“One must always adhere to God’s teachings of—” Peter was saying when his eyes rolled back in his head and he sank to the floor in a heap.
Grace screamed as she rushed to the altar, where her husband had collapsed. She was by his side in seconds. His eyes were closed, and his face was flushed. “Peter, wake up, my darling,” she said, stroking his cheek.
A group of parishioners soon surrounded the vicar, including the doctor. “Step aside, miss. Let me see to him,” Dr. Thicke said.
“Please, Dr. Thicke, you must help him,” Grace pleaded as tears streaked down her cheeks. This could not be happening, not after everything they’d gone through to be together. Tears blurred her vision as a cold, dark terror threatened to destroy her new-found happiness.
“He’s burning up,” Dr. Thicke said. “He needs to be put to bed immediately and kept warm.”
Jacob, Easton, Berkeley, and Mr. Clifford stepped forward and lifted the vicar ,carrying him next door to the cottage.
Grace ran ahead to open the door, then raced up the stairs to turn down the bedcovers.
The men carried Peter into the bedchamber and laid him on the bed.
Dr. Thicke began to unbutton his cassock before turning to Grace. “Mrs. Wallings, a bowl of cool water and a cloth to put on his forehead would help tremendously with this fever.”
Grace nodded and ran downstairs to get what the doctor needed. When she returned to the bedchamber, Dr. Thicke had removed Peter’s cassock, shirt, breeches, socks, and boots. He left his small clothes on for modesty’s sake.
Lord Berkeley was talking to the doctor when she returned, and she heard him say, “The vicar visited my father last week when he was suffering from his final fever.”
“I see,” the doctor said as he laid his ear against Peter’s chest. “His breathing is quite labored, and I fear his lungs aren’t functioning properly.”
“What can be done?” Jacob asked. “Whatever you need, you only have to ask.”
Dr. Thicke nodded. “Very kind of you, Lord Fletcher, but there isn’t much to be done for a fever except to keep cooling him with cloths,” he said, pulling the blankets up to cover Peter’s bare chest. He turned to Grace. “He will try to kick off the covers, but you mustn’t let him. He needs to stay warm. I’ll leave some cinchona bark tonic to help reduce the fever. Try to get him to swallow some. I’ll also leave some laudanum to help him sleep. Rest will be the best thing for him. If his condition worsens in the night, call for me immediately.”
Grace nodded, feeling numb as the doctor and the men left the bedchamber. How could this happen now when they’d only just found their happily-ever-after? She tried to remain strong, but tears began streaming down her face. An hour ago, her life had been perfect, and now her husband was stricken down, fighting for his life. Surely God could not be so cruel as to take Peter away from her.
She dipped the cloth in the cool water and wiped his face. “My darling, you must fight this. I cannot lose you now.” A hand on her shoulder made her look around. “Audrey, you mustn’t stay. I don’t want you to become ill as well,” Grace said.
“Dearest, I will stay with you. It’s what sisters do, after all.”
Grace’s emotions spilled over into a sob, and Audrey pulled her into a tight embrace. “Hush now, my dear. Peter is strong. We must have faith.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Grace said, crying against her sister’s shoulder. “How could God strike Peter down? He’s such a good man.”
Audrey had no words to calm her and continued to hold her until the sobs quieted. “I’ll go make us some tea.”
“Thank you, Audrey. That would be most welcome.”
For the next two days, Peter thrashed in the bed, and Grace could do nothing but try to keep him cool and force some of the tonic the doctor had left down his throat. Her sisters and Kathryn took turns relieving her at Peter’s bedside. She was very grateful for their support.
“Darling, you must try to drink some of this to help break the fever,” she said, holding the small bottle to Peter’s lips. Most of the liquid spilled down his chin, but she thought some of it did make it down his throat.
As she rinsed the cloth again and placed it on his forehead, footsteps on the stairs drew her attention to the doorway. She hoped it was Dr. Thicke and was relieved when he entered the room. “Dr. Thicke, there hasn’t been much improvement,” she said.
He nodded and proceeded to examine Peter, laying his head on his chest and listening to Peter’s labored breathing. “Have you given him the tonic I left?”
Grace nodded. “Yes, a little, although most of it ends up down his chin.”
“Even a little bit should help. Just keep trying. I hear a slight improvement in his breathing, but he’s not out of danger yet.”
“Of course. Thank you, Dr. Thicke.”
“I shall return tomorrow to check on him. Again, if his condition worsens, send for me right away.”
After the doctor left, Grace heard more footsteps on the stairs. She rose from her chair by her husband’s bed to see who’d come to call and was overwhelmed with gratitude when Kathryn walked in.