Chapter 17

CHAPTER17

Genevra pushed damp curls off her sweaty brow with a sudsy hand and suppressed the cough trying to rise in her throat. Her body ached, but there was too much to do to go and lie down, as much as she longed to. Joe and both his boys had succumbed to the fever that was raging through the city, and she had been running the tavern with just herself and the girls for a week. It was no wonder she was tired and achy, with all the lifting and hauling she’d had to do in Joe’s and his boy’s absence. Even Mrs Bell had had to take a turn in the tap, and her boy Neil had done his best, but he was only twelve and not at this full strength yet.

She lost her battle to suppress the cough with the next breath and fell into a coughing fit that left her chest aching, her throat raw and her eyes and nose streaming. Mopping up with a handkerchief, she returned to washing glasses and pewter mugs, trying to ignore the throbbing in her feet and her aching limbs.

“Mrs Tate?” It was Annie, one of the barmaids.

She turned. “Mrs Whittaker’s here to see you. I put her in the parlour at the back.”

“Mama?” Good heavens what would bring Mama out, on a night like this? It was bucketing down outside. What had Hiram done now? Drying her hands on her apron, she nodded to Annie. “Thank you.” She hurried out of the scullery and along the corridor to the private parlour, her personal sitting room, which she hardly ever had a chance to sit in. Entering she found her mother sitting on the edge of a chair swaddled in a heavy cloak with a muddy hem and soaked shoulders.

“Mama? What is it?”

“Genevra!” her mother rose, her expression distraught and hugged her. “I had to come, its Beth! She’s run away, and I can’t find her anywhere!”

“Run away?” Genevra’s heart thudded and her stomach turned over in alarm. “Why?”

Her mother dabbed at her face. “It’s your father. He got it into his head that since you wouldn’t marry Mr Neeps, Bethany should. I’ve never known Beth to be so obdurate. She refused utterly to even entertain the idea and when Hiram insisted, she said she would die rather than marry him. He locked her in her room, and I thought she would settle down after a rest, but when I went to check on her, she wasn’t there!”

“When was this?” Genevra’s mind raced with possibilities.

“She hasn’t come to you?” her mother interrupted, catching her hands. “I was sure she would do that. You would tell me if she was here?”

“Yes of course! I wish she had come to me. Perhaps Mary?”

Her mother shook her head. “I went there first. Mary was horrified.”

Genevra sniffed, her wretched nose was running, and her skin was on fire, her head foggy. Think! Where would she go? “When did she leave the house, do you know?”

“Sometime between four, and half past eight, that was when I went to check on her. I don’t know how she could have got out of the house without anyone seeing her. Oh, where could she be?”

“Does Hiram know you’re here?”

“No, he thinks I am lying down with a headache.”

“You had best go home before he discovers you have left the house too! Does he know she is missing?”

“No! I was afraid of what he would do if he found out. I was positive she would have come to one of you girls, but if she hasn’t, oh lord where could she be?”

“Do you know if she took anything with her?”

“A cloak and stout boots. She took your old valise, the one with the rose pattern embossed on the leather, she always liked it remember?”

Genevra nodded. “Did she have any money?”

“Only her pin money, a couple of pounds perhaps?”

“You must go home Mama and try not to worry. She may come home on her own when she realises what a foolish thing this is to do. But if not, never fear I shall find her.”

“Do you have any idea where she might be?”

“She didn’t leave a note I gather?”

Her mother shook her head.

“I suspect she may have some notion of catching the stagecoach to Bath.”

“Bath? Great Aunt Maddie?”

Genevra nodded. Her father’s spinster Aunt, Madeline Whittaker, had never approved of mama’s marriage to Hiram Robinson. The old lady was formidable, but never left Bath, where she had retired for the sake of her health. If Beth was seeking someone to protect her from Hiram, Great Aunt Maddie was the most likely candidate.

“The nearest stagecoach for Bath leaves from The George and Blue Boar in Holborn, but I’m not sure of the times. Rest assured Mama, I will find her even if I have to go all the way to Bath to retrieve her!” She swallowed a cough and hugged her mother. “Go home before horrible Hiram realises you are gone, or he will think you have run away too!”

Having seen her mother off the premises and into a cab, she asked Annie to lock up for her. She went upstairs, put on her thickest cloak and stoutest boots, grabbed the miniature she had of her sister and her purse and hailed a cab for Holborn. Huddled in her cloak, she shivered, her skin hot despite the chill and her heart skipping with worry for her little sister. She could murder Hiram for driving Beth into such a desperate act, but that would come later, first of all she had to find Beth.

