LITMIR.BIZ

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torment. Robert raised two trembling hands. The night shirt fell away from his wrists and the red welts from last night were clearly visible.

      Simon winced, hating the necessity of restraining the boy. He had no other choice. Robert had to take his medicine. It was a fight for Robert’s soul, but it did not mean that he had to like the method.

      The boy’s breath rattled again, an awful sound. Simon cursed his own useless arm. Once he would have been able to administer the medicine himself, but no longer. ‘Bring two footmen. Quickly!’

      He heard the maid’s footsteps hurrying down the hall. He forced his hand to pick up the beef-jelly bowl, heart sick at his own failure. Behind him Robert’s wailing rose and fell.

      ‘I wish to speak with you, Mr Clare. In the corridor.’

      ‘Is there some new problem, Miss Benedict? Has the noise disturbed your kitten per chance?’ A bitter laugh escaped his throat. ‘If you will excuse me, other matters are more urgent.’

      ‘We need to speak.’ Her eyes became rapiers. ‘Now, Mr Clare, before you make a big mistake.’

      He looked down at her, tempted to brush her aside. The avenging angel with the flawless skin and disapproving beestung mouth, so righteous in her indignation, so sure in her clipped tone of voice—what did she know about his fears? Or how the laudanum appeared to return Robert to his former self for a few hours? He knew what Mrs Smith thought and what the four nurses before her had thought.

      All he wanted was for Robert to get well. A great weariness descended over him. Every particle of his body ached. He hated this. He would loathe himself afterwards, but it was the only way to get Robert to take his medicine.

      ‘As you wish.’ Simon ran his hand through his hair and waited. He had had such hopes when the carriage had arrived back, but now all he had was an interfering, meddlesome woman. He did not need to be told that tying down his son with ropes was wrong. With her disapproving look and crossed arms, Miss Benedict failed to understand that he was doing the only thing he could to save his son. Robert had to take the medicine whether he liked it or not.

      ‘I highly doubt that Robert has done this on purpose.’

      ‘He tries to avoid the laudanum. The nurse was right. The boy has become ungovernable.’ He forced a ghost of a smile. ‘And it is entirely my fault.’

      ‘You are taking the nurse’s word. The woman who opened an invalid’s window during a blizzard! She could have given him lung fever! How could you have allowed such a creature in this house?’

      Simon clenched his hands. What other new great insight could Miss Benedict give him?

      Miss Benedict clamped her mouth shut, but her eyes burned with an even greater intensity. ‘You should have checked…’

      ‘I note you do not offer any references of your own. You ask me to take you on trust.’

      ‘I can certainly do a better job than that…that slattern!’

      ‘The footmen have already been called.’

      ‘Listen to my plan.’ Phoebe forced her voice to be calm. She had to get through to this man. The boy was in trouble. She could see his blue lips and uncontrollable shuddering. This was no act of defiance or a wish to get attention. This was something else entirely. ‘He may not be to blame.’

      Mr Clare’s face blazed with a barely controlled fury, but she stood her ground and refused to flinch.

      ‘Do you not think every way has been tried? Tried and failed? I have had experienced nurses. This is no tea party, Miss Benedict. This is real life. The boy must take his medicine or risk dying.’

      ‘But not that way! It is cruel and is making matters worse! We need to speak if I am to help the boy.’

      A faint sardonic smile touched his lips. ‘I am rather busy at present. If you disagree with my methods, you know where the door is.’

      ‘You will listen to me.’ Phoebe ground the words out. ‘Will you tie me down as well or will you listen to what I have to say!’

      Mr Clare glanced at the boy and his face appeared to soften momentarily. Phoebe silently pleaded that somehow her words had penetrated, that he would finally agree to listen.

      ‘You have five minutes, Miss Benedict, to explain yourself.’ His quiet words filled the room. ‘After that, my coach will return you to your home.’

      Phoebe blinked. He had agreed! Tension flowed from her shoulders, leaving her weak and giddy.

      Mr Clare led the way into the hallway as she heard Robert’s sobbing increase, but the squeaking of the bed slowed. The fit was ending. She gave one hurried glance, but saw that the boy appeared to be coping. She carefully closed the door.

      She looked Mr Clare in the face and sought to find the concerned, loving parent, rather than the stern savage who had greeted her at the door.

      ‘That boy is far from being mad.’ Phoebe crossed her arms and met his intense gaze. ‘He is frightened beyond measure. The threat of ropes and being forced to take the medicine is making matters worse. He had already begun to calm down when the medicine was mentioned. Yes, he is excited, but—’

      ‘What do you suggest should be done with him?’ Mr Clare raised an eyebrow. ‘He bit Mrs Smith two nights ago. I saw the teeth marks on her arm. Others have tried to tell me that it is my duty to send him to the madhouse. But not Robert! Not while I have a breath in my body!’

      Tiredness made Phoebe’s mind clumsy, but she fought against it. All she knew was that tying the boy down was wrong. He was a frightened little boy in need of understanding. He had had scarlet fever, not brain fever. ‘Did she say why he had bitten her? Did anyone see it happen? She went against your wishes about the window.’

      Mr Clare’s face took on an even more ruthless demeanour, became even more piratical. She suspected that he longed for a plank so that she could be ordered to walk it. ‘She attempted to give him his laudanum. And I saw the bite.’

      ‘Perhaps the nurse tried to force it down his throat— against his will. He reacted in the only way he had left.’

      ‘He must do as he is told, Miss Benedict.’ Mr Clare regarded her with disdain. ‘All of us must do things in this life that we dislike, but we do them. It has been explained to Robert, several times.’

      ‘Have you ever had medicine forced down your throat, Mr Clare?’

      ‘Does it matter?’

      ‘It matters a great deal.’

      The air crackled between them, replete with some raw elemental emotion. His hard look intensified. Phoebe resolutely refused to turn her gaze away as the heat between them threatened to sear her. Suddenly he turned his face. The breath exited her lungs with a whoosh.

      ‘My stepbrothers never had to be tied down when they had scarlet fever, not even the youngest, and he contracted rheumatic fever,’ she said quietly. ‘I think the nurse has frightened Robert badly.’

      ‘Your stepbrothers were not Robert. If he will not take his medicine, measures must be taken.’ Mr Clare’s mouth became a thin white line. ‘Is that all you wished to speak me about? Your time is nearly up.’

      ‘Have these fits been happening long? Did he ever have episodes like this before she started to care for him?’ Phoebe asked quickly, seeking to regain the upper hand. ‘Your sister never said that he suffered from any affliction. Did the fever cause this?’

      ‘They started within the last few weeks. Just before Mrs Smith started or just after.’ Mr Clare ran his hand through his hair. ‘Then this started happening—these fits of madness. I knew Diana was my last chance. Robert’s cries were unbearable.’

      Phoebe pressed her lips together. Thank goodness Lord Coltonby had seen the sense of it and had prevented his wife from travelling. This sickroom was the last

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