He shook his head. “I want to stay here with her. Mayhap Cecily could stay with you.”
She nodded and promised to return.
Walter wasn’t in as bad a state as Alice but Eleanor was hysterical, making Terrick and Cecily cry. Lily sent them outside and went to Walter with a cup of Richard’s tea. “Drink this, Walter. Eleanor. Eleanor!” she shouted at the butcher’s wife and finally got her attention. “Your husband and your son need you to control yourself. We are all frightened. But imagine what it would be like for the children if all the adults fell apart.”
“But Lily—” she cried.
Lily shook her head at the woman. “Leave the house if you cannot be a comfort to your husband.”
Eleanor gasped, but took hold of herself.
Lily went outside and spoke to the children in between her visits to Joan, Alice, and Water. Who would be next?
She smiled at Cecily and took Terrick in her arms when he wept over his father. She returned twice more to her patients, administering more tea and prayers with Father Benedict.
She ate supper with Richard, Charlie, Cecily, and Terrick. She liked having the children with her. They didn’t remain morose for long and ended their night in laughter with Lily and Cecily in one bed and Richard and the boys in another—although Richard didn’t come in until much later.
Lily stayed awake all night, wondering where Elias and Simon were. Had they found Martin and Deirdre Miller? Were they ill? Was Elias ill? The more she thought about it the more she couldn’t sleep.
“Lily?”
She opened her eyes to Cecily’s gossamer voice.
“Aye, love?”
“Is mummy going to die?”
What was she to say to such a question, put to her by a ten-year-old child? “I hope not, darling. Richard and I are going to do everything we can to help her live.”
“Thank you, Lily,” Cecily whispered with her eyes closed and her fingers entwined in Lily’s.
Lily thought she would cry herself to sleep but she was still awake at midnight when Elias returned.
Slipping from her bed, she pulled a green woolen kirtle over her chemise and tiptoed quickly down the stairs.
She was so glad to see Elias hanging up his cloak in her kitchen, looking tired and somber, but alive and healthy, she was tempted to run to him and fling her arms around him. “Did you find them?” she asked in a quiet voice instead. “How is Deirdre?”
He looked away and swung his leg over a stool at the table and straddled it.
“Should I sit, as well?” she asked, afraid he would say aye.
He nodded. Her heart pounded. She could feel it reverberate in her blood. Something terrible had happened. Did she want to hear?
She sat in her chair at the table and waited, squeezing her own entwined fingers until they ached.
“We found them on the road to Netherfield.” His eyes gleamed with sorrow at what he had to tell her. She had the urge to leap off the stool and run before he said another word. She didn’t want to hear—
“They had been robbed,” he continued telling her. “Martin was…ehm…dead from a stab wound.” He reached across the table to cover one of her hands in his. He remained silent while she closed her eyes and shook her head.
“And Deirdre? Her babe?”
He said nothing but looked away.
“No?” She couldn’t take it in. No. She left her chair, grabbed her cloak and left the house. She felt something ready to erupt and she didn’t want to wake the whole house.
She heard Elias come out after her. His hand on her shoulder seemed to ignite what was brewing but she held on and did not weep. Deirdre, her baby. Martin, all of them. All of them were dying. She needed comfort from today, from all the horrors, all the sadness and Richard had enough weight on his shoulders.
She turned in Elias’ arms and let them come around her, engulfing her in strength and courage. She remained quiet against his hard chest and drew strength from him.