Consumed
Charles
I have been sitting beside my father’s bed since I returned from the ball at Lockwood Hall. I drift in and out of sleep, and each time I wake, I check on him.
Sometimes he is sleeping, his forehead hot beneath my hand. Sometimes he is coughing, suddenly and violently, the sound tearing out of him until his whole body shakes. When it stops, he lies back, exhausted, his eyes closed, and his breathing is thin and uneven. I wait through each fit and pray he’ll get better.
I give him water when he can manage to take a sip. I adjust his pillows, and give him the medicine the doctor prescribed. Yet, the fever doesn’t break, and the deep-chest coughing always returns.
Half-awake, my thoughts turn to Violet. She’s so beautiful, and it felt incredible to have her lips on mine. We weren’t supposed to be alone together, and I know the rules of the ton make all of this unnecessarily complicated, but I am willing to follow them if it means having a chance with her. I will call on her and court her properly, even though I have never done it before, because losing her is not something I am willing to risk.
At dawn, my mother comes in and takes my place at my father’s bedside. “Please Charles, go get some sleep. You need to rest. You also need to eat more, darling.”
“Father isn’t getting better,” I whisper. “I’m becoming increasingly worried.”
She nods, keeping her glistening eyes focused somewhere on the floor. “I know, son. We must keep praying. After you rest and eat, would you please ride into town and ask Dr. Morton if anything more can be done?”
“Of course, Mother.” I pat her arm gently and walk out of the room. I skip the rest and breakfast and immediately head out to the stables. A groomsman readies Hawk for me, I thank him, and am on my way.
On my way to Hertfordshire to see the doctor, my mind strays to Violet again. She’s clever and knows how to turn the conversation in unexpected directions. She is nothing like the women I have known in the ton. Violet is incredibly lively, quick-witted, and utterly unafraid to speak her mind. I adore everything I know about her. The woman is a rarity, for certain. I want to see her again so badly. I must find a way to match with her, even if it means playing by rules I have never cared for.
When I arrive at Dr. Morton’s home, I dismount and knock on the door. A maid opens the door, and I wait inside. After a moment, his wife greets me with a friendly smile. “Master Langford! I’d say it’s wonderful to see you, but I’m sure if you’re here that means your father is still unwell?”
“Yes, ma’am. Is the doctor in?”
“He is. I’ll fetch him right away. Make yourself comfortable in the parlor while you wait,” she says and disappears down the hall.
I step inside the parlor and sit down in a chair across from an ornate fireplace. A few moments later, Dr. Morton enters, his mouth drawn into a tight line.
“My father is still very ill, sir. The coughing, the fever… nothing helps,” I begin.
“It may be consumption, Master Langford. Unfortunately, if that is the case, there is very little else that can be done,” he replies.
“Yes, sir. That’s why I’ve come to see you. Is there anything at all that we can try?” I ask, desperately.
“The next step would be bloodletting, but as you well know, bloodletting doesn’t always help.” He shakes his head slightly, giving it to me straight.
I mull over the doctor’s answer, remembering the times I’ve seen the process before. “Allow me to consider it, and I shall return,” I finally manage to say.
“Of course, Charles.” He offers me his hand. “I am praying for your father and your family, sir.”
I rise and shake his hand. “Thank you, Doctor,” I say, releasing it. I bow politely before turning to leave.
Though I am exhausted, as I remount my horse, I decide not to go home. Father’s prognosis is grim. I need something to take my mind off the matter. So I head somewhere else instead.
A few minutes later, I dismount at the Beaumont house, hand the reins to the stable boy, and approach the front door with my stomach in my throat. I’ve never been nervous to knock on this door before, but now that Violet’s here, everything’s changed.
A servant opens the door and bows. “Good morning, Master Langford, I’ll retrieve Master Edward at once,” he says.
“Actually,” I say, “I have come to see Miss Violet.”
He nods and motions for me to follow. I am led through the hall to the parlor, where Violet sits listening to Rosalind play the piano. Edward lounges in a chair, one arm over the back. He stands as I enter. “Charles! It’s good to see you. At last, someone to relieve this endless tedium.”
“Ah, Edward. You’ll have the pleasure of my company another time. Today, it’s Violet I’ve come to call on.” I clasp my friend’s hand and then turn to the woman in question.
Violet’s eyes widen. “You’ve come to see me?”
I step forward and bow my head before her. “May I have the pleasure of joining you for a while?” I ask.
“Absolutely! You’ve made my day.” Her eyes sparkle when she smiles, and the delight in her voice has me feeling at ease again as I take a seat next to her.
Edward gawks at me, raising an amused eyebrow that clearly asks, Why are you here to see my cousin? I’m glad he keeps the question to himself.
Rosalind stops playing mid-song and stands. “I’m glad you’re finally here to see Violet,” she says. Then, addressing Edward, she adds, “We might give them some time to themselves.”
Edward looks perplexed, as if he’s not quite sure what to make of it, while Rosalind’s lips curve into an amused, impish smile. They leave the room, though the doors remain open on either side, as proper society rules dictate. Technically, there should be at least one other person in the room, but Edward hasn’t strayed far. I hear him in the library across the hall.
We chat for a few moments. I keep the conversation light and pleasant, as is expected. But every time I look at her perfect heart-shaped mouth, I remember that kiss.
“Would you care to walk with me through the gardens?” I ask, hoping to steal another moment alone with her, despite what society would allow.
