Betrayal Read Online Free PDF Page B

seeing me nursing Ellie in our chamber. She sounded kind and concerned.
    “It’s my friend Ellie from the laundry,” Iexplained. After all, Mary wouldn’t have noticed Ellie even if she had seen her about the palace. “She’s very sick. And she has no mother to look after her. And Mrs. Fadget, the Deputy Laundress, has been horrible to her!”
    Any of the other Maids of Honour might still have fetched Mrs. Champernowne, who would probably have sent Ellie back to the laundry, and I would have been in trouble, no doubt. But Mary didn’t. Instead she came and felt Ellie’s forehead. “She certainly has a fever,” she said. “We must get her out of these wet clothes. They’re wringing with sweat. She needs to be tucked up in bed in a clean dry smock. We have to keep her warm, since she has a fever.”
    I nodded. It was a relief to have someone who knew about these things. I hardly recognized giggly plump Mary Shelton. “How do you know so much?” I asked, very impressed.
    Mary shrugged. “I’ve helped my mother look after our tenants since I was nine years old.”
    Between us we took off Ellie’s worn old kirtle and her dank smock and I got one of my own from the chest and put it on her. Then we tucked her up in my bed, because Mary said Ellie needed a bed withcurtains around like mine, to keep her from the bad night airs.
    Poor Ellie was too feverish to be quite in her right mind and she looked very worried. “I must go,” she fretted. “Mrs. Fadget says I’ve all the stockings to wring out next—”
    “Mrs. Fadget can wait,” I said. Well, that isn’t quite what I said, but I’ve made it more respectable for writing down. “You rest, Ellie. We’re getting the doctor.”
    “What? You can’t!” she said, trying to sit up. “I can’t pay ’im and Mrs. Fadget—”
    “It’s all right,” I told her, getting her to lie down again. “I’m going to fetch my Uncle Cavendish: he won’t want paying.”
    So she sighed and rested her tangled head back down on the pillow. “Never ’ad a doctor before,” she muttered. “Not even an apothecary.”
    But when I got up to fetch my uncle, Ellie would not let go of my hand, so Mary offered to go instead, bless her!
    When she came back she had a very disapproving look on her face—rather like Mrs. Champernowne when she catches me writing my daybooke while I’m wearing my white damask. I saw why, and my heartsank a little. My Uncle Cavendish was swaying and staggering behind her. I love my uncle dearly, but he has such a weakness for the drink, and I fear it will be his undoing. Clearly, this even he had drunk far too much wine.
    “Lady Graishe, my dear,” he said, blinking and swaying over Ellie in my bed, “I’m shorry to shee you ill.” He fumbled for her hand.
    I was going to tell him it wasn’t me, but then I thought he might be embarrassed by his mistake and that might distract him from his doctoring. So I kept quiet and moved behind one of the bed curtains.
    He felt Ellie’s forehead, his eyes slightly crossed, then her pulses, and then smelled her breath and looked down her throat. “She’s got a quinsy,” he said to Mary. “Quite sherious. No need to bleed, but she musht have hot drinks every hour and she musht rest and stay warm. Hic. I’ll ret—ret—come back in a day or sho.” And he staggered out.
    Mary was still frowning. But she politely did not refer to my uncle’s drunken state. “Poor Ellie,” she said. “A quinsy’s horrible. My sister had one last year. She said it feels like your throat is full of rusty nails.” She patted Ellie’s hand. “What you need is a sweet wine posset. I’ll make you one.”
    When it was ready, Mary and I helped Ellie to sit up and sip the hot drink. There was still no sign of Lady Sarah, for which I was grateful, as I was certain she would not take kindly to Ellie’s presence. I hoped we could have Ellie safely tucked up in bed and hidden by the curtains before Sarah’s arrival.
    When