She asked the driver to wait for her when they arrived at the George, but he demanded his payment and drove off as soon as she paid it. With a tired shrug, she traipsed into the Inn which took up three sides of an open courtyard, occupied by several carriages and horses. No sign of the stagecoach, which meant it either wasn’t due for a while or it had already departed. She couldn’t remember if this was a morning, afternoon or night-time service.

“Sorry ma’am you’ve missed it by several hours, leaves at 4:00 pm sharp does the stage,” the man behind the counter informed her.

4.00 pm. Then Beth had also surely missed it, Mama said she was locked in her room at four. That was if her surmise was correct, and Beth had come here seeking the coach. She showed the man Beth’s likeness and asked if he had seen her.

He took the little miniature and turned it towards the light. After a minute or two he said. “Aye I think there was a young miss seeking the coach that might be her.”

“What happened to her?”

“Why you asking?” he squinted at her passing the miniature back.

“She’s, my sister!” she said impatiently, trying to suppress a shudder and stop her teeth from chattering.

“Ah well, she ain’t here. I told her she’d missed the coach by more than two hours and the next one wouldn’t be by until tomorrow at four. She looked like she was going to cry, so I offered her a room, but when I told her the price, she said it was too expensive, and she left.”

Genevra’s heart sank and for a moment she thought she might cry too. She felt wretched. Her head was swimming, her legs felt weak, and shivers wracked her frame. She opened her mouth to ask a question and fell into a coughing fit instead. Alarm lit up the man’s face as she coughed helplessly into her gloved hands.

“Eh, you’ve got the fever! You’d best be going ma’am we don’t want any sickness here!” he said backing away and covering his face with his handkerchief.

When she could speak, she said hoarsely. “Is there a stagecoach in London that leaves at night?”

“Only the Royal Mail, it would’ve left from the Swan with Two Necks in Lad Lane at 7:30 pm.”

“Did you tell my sister about it? Would she have gone there?”

He spread his hands. “I don’t know. She didn’t ask, I didn’t tell. She just left.”

Genevra sighed. “Thank you for your help,” such as it was. She left the George and debated what to do next. If her sister had arrived here around six, she would have had ample time to get to the Swan with Two Necks and catch the Mail Coach for Bath. If there were seats available. If she knew about it. The question was, did she? Genevra shuddered convulsively and pulled her damp cloak around her more tightly. Or did she seek lodging for the night in some cheap hotel near here?

Oh Bethy, where are you?

She left the hotel courtyard, emerging onto High Holborn and looked for a cab, but there were none in sight. Not that there was a lot of visibility, it was raining hard, and it was dark, the flambeaux all extinguished by the rain. Pulling her hood up, she stepped out into the street and set off towards the Swan. She had to find out if Beth had got on the mail coach or not.

Half an hour later she staggered into the Swan and asked if a young woman answering to her sister’s description had boarded the Royal Mail. The young man she addressed initially looked at her as if she was mad and disclaimed all knowledge of any young women boarding the mail. But as it turned out, after further questioning, he wasn’t there when the mail arrived. After significant prompting and the supply of coin, he was moved to find someone who was there at that time and could provide accurate testimony. By this time Genevra was soaked through and shivering so badly she could barely speak for the chattering of her teeth. Her head was pounding, and she ached all over.

Her second informant proved frustratingly vague but with the supply of more coin eventually said that no he had not seen a young lady of Beth’s description board the mail. Genevra wasn’t sure if she was relieved or devastated by this news. Beth was still somewhere in London. But where? Was she safe? Was she lost? Had someone taken advantage of her? Hurt her?

Her mind spun with nightmare possibilities as she stepped out into the rain once more and stood swaying in the freezing wind. She was so cold by now she couldn’t feel her feet or her fingers or even her nose. She turned in a desperate hope of finding a cab and spotted one on the other side of the street. The jarvey was heading home and took some persuading to turn around, but the promise of sufficient coin persuaded him, and Genevra climbed wearily into the cab and collapsed on the seat, a wet puddle forming at her feet.

* * *

It wasafter midnight when a furious banging on his door woke Garmon. He had been sleeping a little better since he was able to help Genevra, unbeknownst to her, through promoting the Tavern and increasing its custom.

