Jane was extremely grateful that her mother, or possibly Elizabeth, had sent so many clean linens. It enabled Susan and her to make a pallet on the floor where they could place Mrs. McGregor while they remade the bed, used the quilt to wrap her husband and baby, and removed the soiled sheets for washing.
After giving the unconscious woman a sponge bath, they resettled her in her bed and Jane was at least confident that she was resting more comfortably. Wiping her sweaty brow with her forearm, Jane left the bedroom and went in search of Susan, who had bundled up all the soiled linens and took them away. Finding her at the stove heating a large pot of water, Jane asked, “How are you holding up?”
“Well enough, miss. I am hoping some of the hardest work is behind us, though all of this laundry will be a task in itself.” Gesturing with her chin toward the container of lye soap on the table, Susan said, “At least we have plenty of good, strong soap. I can start on the mopping and cleaning the various rooms once I have the laundry started.”
Jane nodded in agreement before saying, “Thank you for all of your hard work, Susan. You are doing a marvelous job. I was just thinking we should try to ensure cleanliness in hopes of not getting sick ourselves. I plan to place a bowl of water and a small pot of soft soap outside the family's room, allowing everyone to wash their hands whenever they exit.” Rolling her head back and forth to loosen some of her tense muscles, she added, “I also had an idea that you and I could stay in the smaller bedroom tonight once we have finished cleaning it.”
Turning her back to the stove, Susan nodded her head, her expression contemplative. “I think that is a good idea. I have opened the windows around the house. Hopefully we can air it out some and clear out the smell.”
“Yes, that will clear the air, and I also have an idea that may help.” Jane thought back to the old book she had found of her grandmother’s full of advice to the future generations. If only there had been something in there about dealing with the sorrow that came with helping the sick. Swallowing around the lump in her throat, Jane said, “My grandmother had a recipe that she claimed would help clear out sickness in the air. I do not know if it will help, but it cannot hurt.”
Nodding, Susan asked, “How are the children?”
Jane shook her head. “Quiet, especially little Allen. I cannot imagine what they have gone through or what is going through their minds. Allen’s fever is not as bad as it could be. I am hoping that we can keep him drinking enough tea and broth to help him fight it off.”
“What about little Gracie?”
“She does not seem to be sick yet, but I would not be surprised if she comes down with it. She has been so exposed; I do not know how she could escape it.”
Grace looked down at her brother as he mumbled in his sleep. It was something he often did, and if she was not so worried, she would have smiled. Smoothing the sweaty hair from her brother’s forehead, Grace forced her gaze to where her mother lay in bed. She tried to tell herself that she was not frightened by the rattling sound that came from her mother, but she knew that sound could not be good. Miss Jane had not looked hopeful when she was helping Mama.
For now, Grace was alone with her sick brother and Mama because the nice lady had gone out into the kitchen. Grace had been so worried when they ran out of water and bread. Now, with Miss Jane arriving and the other people, there would be food and water and clean blankets. It was better food than the stale bread she had been trying to get her brother to eat. Miss Jane had already brought them tea with honey to drink, along with a bowl of broth for both her and her brother. It had tasted better than anything Grace could remember.
Leaning her head against the wall behind her, Grace sighed, tears tracking their way down her cheeks. Her head ached, but she was too focused on her brother to tell Miss Jane about it. She felt better than either her brother or her mama; she did not need help as much as they did. Gazing back at her mama from the pallet where she sat with her brother, Grace watched her chest rise and fall. She had been asleep for a long time, days even. Grace was starting to worry that just like Grandma and Papa, she was not going to wake up.
The smell of clove, cinnamon, and rosemary was an odd combination, but it did indeed help clear the air of the smell of decay and loss. Jane knew her grandmother’s recipe also called for lemon and orange peel, but they did not have any on hand at the moment. Even without the scent of citrus added to the mix, Jane was happy with the result. Who would have thought simmering herbs and spices in a pot with water could make such a difference? Now they just needed to keep adding water occasionally to keep the fragrant steam going.
It was endearing to watch how much Grace, a child herself, wanted to care for her younger brother. Jane wondered if it had anything to do with all the loss that she had experienced or if it was an oldest daughter trait. She had lost three family members in swift succession and would most likely lose her mother soon. It was understandable that she would cling to who she had left.
Kneeling on the floor, Jane asked, “How is Allen, Grace?”
Grace smiled wanly, her hands constantly fussing about her brother. Smoothing his hair before looking up at Jane, she said, “His fever is not that bad, but he is sleeping.”
“That’s good; rest is good for you when you are unwell.” Jane smiled at the boy. His flushed cheeks and sweaty brow told her he was still ill. She was overly concerned, as he was breathing naturally and woke easily when she brought tea and broth. Looking at Grace's tired face, she asked, “Would you like more tea or a bite to eat?”
Grace shook her head, her lank hair flying about before saying, “No, I am still full.”