“I would love to,” she says. I stand, offering her my arm, and we move toward the door together.
The gardens at Montroseau Hall are neatly laid out, with paths winding between fountains and flowerbeds. Servants bustle about tending the flowers, so we are not alone, but this is better than being in the house where Edward could walk in at any moment.
As we walk, the exhaustion of a sleepless night, an empty stomach from skipping breakfast, and the worry I’m carrying for my father hits me, and I’m momentarily at a loss for words.
Violet’s forehead crinkles as she looks up at me. “You seem troubled today, Charles.” Her eyes search mine for an explanation.
“You’re very perceptive. However, I didn’t come here to bother you with my troubles. I came to see your lovely face and steal a moment with you in the sunshine.”
“You may speak freely with me,” she says. “If something weighs on your mind, it may do you good to say it aloud.” When she looks up at me with those winsome, bright blue eyes, I realize that perhaps I could tell her anything, and she would understand without judgment.
“It’s my father,” I admit. “He’s very ill, and he isn’t getting better.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that, Charles. It must be quite troubling,” she says genuinely.
“Yes. My whole family is very concerned. You see, I had two brothers close to my age…. Harry was a little older, and Philip was a year younger than me…. They both died of consumption. I can’t help fearing the same for my father.”
She stops and turns toward me, tears brimming in her eyes. “I’m so very sorry to hear about your brothers, Charles,” she says, squeezing my arm.
“It was years ago, and we’ve all mourned the loss of two good young men. But now, I fear my father will follow after them sooner than I’m ready to lose him,” I admit. It seems a bit odd to speak such things out loud to a near-stranger, but then, Violet has a way of making me feel better somehow just by listening.
“Forgive my ignorance, but what exactly does consumption consist of?” she asks.
We are strolling arm in arm through the gardens, speaking of a topic so unromantic I never imagined I would discuss it with her. I can’t help but wonder if this might be the last time this lovely woman grants me her company. Am I mishandling my chance entirely? Yet, it doesn’t seem so.
“He has a fever that won’t break,” I explain. “He coughs persistently and is wasting away. The doctor has prescribed medicine, but he says the next step would be bloodletting.”
Her mouth drops open in a gasp, and her eyes fill with horror. “No!” She nearly shouts. Clearing her throat and regaining her composure, “Please, don’t do that,” she says.
“Why not?” I ask.
“It’s just not going to help this particular situation,” she replies, firmly. “I don’t mean to sound too assertive, but if you’ll permit me to share my knowledge with you, I may be able to give you some helpful advice.”
“Yes, please. I’ll try anything,” I reply, though I am confused. A few moments ago, she asked what consumption is. Now she knows how to cure it?
“You must change his sheets every day. You must wash them in boiling hot water. Anything he touches–cups, spoons, the medicine vials, his pillows and quilts–it all must be cleaned in boiling hot water every day. His hands and face need to be washed frequently. He must have clean clothes and clean cloths for washing and coughing into, and they must be changed and boiled each time. And Charles, fresh air is vital. If possible, open the windows or even take him outside.”
I absorb it all, astonished. “You speak as if you have tended the sick yourself,” I say, meeting her eyes.
“I’ve studied illnesses in books. Charles, do you have other brothers and sisters?” she asks.
“Yes. I have two younger brothers and two younger sisters.”
“You must keep them out of your father’s room,” she adds. “Keep them away from anything he’s touched, coughed on, or used. The illness your father suffers from is incredibly contagious.”
“Contagious?” I ask.
“Yes. Others can catch it if he coughs on them or they touch something he’s touched,” she explains.
“How do you know all this?” I ask, unable to hide my fascination.
“I study the sciences, and I have paid attention to this illness in particular. I just didn’t know it by the name you used. The books I’ve studied refer to this illness as tuberculosis. I ask you to imagine, if you will, that what your father touches, and even the air he coughs into, leaves behind matter too small for the eye to detect. We can’t see it, yet it remains all the same. It is most certainly this unseen residue that keeps him unwell, and that may, in time, afflict you, your family, or your household staff, unless care is taken with cleanliness and with washing your hands.”
I shake my head, not sure what to think. I want to question her more, to ask how she knows about these unseen particles. It sounds make-believe. Yet, she speaks with such confidence, I can’t help but be impressed and believe her. She has a precision and clarity I have never witnessed in a woman before, and it strikes me, once again, how extraordinary she is. Violet doesn’t flinch or judge. And I’ve never been able to speak to anyone who could hear the truth of such a matter without fuss, pretension, or treating it as scandal or idle curiosity. She truly cares and is offering assistance.
“Thank you,” I murmur, brushing my hand lightly along hers. “I’ll follow every word you’ve told me.”
I look up and realize we’ve walked farther than I thought. The garden stretches behind us, and the orchard rises ahead. We stop near a tall hedge, which gives us a touch of privacy. I look at her, and suddenly I remember why I’m here. Violet is breathtaking, and I have managed to steal a moment of privacy with her. I’m not going to waste it or ruin my chances any longer.
I lean toward her, and our lips meet. I hold the kiss, letting it speak everything I’ve been holding back. All the words I might have written in a letter, all the careful phrases I considered, are here in this one moment. She kisses me back, captivating and enticing, and I have to fight every impulse not to let my hands wander across her curves. In that instant, I know something between us is beginning to take shape, something I have never felt with anyone else.