Chapter Twenty-One

Tudor Randolph. From the first, Judy knew he was different from his brother. She knew it in the burst of wailing as the air met his lungs and skin, in the muddy blue of his eyes that turned brown so quickly, in his thirst for milk, in every jerk of his tiny, perfect limbs. She loved him instantly. With Saint, she had been unsure, awkward — an unnatural mother. She'd feared feeling so again. But no. When Anna Dudley first lifted him into her arms, Judy looked at his face, saw that Tudor looked nothing like Saint, and in a tumbled rush of relief, tears and gratitude, she fell in love.

Dick smiled at his new son but soon left him to the women. He'd been studying for the law, an admission, if silent, that the plantation was struggling financially and more income was needed. Matoax had been sold two years earlier — a blow to his ego, Judy was sure. He'd written a new will and made her promise she'd fulfill his commitment to free their slaves, beginning with Syphax, if he failed to do so in his lifetime. Hearing Tudor crying upstairs, she'd agreed fulsomely and left him to his books. This child, Judy thought. This child. She could bear almost anything, so long as he lived and thrived. Resolve settled in her as she stroked his cheek and tickled the palm of his tiny hand, watching his perfect fingers close around hers.

With both Anna Dudley and Nancy in the house, Judy was able to spend more time with Tudor than she ever had with Saint as an infant. He would grow to be a healthy, strong and capable man; she would make sure of it. Tudor would do what Saint could not. The intensity of her feelings for the child numbed her to the others around her. If Anna Dudley and Nancy couldn't abide to be in the same room as each other, that was their problem. So long as the work of the household was carried out properly, Anna and Nancy held no interest for her.

Concern for Dick and their relationship faded from her mind. It would be what it would be — she had other things to think about now. Tudor. Saint was learning to read and write, and she was glad. But Nancy's talk of a school in London, where he might learn speech flowed over Judy's head like the babble of a brook. Saint's future was uncertain, but it didn't concern her. Tudor was the future.

He was a fussy eater and didn't sleep well, but she didn't care as long as he was with her. They were connected, as if the cord had not been cut. His skin was her skin. His breath, her breath. His pain, her pain. When Anna Dudley offered to take the baby for a stretch, Judy bristled. She'd share him soon, she told herself. But not yet. Saint seemed more Nancy's child than hers. That wouldn't happen a second time. Tudor belonged with his mother. For the first time in years, she was happy.

But sudden illness changed everything. The rhythm and sounds of Bizarre altered the moment Dick came home sick. He had been caught in a storm, then stayed out in the stable, drying his horse before clattering through the door, shivering and unable to get warm. Deep into the night, Bizarre echoed with the consequences. The storm of feet carrying water for a bath. The thud of logs and the stoking of a fire to warm the master. The spicy scent of mustard, the beginnings of a cough, the chattering of teeth, his voice, plaintive, calling for wine, and more opening and closing of doors, feet running and a whispered debate outside her door. Then the knock.

Judy didn't get up at once. She was sitting with Tudor by the window, gently rocking him, enjoying the weight of his head on her shoulder. Putting him in his crib each night made her cold — she put off the moment for as long as she could. The knock came again. Clamping Tudor's small form to her shoulder, she went to the door and unlatched it. Nancy and Anna Dudley were there, their skin yellow in the candlelight.

"Mr. Randolph is unwell," hissed Anna Dudley.

"He probably needs to sleep. But how he can with all the racket everyone is making . . "

Nancy stepped into the room. "He needs a doctor."

Judy rolled her eyes. "Then send Ben." She was surprised to find Nancy's hand clutching hers.

"Thank you. I'll do that now." Nancy made for the stairs, leaving Judy and Anna Dudley still in the doorway.

"Was there anything else?" Judy asked.

"Will you come and attend to him?"

Judy smothered a desire to laugh. "Attend to him? When he has you, Nancy and Syphax and the doctor on his way? No. I will attend to my child. I'm sure Dick will be fine if he gets a good night's sleep. Now, goodnight."

The house was quiet when she woke the next day. She imagined Dick was as fast asleep as Tudor, who lay on his back with his mouth slightly open and his chest rising and falling steadily. It would only take a moment to check. Judy smiled at Tudor and tiptoed out of the room.

Phebe, asleep in a chair by Dick's bed, didn't stir as Judy leaned over him. He was horribly pale. A slick sheen of sweat coated his face, and yet salt lined his lip. He was asleep but unsettled. His limbs twitched, and his eyeballs squirmed beneath his thin eyelids. Always a slim man, he looked gaunt now, with a pool of sweat in the hollow of his throat and his dark hair wet against his pillow. She put a hand to his forehead. He burned.

She skirted the bed and shook Phebe's arm. "Wake up at once. The master is sick. Where is the doctor? Did he come last night?"