Jane nodded; she did not want to overtax the girl’s system. She paused before saying, “Actually, I was thinking you could probably use a nap as well.”
Pressing her lips together, Grace shook her head in denial. Eventually, she said, “I should be caring for Allen. I can sleep later.” Her voice was soft, her gaze almost desperate.
Jane reached out to smooth the hair back from the young girl's face. The poor thing was drooping with exhaustion, but still she struggled on. Jane knew the feeling of having the world rest on your shoulders. The ache of fearing not for yourself but for your family. “I know you want to care for your brother, but I am here now. I will look after Allen, and we can both care for him after you rest.” Jane helped rearrange Grace from a sitting position so that she could lie down next to her brother, encouraging her to relax. Watching the girl’s eyes droop, Jane rubbed a line soothingly back and forth along her forehead, hoping to lull her to sleep. Jane waited until the child finally slept before leaning back on her heels. She paused a moment to make sure both children were sound asleep before leaving their sides.
Getting up off the floor, Jane moved to sit on the chair by the bed. While both children were sleeping, she felt compelled to spend time with Mercy McGregor before she went back to help Susan. Sadly, Jane knew Mercy was not long for the world. It would most likely not be too long before she passed away. Jane could hear a rasping rattle come with Mercy’s every breath. Jane had cared for dying people in the past and had heard that sound before; it was never a good sign.
It was frustrating to know that she did not have the ability to save the woman and could only make her comfortable. Her fever was not high, but Jane knew she was slipping away, and she simply did not have the means to fight a sickness that had progressed so far. With Mercy unconscious, she could not get her to drink any of the tinctures or teas that she possessed. It had settled deep into her lungs and would be the death of her. Leaning over, Jane smoothed Mercy’s hair, humming a lullaby under her breath. She had no idea if Mercy was aware of anything at this point, but she could not begrudge her some comfort. It did not hurt that Jane was comforted by the lullaby herself.
The stress in the house had driven Lydia out of doors and into the refuge of her flowers. What did it matter if she was weeding a little more vigorously than necessary? It was a relief to take her frustrations out on the plants that wanted to choke the life out of her babies.
There was so little that Lydia could do to help the situation. Jane was off helping the poor orphans and putting herself at risk while she nursed them back to health. Despite getting extra sleep, Elizabeth was always tired, but it did not stop her from keeping Pemberley running smoothly and making sure everyone was hale and hardy. Mother had taken charge of various things, ensuring that the afflicted families had their needs tended to. Mary and Georgianna had started making clothes and toys for the two children who had so much of their world taken away by cruel fate. Kitty, never one to cope well with difficulties, had started painting and had not seemed to stop.
That left Lydia to her own rather frustrated devices. Though she wished she could go help Jane, she knew it was not something she could do. Everyone was too afraid of contagion to take risks. It seemed that the situation was under control and being well managed by Mr. Bingley and Jane, but that did not soothe Lydia. She was still outside, stabbing at uncooperative weeds that were trying to steal nutrients from her roses.
“What did that plant ever do to you?” Kiernan’s voice had Lydia’s head coming up from its determined pursuit in search of her young friend.
Finding him behind her, Lydia grinned, saying, “Nothing really, but it is satisfying to stab at something sometimes and weeds should not be here trying to take over the rose bed.”
“I can see how that could be fun. Do you need some help?” Kiernan said, rolling up his sleeves and preparing to assist her.
Tilting her head, Lydia pondered for a moment before asking, “I thought you had time with your tutor today. Are you avoiding your lessons for some reason?”
“Nah.” Kiernan shook his head with a mischievous grin that Lydia had always been fond of. He was like the little brother she had secretly always wanted. At eleven, he was only four years younger than her fifteen-year-old self, and they had a good relationship. While he had always been especially close to Elizabeth, Kiernan viewed all the Bennet girls as his sisters. “Because of the illness, my tutor has stayed away.”
Lydia picked up an extra trowel and held it aloft for him. Happy to have company, she said, “Well, as long as you do not think your mother will miss you, I would be more than happy to have you help me with weeding.”
Taking the instrument, Kiernan sat down on the ground next to her. “Just tell me what we are killing. I would hate to execute the wrong plant.”
Laughing, Lydia explained exactly what she had been doing and what to look out for. They worked in companionable silence for a time before Kiernan asked, “Are you worried about Miss Jane?”
Coming up short with a weed in her hands, Lydia focused on Kiernan. His brown eyes were sharp and discerning, though his flicker of a smile let Lydia know he knew he had startled her. He was often more perceptive than people gave him credit for. Between that and his sharp intelligence and thirst for learning, it was no wonder that William had arranged for him to receive tutoring and would eventually send him to Eton.
Sighing, Lydia reminded herself that she could not rub at her face without getting covered in dirt. Looking at Kiernan, she said, “Yes, I am. Jane is not one to look after herself when there are people to care for. I am afraid that she will overwork herself and then catch whatever has killed off half of the McGregors.”