Rising he pulled on a banyan and opened the door, a demand to know what was so damned important it couldn’t wait till morning, on his lips. He didn’t utter it, for standing bedraggled and shivering on his doorstep was Genevra. Straight out of his dreams to his door. He had imagined many scenarios where he saw her again, but none like this.

The sight of her, soaked through and shaking with cold, made his stomach clench, what in the hell happened to send her to him like this?

“Good God woman what are you doing–come in!” He noticed Ben hovering in the background. The lad acted as his porter by night and his courier by day, he must have let her in. He pulled her over the threshold and nodded to Ben, “Wait I may need you.”

He shut the door and drew her to the fire only half listening to her babbled words, which were mostly unintelligible due to the chattering of her teeth. His first concern was to get her warm and dry.

“Here take this off,” he removed her cloak and flung it aside, pushing her into a chair by the banked fire. Ignoring her babble, he poked the coals up to a flame and added more fuel, then went to find some towels to dry her off.

Returning he was brought up short by her shouting at him, “You must help me!”

“Of course, I’ll help you.” He finally brought his full attention to her face. Her cheeks were a hectic red, and the anguish in her eyes, made his heart stutter.

“You have to find her!”

“Find who?” he said wrapping a towel round her shoulders and using the other to dry her hair. He just wanted to hug her, but she needed to be dry first. He’d seen many women carried off by an untreated chill.

“Bethy!” she sobbed. “My sis-sister B-Bethany! She’s r-run away, she’s l-lost in L-London. She’s sick! If she’s out in this w-weather she c-could die! P-please you h-have to h-help me find her!” Her voice cracked.

“Of course I’ll help you.” He grasped her fluttering hands trying to calm her. “Sit down and tell me slowly how this came about, and I’ll help you.”

He pushed her gently into a chair and gave her a glass with a generous splash of whisky.

She took it and sipped the amber liquid, wiping her cheeks with her other hand.

“Hiram the horrible is trying to force her into marriage with his Manager Neeps, the man is forty-five if he’s a day and Beth is seventeen! It’s obscene!” she coughed into her hand helplessly for a few moments, unable to go on.

“Take it slowly,” he said grimly. “Sip the whisky.” Neeps for a young girl, it didn’t bear thinking of. He would definitely be having a word with Mr Robinson in the near future and the older man wasn’t going to like it!

Subsiding weakling back in her chair, she closed her eyes a moment, and he stroked her hand. He felt helpless to do more, a rising tide of frustrated anger directed at Robinson for causing Genevra so much anguish.

Rousing herself she went on, “Mama told me that she went up to her room at 4:30, and she was gone by after 8:30. Mama came to see me then at the Tavern, after she had checked with Mary, my eldest sister. She was sure Beth would have come to one of us.

“I believe Beth’s aim was to board the stagecoach for Bath to seek refuge with our Great Aunt Maddie. But she missed the stage by several hours and she wasn’t staying at the inn where it leaves from.

“I then went to see if she caught the mail coach, but she d-didn’t.” A convulsive shudder ran through her whole body and more tears ran down her cheeks. “She’s lost in London, somewhere! She is small and innocent and sweet-tempered, trusting! Anything could ha- happen to her!”

“Tell me what she looks like.”

“I have her likeness, here” she dug in her reticule and produced a miniature passing it to him. He glanced at it while listening to her description. “She isn’t above five feet tall, slender build, small breasts, her hair is guinea gold and curly, her eyes light blue, her complexion cream and roses. She is very pretty. And hasn’t a clue how to defend her-herself.” She broke down in sobs again. “Please, please help me find her.”

“Absolutely. All my resources will be devoted to this. We will find her, Genevra. I have a large network and a reliable team. My men and boys will find her.” He rose went to his desk and wrote a short note and popped it along with Beth’s likeness into an envelope, went back to the door and called Ben in. Instructing him to go to Mr Rooke with the note and do whatever he told him to do. “Mrs Tate’s sister is missing, you must find her. Do not come back here until you find her, you understand? Recruit the mudlarks and do as Mr Rooke tells you.”

“Aye Mr Lovell. Don’t you worry Mrs Tate, we’ll find her.” Ben assured her, his thin face full of concern.

She was lying back in the chair exhausted by her ordeal. She opened her eyes and smiled at Ben wanly.

