Splintered Heart (The Bentons and Northcutts 2) ✅

Chapter Eight

She looked pale and small. It reminded Rafe strongly of Rebekah in the days leading up to her awful childbirth. But he knew that Phoebe was not with child. She was ill...the helplessness he loathed gripped him like a vice.

I should have done more. I should have pushed for her to go home while she had the chance...

"Lord Northcutt," Doctor Gray said as he moved closer to Rafe. "Lord Northcutt, I must advise that you vacate this building. We do not want to expose you further to the plague."

"I will not leave," Rafe said sternly, his gaze never leaving Phoebe. She was lying in bed at the inn, while Doctor Yarrow examined her. The man was grim-faced. The innkeeper stood cautiously at the door, his expression strained. "Miss Phoebe has worked hard to assist in finding the cure for this accursed disease," Rafe continued. "I will not abandon her when she hasn't abandoned us. Especially after she lost kin to this plague."

"You have also lost kin to this disease, my Lord," Doctor Gray said softly.

"What is your progress?!" Rafe demanded in frustration. "How have you worked this long with this disease and not have the faintest idea of where it may be coming from?!"

The physician flushed with embarrassment. "We are doing all we can, Lord Northcutt," he said defensively. "But we have never dealt with a plague like this before. Plagues like smallpox and cholera tend to be predictable. When they strike we know their patterns and can act in preventative measures. If one person catches pox, that means the people around them are exposed and susceptible. It means that they will probably become sick, and we can prepare accordingly. This plague, however—it is an abomination. Whole families get sick, but at the same time one person in a household may get sick whilst no one else displays symptoms. We physicians are not displaying symptoms despite daily interacting with the sick. If I am to be frank my Lord, this plague is acting more as a curse than an illness."

"A curse?" Rafe questioned him.

"Aye. Disease does not discriminate. Disease does not care of the social status of people. Disease will make anyone ill. But this disease?" he gestured with his arm. "We are having a difficult time combating it because it follows no patterns of infection, and the people who become infected by this plague are dying at different ratios. Some last for days and some—like Lady Benton's cousin—last but a few hours. This is not a normal plague. This disease feels as though it is deliberately selecting the people that it will make ill."

Rafe gaped in shock at the man as a cold chill overtook his body. "W...What?!"

"Lady Benton doesn't have the plague."

The room snapped to attention as Doctor Yarrow swiftly rose from Phoebe's bedside. His expression was still grim, but his posture was more relaxed. "She is not sick," Doctor Yarrow said. "She is just suffering from exhaustion. Women are not meant to work the hours that she has worked. Their bodies and constitutions were not designed for it. Moreover she is in a fragile state due to being in mourning. She needs rest and hot meals."

Rafe did not like how Doctor Yarrow demeaned Phoebe, when he knew that she was a strong woman. But Doctor Yarrow continued before Rafe could admonish him. "My recommendation is laudanum." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small bottle, and set it upon the beside table. "When she awakens I will administer a dose. A couple of drops of laudanum will force her to get the bed rest that she needs. Three days of rest should be enough for her to regain her strength. Then Lady Benton should return to her home. If she continues to work here then she will inevitably collapse again, and in her weakened state she is vulnerable not just to this plague but to other diseases. By the grace of God she only has exhaustion now, but this may be a sign from Him that she does not belong here. She should leave as soon as she is able."