ferocious headache.
    In the anteroom, Simon was waiting, nearly bouncing in his excitement. “May I see him?” her cousin said, trying to look around her as she emerged. “Will he recover?”
    â€œNo, you may not, and yes, he will recover. If you do not plague him. I thought you were meant to be in bed yourself. You were soaked by the time we got back.”
    There was a timid knock at the outer door.
    â€œIf that’s Nurse, I’m not here,” said Simon, retreating to a shadowed corner and preparing to slip behind a tall chair.
    The door inched open, and Mrs. Childe peered around it, then tiptoed into the room. “I came as soon as I heard the dreadful news,” she said in a whisper. “I will take the first turn to watch at his bedside. Poor dear Serena, you must be quite worn out with everything.” She patted Serena’s arm. “Go and rest; Mrs. Digby and I will be here.”
    Serena repressed the urge to ask the older woman where she had been on all the nights years ago, when Serena and the nurse and the countess between them could