Garmon closed the door on Ben and went back to Genevra. Her skin was white, almost blue, except for the two red flags on her cheeks. Touching her brow, he felt the heat radiating off her, despite the deep shudders still wracking her body. “How long have you been sick?” he asked harshly, his heart thudding with worry.

“I s-started feeling tired and achy earlier today.” she stopped as a coughing fit took her breath.

A shudder of fear ran over his skin, it was worse than he thought. He swept her up in his arms and took her into the bedchamber where he proceeded to strip her out of her wet clothes and bundle her into one of his shirts. He shoved her under the covers and fetched a hot brick for her feet, which were frozen. He had seen many women die of fever from various causes in the brothel, and Genevra’s condition chilled him to the bone with fear.

“Never mind your sister taking ill, it’s like to be you carried off by an inflammation of the lungs!” he said roughly, stroking the hair off her face.

“I th-thought I could find her myself. But I don’t know where she is. You will find her, promise me?”

“Mr Rooke and Ben will find her. I am staying here to look after you. I’ll have the doctor to you shortly. Now rest and sleep if you can.”

“I can’t. I should be looking for Beth. She’s only seventeen! She isn’t fit to be alone in London at night, anything could happen to her.”

And probably has already, he thought grimly. Instead of voicing his thoughts he said calmly, “She has probably gone to a cheaper hotel to spend the night. She will be fine, and Mr Rooke will find her. Rest. I shan’t leave you.”

Her feverish eyes closed, and she seemed to settle for a little, while he made her some lemon tea with a generous dollop of honey. Sitting her up so that she could drink without choking, he wrapped one arm round her and helped her hold the mug. She took a few sips and rested her head on his shoulder. “I didn’t know where else to turn for help.”

“Coming to me was the right thing to do. I just wish you had come to me immediately you learned she was missing instead of running all over London making yourself ill!” He scolded gently.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, lachrymose. It was a mark of how ill she was that she was so meek. Very unlike the Genevra he knew.

Settling her down in the covers again he watched her drift off to sleep, her face so pale surrounded by the lovely halo of her copper hair. Assured she was sleeping, he left to fetch the doctor who lived three doors down.

Returning with that gentleman some ten minutes later, he waited while the man examined her. Genevra was barely conscious while he did so, her fever having advanced to the next stage. She was burning up and didn’t seem to know who Garmon was when he tried to calm her.

The doctor prescribed a paregoric draught and some laudanum. He was grave when he listened to her wheezing breath and Garmon explained about her cough. His pronouncement that the fever was well advanced and could prove fatal, left Garmon rattled to the core.

Alone with his patient once more, he built up the fire, made more tea, and left it to cool in a jug. He then sponged her face and hands to cool them and fed her sips of the tea when he could.

She slept fitfully, and he dozed in between her restless movements and muttered cries.

Daylight found her still hot to touch and barely conscious. He spent the day glued to her side, too afraid to leave her. The only time he did, for no more than a few minutes, he returned to find her out of bed and walking unsteadily towards the doorway.

“Genevra!”

“Must find Beth!” she muttered, her eyes glassy, her skin flushed and burning to touch. She shivered convulsively, her teeth chattering. “So cold!” She moaned.

Grabbing her round the waist he led her back to bed and tucked her in, ignoring her protests. He held her hands tight and tried to soothe her, but she didn’t seem to hear him.

He poured her another dose of the paregoric draught and forced it down her throat. Which made her cough and her eyes stream. But it settled her down and she fell into another fitful sleep.

Her temperature began to climb as the daylight faded, and he kept vigil by her bedside, listening to her laboured breaths and anxiously sponging her hot dry skin.

Genevra was so hot,her chest and limbs ached. Raging thirst parched her throat. She flung out a hand blindly. There was something she was supposed to be doing. What was it?

Beth! Beth was missing!

“Must find her!” she muttered, trying to force her heavy lids open, make her aching limbs obey her. “Bethy! Where are you?” her voice croaked, her throat felt raw.

“Beth is safe,” a deep familiar voice reassured her. A cool dry hand held hers and squeezed it. “Do you hear me Genevra? Beth is safe.”

“Ah-!” she tried to reply but a coughing fit took her breath. It hurt!

Shivers convulsed her body. Someone offered her a drink, she swallowed the cool lemony liquid greedily. Lowered back onto the pillows, she blinked up at the face leaning over hers. Garmon?

She smiled. “Garmon-“ it came out a broken whisper.

