LITMIR.BIZ

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tell you to come and see him.’

      Peter cursed angrily beneath his breath and surged upright. ‘I’ll be on my way. I’ll call tomorrow, if I may. Then I shall be in London for a day or two before returning to Portsmouth.’

      ‘Yes, please do come tomorrow.’ Faye gave her fiancé an apologetic smile. ‘Would you like a nightcap before you go?’ She was also disappointed that his visit had been abruptly curtailed.

      Out in the hallway she heard the unmistakable sound from upstairs of Michael being sick. With a resigned sigh and a quick farewell peck on her fiancé’s cheek, she let Peter see himself out.

      ‘He’s got the bellyache and headache; it’s not the chicken I cooked,’ Mrs Gideon announced bluntly, holding a basin under the invalid’s chin.

      ‘He’s been scrumping today, he told me so,’ Claire said, wrinkling her nose in distaste before adding, ‘I’m off to bed.’

      ‘Scrumping, eh? Apples aren’t ripe yet...no wonder he’s got the bellyache.’ Mrs Gideon snorted.

      ‘I’ll see to him, Mrs Gideon; you and your husband will want to get to your own beds now.’

      ‘I’ll fetch Master Michael a powder to settle his stomach before I leave.’

      ‘Have you been scrumping?’ Faye asked when Nelly had left the room.

      Michael nodded, screwing up his face as a cramp tightened his belly. ‘Claire shouldn’t have told on me. I don’t tell on her.’

      ‘What’s to tell?’ Faye asked mildly. She glanced at her brother, but he turned his face away on the pillow.

      ‘Nothing...’ he mumbled.

      ‘There now. Get that down you. And stay away from sour apples; you’ve probably taken in a maggot as well,’ Mrs Gideon scolded, handing over a tumbler of milky liquid. She picked up the bowl. ‘I’ll dispose of this and be by tomorrow as usual.’

      ‘Thank you, Mrs Gideon.’

      Meekly Michael did as he was bade, sipping the brew with a grimace before allowing his sister to tuck him up.

      Faye was still mulling over what Michael had said about telling tales on Claire. Before quitting his chamber, she asked, ‘Is there something going on that I should know about, Michael?’

      ‘I’m tired,’ her brother said, pulling the covers right up and closing his eyes.

      ‘You can rest in bed tomorrow to get over this.’

      ‘I was going to meet my friends at the fairground.’ Michael made to sit up but fell back, exhausted, against the pillow.

      ‘We’ll see about that in the morning.’ Faye closed the bedroom door.

      A pearly glow was painting the walls of the corridor and she felt drawn to the window to gaze up at the silvery orb decorating the sky. There was still a faint summer light on the horizon and she leaned her warm forehead against the cool glass, observing a fox prowling in the shadowy garden below.

      Peter had gone; there was no sign of his horse tethered by the gate. But it was the image of another man and another stallion that was imprinted on her mind as she stared into the twilight.

      The look Ryan Kavanagh had given her as he sat on the grass with the superb steed close by was annoyingly unforgettable. She suspected that if he were to discover how affected she had been by clashing eyes with him just twice, that half-smile of his would turn to laughter.

      She pivoted away from the moonlit scene, feeling ashamed for having allowed a stranger to push her fiancé from her mind. And there was something else: the niggling anxiety that her brother had been on the point of disclosing something important about Claire. Faye didn’t want to seem to be prying unduly into her younger sister’s life...but she was her guardian and the memory of the guilty look on Claire’s face earlier that day now seemed to warrant further investigation.

      With a sigh Faye resolved to speak to her sister in the morning. Feeling suddenly quite weary, she went downstairs to check the locks, as she always did, before retiring.

      * * *

      The following morning Faye was seated at the parlour table, penning an invitation to Peter to dine with them later, when her housekeeper hurried in to the room.

      ‘You’d best come and take a look at your brother, Miss Shawcross.’

      ‘Why? What is it, Mrs Gideon?’

      ‘I took him up a breakfast tray. Master Michael’s still feeling poorly and I’d say there’s more to it than scrumping.’

      Quickly Faye followed her housekeeper’s plump figure up the stairs. Michael had seemed fine when she checked on him before turning in for the night. He’d been sleeping soundly so Faye had blown out the night light she’d left burning at the side of his bed. This morning she’d risen early and gone straight downstairs, not wanting to disturb him.

      ‘He’s got a fever and I asked him to show me his chest as it occurred to me that when folk congregate at fairs, infections can spread.’

      Nelly Gideon had acted as nurse to both of Mr Shawcross’s youngest children and had no hesitation in pulling open the lacings on Michael’s nightshirt to display a patch of red skin on his breastbone. ‘That rash tells me a doctor needs calling.’ Nelly had lowered her voice to an ominous whisper.

      A burst of anxiety flipped Faye’s heart over. She sat on the edge of her brother’s bed and put a hand against his forehead. He felt very hot and clammy and she knew that if he did have scarlatina they should get a doctor to examine him straight away. Faye knew enough about infections to suspect the doctor would tell them to keep themselves to themselves for a week or two to prevent it spreading.

      ‘Would you ask your husband to fetch Dr Reid, please?’ Faye turned her blanching face up to her housekeeper’s furrowed countenance.

      Nelly nodded and hurried from the room. The fact that stoic Mrs Gideon seemed alarmed increased Faye’s anxiety and she tried to block from her mind what Bertram Gideon had told her about folk dying of the disease.

      Faye got to her feet and smoothed strands of lank fair hair back from Michael’s brow. He seemed half-asleep, but his breathing was noisy. He was young and strong, Faye impressed on herself. And there was a possibility that something less serious could be ailing him.

      She rushed to the window and gazed out, seeking the doctor’s pony and trap although she knew it was far too soon for a sighting of the vehicle. But somebody was coming and she recognised the horse and rider...

      Quickly she bolted down the stairs.

      ‘I’m sorry, Peter, but I think it best you don’t come in.’ Faye stood behind the half-closed door.

      ‘What on earth’s the matter?’ Peter demanded, taking a stride forward as though he might force entry.

      ‘Michael might have scarlatina. He’s very unwell and has a rash on his chest...’ Faye’s voice tailed off.

      Peter immediately stepped off the doorstep. ‘I see; have you sent for the doctor?’

      ‘Mr Gideon has gone to fetch him. He should be back soon.’

      ‘I came over to apologise for being grumpy last night.’ Peter raked a lock of brown hair back from his forehead.

      ‘Well, if you were, it would be understandable,’ Faye said with a strained smile. ‘I hope I did not seem unwelcoming. I look forward so much to seeing you. It is just a shame circumstances are what they are.’

      ‘I shall leave earlier than planned for London. I had hoped we might dine together again this evening, but it seems we won’t.’

      ‘I had written you a letter inviting you,’ Faye said ruefully. ‘When will you be home again?’

      ‘In a few months, I hope. I’m off to

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