"Yes, ma'am." Phebe blinked rapidly. "He bled him and gave him a tonic. Master Randolph took more from Miss Nancy a few hours ago. Can't rightly say when. Miss Nancy said she come back in the morning, and we give him more then."

"Get my sister. Now."

She fixed her eyes on the window, watching the sky lighten while she waited. Her thoughts went to Tudor. She would take him outside today. It wouldn't be good for him to be in the house all day while his father lay ill. Sarah and the girls must wash down the hallway and scrub her bedroom. She bent over Dick and heard a light crackling sound in his breath — not good.

"Is he no better?" Nancy rushed in and fluttered around Dick's bed. Judy's temper rose, but she repressed the biting remarks that sprang to her lips.

"What do you think? He is certainly unwell. When did he last take any medicine? What did Dr. Alves give him? Show me."

Nancy handed her a glass bottle. Judy sniffed it. "Vinegar?"

"With molasses and butter. He should take another dose now." Nancy glanced at Dick and then at Judy. "Should I?"

"No." Judy moved to the bedside. "Fetch Ben and Syphax. They must get Mr. Randolph sitting up. And then I will look after him. You may go."

It was the correct thing to do, but Judy regretted her decision almost at once. The men got Dick bolstered up on a bank of pillows and awake enough to swallow the tonic, but once that was done, Judy was left in the room with him and nothing more to do than listen to the crackle of his breath and wait. Her thoughts returned to Tudor. She went to the door and called out Nancy's name.

Nancy was there in a moment. It wasn't lost on Judy, not Nancy's quick response, not her rapid breath, not the pink in her cheeks, not the concern in her eyes as she looked at Dick. Her eyes snagged on a chain at her sister's neck. At a ring hanging there. Where had she come by such a trinket? Nancy needed to leave Bizarre. The realization hit Judy with a certainty, but it could wait until Dick was well again.

"Sit with him," she said. "I have my new son to consider. I will send Anna Dudley to relieve you later."

"Don't."

"What?"

"I hate that woman. She mustn't come near. Phebe and I will manage."

Judy frowned. Questions sprang to mind, but a thin wail reached her ears. "Fine. Have it as you wish. Anna will be busy enough downstairs while you manage Dick. Whenever he wakes, try and get him to drink. If his breathing gets worse, send Ben back out for Dr. Alves. Let us pray this fever is of a short duration."

* * *

Left with Dick, Nancy sank into the chair by his pillows. Tiredness itched at her eyes, and she had a headache blooming. She hadn't slept. Dr. Alves' eyes had dropped from hers when she had asked him how long he thought Dick might be laid up. The fever was the key. The fever must be broken.

Phebe brought soup for Nancy and brandy and milk for Dick, but she couldn't rouse him to take either. The hours dragged by. Phebe returned, and together, they changed his nightshirt. He was thin, Nancy thought. Thinner than he used to be. They rolled him one way and then back to change the sheets he lay on. This woke him, and he fixed his tired eyes on Nancy and smiled, but air hit his chest, and he was rocked by a frantic coughing fit. Dr Alves arrived as the sun began to dip, and a shaft of shadow cast its way across the bedchamber. He was a short man with a hooked nose and sharp eyes. His lips turned down when he looked at the patient.

"Calomel and tartar emetic." He snapped open his medicine bag and reached for a bottle. "Have the girl fetch some wine to bury the taste. Be quick."

She dispatched Phebe, but it was Anna Dudley who appeared in the doorway minutes later. Nancy grabbed the proffered jug of wine and glass and turned away.

"I see you are busy, but I'm sure Mrs. Randolph would like to know what the doctor has to say to Mr. Randolph's condition today."

"Not now. I must help Dr Alves. Tell Judy I will come to her when the doctor is gone home again." Before Anna Dudley could say another word, Nancy shut the door in her face.

* * *

"The doctor is here." Anna began in an ordinary fashion, knocking gently at Judy's open door, speaking softly with a nod to where Tudor lay in his cradle. But when Judy made no move to rise, her tone sharpened. "Won't you come and speak with him, Cousin?"

There was nothing so much in the words. With Anna Dudley, it was all in her manner, in her tone, in the muscles of her face that twitched and pinched.

"Not at this moment," Judy said. "Tudor has been fussing. I must be sure he's sleeping soundly." That should have been more than enough to get rid of the woman, but no, Anna Dudley pushed herself forward, coming fully into the room and closing the door behind her.

"I must speak."

A wave of irritation prickled Judy's skin. "Must you?"

"It is not seemly."

"What are you talking about?" Her neck ached, and she considered standing, but the last thing she wished for was a confrontation. Her eyes flicked to Tudor. He didn't stir.

"Nancy. In that room. Alone. With him."

"My husband is unwell, cousin. My sister is tending to him. Syphax or Ben is there. Dr. Alves is there. I struggle to share your concern."