“I’m here Gennie, I won’t leave you. Rest.” He stroked her face with a soothing damp cloth.

She closed her eyes, exhaustion claiming her. Safe. Garmon.

Garmon’s heartclenched from that brief moment of recognition. It was precious, for as the night wore on her temperature continued to climb until she was so hot to touch, he feared for her reason.

She was delirious now and didn’t know him, his repeated attempts to bring her back to herself her failed. She continuously flung off the covers and her skin was dry and burning. Her eyes glassy with fever, blind to her surroundings.

Her throat was too raw for her to do more than croak and cough, but among the unintelligible sounds he caught fragments that made his blood run cold.

“Jacob! Don’t!”

“Jacob isn’t here Gennie, he can’t hurt you,” he responded trying tuck the covers round her again.

“Must hide…”

“Oh Genie…” he murmured brokenly, blinking back tears as the desperate note in her voice.

“Hurts!…” this last a whimper that caught his heart and squeezed it.

“What hurts, sweetheart?” he asked wiping her febrile skin with the wet cloth.

The wet cloth came away hot to touch. It didn’t seem to be enough to keep her temperature down. He touched her flushed skin convinced she was getting hotter.

He had heard that such severe fever could permanently addle the brain. In desperation, he filled the hip bath with cold water and picking her up he lowered her into the water.

She cried out, shivering convulsively and flailed about, splashing him generously with the water.

He poured cupfuls of water over her head, a cloth on her brow to stop the water running into her eyes. She gasped lying back in his arms in the tub, shuddering and crying. He held her in the water until it brought her temperature down and her skin felt cooler to touch.

Towelling her dry, he put her back into bed and sat holding her hand, willing her body to fight the infection. Her temperature began to climb again and he kept up the wet cloths on her forehead, arms and torso.

Her breathing became erratic, and his heart stuttered with fear each time it failed. His nerves were worn to a shred with desperate fear as the clock on the mantle ticked slowly forward.

In the dark of the night at its lowest ebb, he sat in silent vigil taking each breath with her, willing her to live. A life without Genevra in it was unthinkable. Disjointed prayers fell from his lips in a torrent. He had never prayed in his life and he had no idea how to go about it, the words were a jumble of exhortations and begging, bargaining and swearing.

“God, please don’t take her from me.” The whispered plea a broken rasp of desperation.

Time stood still and nothing in his life before this moment mattered, only that she continue to breathe.

She breathed and he breathed with her. Time dragged and his head swam with fatigue, his eyes closing. He fought them open time and again.

Desperate anguish tugged at his heart. “Gennie. Don’t leave me!”

And then, with the first grey light of predawn, he saw it. Her skin bloomed with sweat and her breathing evened out. Tears of relief at this sign of the fever breaking, rolled down his cheeks and he gripped her hand and kissed it with feverish hope. “Gennie, Gennie, love! My strong girl. You can do this!” He stroked her brow with the damp cloth and watched her slip into a deeper calmer sleep.

“Genevra, my love,” he whispered, sniffing. His vision blurred and he gulped, breathing out. “Thank you Lord,” he muttered.

Full daylight found him face down on the coverlet. Lifting his head, he could see her brow was still dewed with sweat, but she was sleeping peacefully. Tears gathered in his eyes again as he watched her sleep. So close. To come so close to losing her. The true horror of it sank slowly into his bones and made him shudder. Tears stung his eyes. He could not lose her. Not again. Not ever.

He had fought the temptation to go and see her, again and again. Each time he resolved to do so, something held him back. He realised now it was fear of her rejection again. It had cut so deep without him realising it, masked initially by his anger and later by concentrating on his strategy of winning her back. Then to have her turn up on his doorstep in the middle of the night half out of her head with worry and fever. All considerations except helping her fled his mind. She was in trouble and needed him. That was all that mattered.

the truth broke over him like a wave. He loved her! Genevra Tate was more precious to him than his own life. He would give anything to save her one moments pain or anguish. he blinked tears from his eyes as his throat closed, aching and lowered his head to the bed holding her hand in both of his. His tears fell silently on her palm. Gratitude that she had been spared filled his heart and he whispered. “I love you Gennie, nothing and no-one will hurt you again. I promise.” It was was an impossible promise to keep but he would do his damnedest to make it true.

She slept on oblivious of his epiphany and he kept watch over her, smiling through tears of joy and relief.