"You will forgive me, Cousin, but you should share it! After all this family has been through. After what happened. When it is still talked of, still discussed. To let them be together. To be so intimate. In his bedroom."

"My husband and my sister are not intimate! How dare you speak in such a manner?" She was on her feet, Tudor forgotten.

Anna Dudley stepped back, her hand on her mouth. "Do I not have my own and my children's reputations to think of?" She threw Judy a glance so contemptuous, Judy knew she'd never forgive it, that she would never see the other woman without wanting to slap her.

"You are here, Cousin, in my house, as a result of my good husband's charity, and this is how you speak? While my husband lies ill? While I nurse a small infant?" Anna Dudley might be older than she, indignant and certainly rude, but she was nowhere near as angry. "Get out of my room. And stay away from my husband and sister."

She almost laid hands on the woman. Her palms itched to strike. Only a startled cry from Tudor prevented her. Anna Dudley scuttled away, and Judy burst into tears.

As soon as she composed herself, she went to talk to Alves. The doctor spoke in an undertone. The next few hours would be crucial.

"We will draw this fever out, Mrs. Randolph," he said, grimly. "Once the fever is broken and the body is purged, it can be bled. Then we will see what strength God gives him. Let us pray our Lord is generous."

* * *

Nancy remained in Dick's room for a second night. Purging was foul work, and she longed for a warm bath, for fresh clothes, for clean air to smell and an end to the retching that shook her heart, even as it shook Dick's shoulders. He grabbed at his stomach, twisted and moaned, pitiable in his illness. In the moments he recognized her and spoke, she heard a muddle of self-pity and gratitude, no different from Saint when suffering through a sickness.

She dozed for a while, upright in the chair by the bed with her cheek numb against the wood, until near dawn he woke her, putting his hand on hers. Still too hot — she thought of burning paper.

"Nancy." His voice was thin. She filled a cup of water and brought it to his lips.

"Thank you." He closed his eyes. "God, I feel wretched!"

She smiled. "You have been so unwell." He tried to move, perhaps to sit, but the effort was beyond him. "Lie still." She placed her hand on his forehead and bit her bottom lip to hide her disappointment. Too hot. Too dry.

"I'm feeling better."

"Hungry?"

"No."

Another flicker of optimism snuffed out. "I'll call Syphax in a moment. He won't be far away and will get you sitting up. You should drink. You must get better, Dick."

"I'll be better in a little. Stay with me for now."

Tears stung her eyes. The silence that fell between them gave her no comfort. His chest bubbled and wheezed with every breath. She thought back to his brother, Theo, and the space between her ribs contracted.

"Do you still have the ring?" His chest heaved with the effort of speaking.

She reached for her necklace, leaning down so he could touch it. "Here."

"I married the wrong girl." The coughing stopped, but his chest rose and fell like a ship in a storm. "When I am over this, I shall put it right. I shall—"

"Don't talk like this." She touched her fingers to his lips. "Don't talk at all. Get well. That's all I ask." He looked ready to say more, but she shook her head. "No. If you want me to stay with you, you must not speak of such things."

She was saved by a soft knock at the door. Phebe appeared, carrying a tray with a bowl of porridge and a tankard of beer.

"From Mrs. Dudley. For the master."

"Sit with him, please, Phebe. I need something from the garden." She slipped from the room and down the stairs. The early morning light was harsh on her eyes after two days in the sickroom. Her head throbbed. She went to a bushy clump of butterfly-weed growing behind the kitchen house. Its clusters of tiny orange flowers normally brought a smile to her lips, but Nancy was intent on its roots. She grasped two handfuls and tugged. The plants came away easily, and in moments, she had them in water in the kitchen, rinsing away the soil and requesting Sarah place a kettle of water over the fire to boil.

"What are you about, Cousin?"

Her shoulders sagged at the sound of Anna Dudley's voice. The woman was everywhere. "I'm making a tea for Mr. Randolph — not that it's any business of yours." Nancy grabbed a cloth and patted the roots dry. Sarah placed a board and knife on the table for her.

"I sent your girl up. He needs food and drink to fortify him."

"I know what you did." Weariness tugged at her eyes, and her head still throbbed. "And I am grateful. But I'm not sure he will take it."

"If I were to nurse him, you may be sure that he would."

Nancy stopped chopping. She stared across the table at Anna Dudley. The woman was almost quivering with anger. How ridiculous. Dick was ill, seriously ill, and here was his cousin trying to pick a fight. She couldn't stop it. She laughed.

A sea of emotion washed over Anna Dudley's face. Her mouth opened and closed. Then she shook her head and drew in a long breath through her nose. "Laugh all you like. But be careful you do not kill him with your . . . your . . . with whatever this is! I pray you know what you're about."